By: Dana
Summary: Frodo truly isn't in a place where he can affect the situation as he most desires.
Characters: Frodo, Pippin, Merry
Pairings: Frodo/Pippin, Frodo/Merry mentioned (Frodo/Merry/Pippin)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, some kink and light bondage
Author's Notes: Dedicated to Carole, who is, as they say, 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.

Frodo roused at the slow but incredibly loud creaking of his bedroom door as it was pushed open. Low candlelight flickered in the darkness, and he blinked his eyes once and then again against the burning intrusion of too-bright light. He blinked again, as if to be sure that this was reality, and no lingering dream. The air tasted cool and sweet, just this side of morning, when the sky was still dark and the bed was firm yet soft, and fully inviting. Though there was a warm body pressed near to his side, and given as sure as Frodo was, Frodo wasn't so certain if he was truly comfortable, given that his arms were stretched out up high over his bed, bound with a good leather belt to the headboard of his bed.

He wet his lips; his throat was dry and he smoothed his tongue over his mouth again, as if, yet again, he needed to be sure. "Who is it?" he asked.

The door was pushed open fully and shadows danced with the candlelight along the wall, accompanied by footfall sound soft upon the floor. The voice that came, next, was familiar, at least: "The old door is creaking, Frodo; you ought to get the hinges checked, cousin. I doubt Bilbo would be pleased, with you letting Bag End fall into such a state of disrepair."

"Pippin," Frodo groaned, half glad and half fearing for his safety, given that he was stuck in such a state. "Bag End's not falling into such a state, cousin, and Pippin, is that really you?"

"Who else could it be?" Amused, Pippin walked closer, his footsteps steady now where they had at first been whisper soft. He set the candlestick down and, with a soft tsk, he shook his head, looking down at Frodo, and Frodo's current unlucky state. It was an odd look, to be sure, and definitely not the sort that Frodo was used to Pippin giving; it didn't matter if Pippin was well-acquainted with the going ons of Frodo's bed (and Pippin was, as he'd joined Frodo there at least more times now than Frodo could coherently count), and it didn't matter that Merry was there, too, but it was an odd look, and Frodo wasn't sure what to think of it at all.

Pippin's eyebrows arched in amusement and it was with a smug look that he looked down on Frodo. "Looks like you and Merry have been up to no good. Should I take pity on you, cousin?"

Frodo, showing a good amount of modesty for a gentlehobbit given his situation, blushed right to the tips of his ears. "He fell asleep on me, Pippin," Frodo muttered and, oh yes, there was that, too, and Frodo twisted slightly and attempted to glare. Met with Pippin's smug grin, that scowl faltered and failed. "You know how Merry is, Pippin. I shouted at him, and I kicked, but you know how Merry can sleep through just about anything – I'd have shouted louder, but I didn't want Sam or the Gaffer to come running up from Number Three."

Pippin chuckled. "That's Merry, for you. He has quite a bad habit of falling asleep, and at the very worst of times."

It wasn't that Frodo sighed in defeat, but he'd have to rethink his plan of action; Pippin was a sharper companion than you'd think, and even now, most certainly now, Frodo could tell that Pippin was planning something, if only from the tone of his voice. Truly, it was possible that his plan was already fully planned.

"It isn't what it looks like, Pippin," Frodo continued, though he screwed his face up in concentration, stumbling over his tongue and rolling his eyes back before focusing his gaze back on Pippin, Pippin who now had candlelight dancing in his hair, and shadows stretching back across the ceiling of the room. Pippin, who was grinning sharply, bright amusement dancing in his eyes. He'd never hear the end of this one, and Frodo twisted against his bonds, hoping that it was still possible that Pippin might just take pity on him in his current state. "I mean, it is what it looks like, but that's hardly the point, and Merry fell asleep on me, Pippin, and he left me in… a, well, he left me in…"

"Quite a tough spot," Pippin chuckled, and Frodo winced when Pippin, grinning, sat down gingerly at the edge of the bed. He shivered under Pippin's touch when Pippin's fingers trailed lightly over Frodo's bare stomach, fingertips that were smooth and soft and drawing absent patterns on naked skin. "Inconsiderate of him, wouldn't you say?"

"That's right," Frodo groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and then opening them, wincing against the secondary intrusion of light. "Quite inconsiderate of him."

"I hope you're glad you left the front opened, Frodo," Pippin said, and Frodo caught the edge of Pippin's grin, some something about Bucklanders going unsaid, and Pippin smoothed curls back from Frodo's brow, his fingers still stroking slowly, and Frodo shuddered at the inconsistent touch. "I know that you were expecting me, even if it seems that you've forgotten; I understand, though, given your circumstances."

"I didn't forget," Frodo exhaled, and Merry snored, sleeping peacefully, fully unaware. "I didn't think you'd be arriving till later in the day."

"Yes, I suppose that might be true," Pippin chuckled, fingertips tracing over Frodo's cheek, and then his chin, smoothing over the full shape of his mouth, and Pippin smiled to himself as Frodo sucked in a shaky breath. "It isn't even day yet, though. And I do imagine that you'd like a bit of help." Frodo sighed, eyes fluttering closed, and when he looked up, the look on Pippin's face was less sharp, smoother, and it seemed a sweet enough smile to be sitting on his lips.

"Help?" Frodo croaked, and then he nodded, as urgently as he could, an awkward bobbing of his head with his chin tapping hard against his chest, Pippin's fingers smooth and cool and perfectly delightful, which really was thought that Frodo oughtn't be thinking.

"I certainly would like a bit of help, Pippin. I can't seem to feel my arms."

Pippin sat back, thoughtful and quiet, and why was it that look stirred such dread in the pit of Frodo's belly? "Now Pippin," he said, and his voice broke, and he frowned and squirmed and twisted but the leather belt didn't give and Frodo set his jaw, staring back up at Pippin, wondering if it was possible to look fierce, when he was caught in such a trap. "I don't think I like the look of that look."

Pippin smiled, and it was pleasant enough, still, as if Frodo was cracked more than he'd been when they'd last had a visit, and Frodo guessed that it could be true. Pippin's fingers moved slowly down his throat, pressing down against bone, and he tweaked one nipple with his thumb, grinning brightly as Frodo gasped, jerked, then moaned, clear and loud, and Pippin's fingers set to pinching and squeezing that small nub of flesh. There were words that he wanted to say, but he found that he couldn't find them, and Frodo moaned louder, pressing up against Pippin's teasing hand, as Pippin's hot mouth joined in giving such sweet agony, biting down hard – on the left nipple, if location and naming even mattered; Frodo hardly felt that it could. Pippin's teeth rolled just slightly against him, and Frodo wasn't sure if it was pleasure or just pleasure-almost-pain that he felt jolting through his body, and he arched madly, moaning in frustration as Pippin laughed against his chest.

Then, Pippin's hand and mouth had left him, and Frodo was breathing hard, lying back against the bed. He took a deep breath, and then another, looking up at Pippin, though that seemed to be quite difficult; Pippin was dancing, blurring, and Frodo found himself wondering once again if this might be some sort of dream.

"Merry wanted to, is all, and it didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time," Frodo muttered lamely, gasping for breath. Pippin grinned and gave Frodo's hip a pat, smoothing his hand over it, giving a good squeeze, before rising back to his feet. "Pippin, what are you doing?"

"You make it sound like you think I'm up to something, cousin," Pippin said. "I'm hurt."

"You aren't, you beast, and the only reason I'd make it out as if you were doing something, is because you are," Frodo almost laughed. "Now help me, Pippin, before my shoulders pop out of joint."

"Stop whining, Frodo, it hardly suits."

Frodo muttered something more, and he gave a tug on his makeshift but quite sturdy bonds, and they (nor the headboard, either) would budge. "It isn't that I think you're up to something, Pippin," Frodo said again, as Pippin unbuttoned his shirt, "I know that you are."

Pippin puckered his lips as if for a kiss, and then he grinned, first shrugging his shirt off and folding it neatly, moving to set it on the chest at the foot of Frodo's bed. While he was standing, his trousers went next, and they were folded and then laid out beside his shirt.

"If it bothers you that much, Frodo, I fully intend on freeing you from this… this mess that you and Merry have made."

"But?" Frodo urged, and despite it all, he couldn't help but grin.

"But," Pippin softly laughed, and his lips twisted in a smile, "it all depends on whether or not I'll be paid for services rendered, dearest cousin."

"Don't 'dearest', me," Frodo flushed and squirmed and Merry, snoring softly, slid his arm over Frodo's chest and snuggled closer, so close that Frodo could feel his mouth, warm and wet, pressed against skin. "I told Merry we'd regret ever letting you play," Frodo chided, shivering, though not just from the feel of Merry's mouth.

"We went and made ourselves a monster."

"But you love me, Frodo," Pippin said. "And I you."

Frodo nodded (rather awkwardly, with Merry pressed so close at his side), "True."

"So," and Pippin slid back onto the bed, leaning over Frodo, tousling Merry's curls and then lightly tweaking Frodo's ear. Frodo looked up at him, and firelight danced in Pippin's eyes, mischief, too, and there was a smirk that could only be called wicked sitting snug on his lips. "What do you say?"

"Can't it wait till tomorrow, Pip?" Frodo asked, and while he was in no position to tease, he did, grinning. "I'd just like to get a bit of sleep," he said, going so far as to mock a yawn, though he was far too aroused to even think that he could sleep.

"You aren't a very good liar, Frodo," Pippin said, laughing softly, and he rubbed his palm on the curve of Frodo's hip. "You're not tired at… all." And Frodo, knowing that Pippin would find the skin there sticky, could only laugh as Pippin frowned, and lifted his hand up, and sniffed at the skin.

"Honey," Frodo said.

"Honey?" Pippin asked.

"Honey," Frodo said again.

Pippin snickered and he leaned down closer, tilting his head so that his hair tickled Frodo's nose, and he set one hand at Frodo's forearm, massaging gently, and the other at Frodo's thigh. Frodo groaned despite it all, and Pippin softly laughed.

"Merry's a rather hard sleeper, isn't he? And he's in the way."

Frodo nodded, finding it rather hard to think or speak or breathe.

"It'd be a pity if we woke him," Pippin commented, and then he leant over further, whispering something against Merry's bright curls. Merry muttered something, and Frodo was amazed to see Merry slide back over onto his side, and Frodo's skin was left tingling where Merry had been pressed so close.

"How did you manage that, Pippin?"

"I know how to deal with Merry, Frodo."

"And what did you –"

Pippin's hand (the one at his forearm, Frodo's mind managed in a gasp, and Frodo gasped, too), slid to cover Frodo's mouth, and Pippin's eyes were bright and full of mirth and something darker, something heady, intoxicating, something that Frodo found that he wanted to drink right in. His throat ached, and his lips throbbed, and he breathed in the scent of Pippin's skin and felt his head spinning. "Right now, I want you to make up for you and Merry having such fun while I was off, Frodo; when Merry wakes, in the morning, I'll have the both of you make it up to me together. How does that sound?"

Frodo groaned, almost senseless, and the tip of Pippin's tongue flashed pink between his slightly parted lips, his hand sliding free so Frodo could suck in a fresh breath of air, his lungs stinging, aching from the cool. Pippin waited.

"Frodo," he said, "I asked you a question; how does that sound?"

Frodo gasped, opening and then closing his eyes rapidly, and how did Pippin expect him to talk when Pippin's fingers had dipped down, rubbing over smooth, hot skin, too close to a part of Frodo's body that definitely didn't reciprocate coherent speech; when Pippin's breath was a rush of heat at his cheek, and Pippin's soft mouth was far too appealing and far too near.

"Frodo," Pippin chided, and Frodo managed in a gasp: "It sounds good, Pippin, very, very good indeed, and I'd like to hear, oh, more, and I certainly do look forward to the, oh, realization of this goal."

"Perfect, then," Pippin smiled, and Frodo whimpered and bucked, then sinking back against the covers. "We have ourselves a deal."

"We do, oh, yes, we do."

Frodo twitched and bit back a moan when Pippin's hand brushed against now rigid heat, and he whimpered when Pippin's fingers pressed down and rubbed against over-sensitized skin. "Pippin," he choked out, a loud gasp and a louder moan, trembling. "Oh, please."

Pippin's mouth slid against Frodo's, and Pippin's hand fully grasped firm fresh, fingers circling him fully, and Frodo bucked beneath him, gasping into the hot cavern of Pippin's mouth even as he pushed up hard against the feel of Pippin's grip. Pippin pushed back down, though, into that kiss, and he stroked, slow and steady, and Frodo moaned. The world shifted (oh, but maybe that was just the bed), and Frodo felt that he was bending, and Pippin's touch was somehow liquid but firm, which almost seemed an impossible feat, but Pippin managed it with no troubles at all.

Pippin drew back, softly panting, and Frodo closed his eyes tight against Pippin, and the dancing shadows, biting down on his lip so as not to further express his delight. Pippin's leg slid over his, and he felt Pippin pressing hard against his thigh. "Pippin," he groaned softly, almost delirious with sensation. Pippin bent over him, and Frodo felt the tickle of his hair, again, the wet warmth of his breath setting skin to tingle, and Pippin tongued Frodo's mouth and Frodo moaned, opening himself wide.

Light flashed in the darkness, and Pippin's hand tightened, and Pippin gasped, and Frodo bit down again on his lip. He bucked and felt it all, wound too tight, burning bright, brighter, brightest, and Frodo groaned his relief as something warm and sticky wet his hand.

"Mmm, Frodo."

Frodo slowly opened his eyes, and Pippin's eyes were half-shut, and Frodo could clearly see in the candlelight that Pippin was slowly licking his fingers clean. That set Frodo's blood to boil, and he couldn't breathe for the sight of it, and Pippin looked up, slowly still, as he sucked on the length of his index finger. Frodo groaned, senseless, melted, as Pippin busied himself with that, and he could almost feel the suction over warm, spent, yet still-tingling flesh.

"Pippin, oh, I'd like, I need, you need to right now – "

Pippin softly laughed, and Merry snored (Frodo almost laughed, too, because he had somehow managed to forget that Merry was even there), but then Pippin gave Frodo a chaste kiss on the forehead and Frodo heard a rustle of fabric as he stretched out and reached up to the headboard to undo the fastening of looped leather. "What are you doing, Pippin?" Frodo breathed.

"Letting you go, my dear foolish Baggins," Pippin said.

"But I thought – "

"Frodo," and Pippin gave a tug, and Frodo's arms were suddenly, gloriously free, muscles screaming in sudden agony now that Frodo was able to move them without being hindered. Pippin scooted back down, rubbing one arm with both his hands, and Frodo moaned at the sensation of it, of Pippin rubbing feeling back into numbed but aching flesh. "I had my play," Pippin then said. "It hardly seems like proper fun if you can't do anything back."

Frodo couldn't help but snicker, almost tired, almost saying that if Merry had his way, that he could teach Pippin a thing or two about that, and maybe even change that process of thought, but he shook his head instead, and laughed again. He wasn't thinking very straight, now was he? Merry was still asleep. "Now Pippin, Merry – "

"If Merry wakes," and Pippin slid over Frodo, and Frodo felt the firm pressure Pippin's prick, and it was glorious, too, pressed low against his stomach, the lines of it hard but smooth, and Pippin angled his head so that he could lightly kiss Frodo's cheek. "He can join us if he likes, though I dare say he'll have to sit out and wait for his turn."

"But you said that – " Frodo said, laughing.

"Bugger what I said," Pippin gasped, sliding down, and he set his mouth to Frodo's, kissing him deep. Frodo wrapped his arms slowly around Pippin, muscles still throbbing, and Pippin seemed to burrow in closer, despite the fact that they were already skin to skin, finding crooks and soft spots where there bodies fit together better than Frodo had ever thought.

"Anyway, Frodo," Pippin said, lips skimming over flesh, the hollow of Frodo's throat, the point of his chin. "You know that Merry sleeps like the dead."

"Good for us that he does, then," Frodo said, and he gave Pippin's bottom a firm squeeze. Pippin just about jumped from his skin, but then he ground himself back down over Frodo, sitting astride Frodo's thighs, firm and hot and good, pressed hard between Frodo's legs. "Nnngh, I, oh, Pippin," he gasped, almost delirious, and Pippin took a shuddering breath, pressing against Frodo, thrusting slowly, until Frodo felt that all his senses were coming undone.

"Frodo, I need, I mean, I want – "

"Right on the bedside, Pippin," Frodo gasped, and then he quite suddenly laughed. "Don't go and spill it this time, all right?"

"I didn't think you'd want to think about that," Pippin said, looking sheepish, though he did nod, his curls bouncing, and Merry, beside them, gave a deep sighed, burrowing into the covers. Pippin drew back, and Frodo's hot skin was awash with sudden cool, and he sat up, reaching for Pippin when it seemed that Pippin was taking too long to come back.

His hand wrapped around Pippin's wrist, and he gave a tug, feeling, something in the air, as if dawn was waiting to breathing. "You got here rather early," Frodo said.

"Yes, well, I did," Pippin replied, kissing Frodo briefly, pushing Frodo back onto the bed. Frodo went, and Pippin's skin made him ache like he was caught in the grips of a fever; that he was burning right up. "You could say I rode through the night."

"I say," Frodo gasped, and Pippin's mouth found his, again, tangled and claimed and melted, and Frodo sighed as Pippin's skin slid flush against his own. He reached for Pippin, touching soft skin, here, the curve of his hip, and Pippin kissed him until Frodo could feel the tremble of Pippin's knees pressed against his legs, and the first slick touch of oiled fingers slid against Frodo's returning length. "I imagine…" his voice shook. "Oh, I imagine you did."

Pippin smiled, and it glowed in the warm light, like summer sun and good things and sweet kisses all melting into one, and Merry muttered something that neither of them could make out, before rolling over onto his other side, his nose almost touching Frodo's arm. Frodo laughed, and had to ground himself against Pippin's touch, when Pippin gripped him, gave a tug. "You've always been my very favorite cousin to visit," Pippin whispered, as if it were possible that Merry might be awake to hear, and would sit up to protest such a statement, and Frodo couldn't help but grin at the improbability of Pippin choosing such a time as this to say such a thing as that. His mind cleared, though, at the feel of Pippin's fingers, and Pippin's cheeks seemed to burn with fire, and his hand was molten, and Pippin grit his teeth hard against something unseen as he drew back, shaking, but managed to slide the stopper back home, and he dropped the small vial back on the bed. Even the worry of tell-tale stains didn't worry Frodo, then, when Pippin drew himself back, and he pushed his mouth against Frodo's, kissing him slowly.

He kept pushing, as if he was sinking the rest of himself into Frodo's skin, and he was. Frodo clutched at him, mouth agape, arching at the slow intrusion. Oh, but it was welcome, and Pippin whimpered as he bowed his head; Frodo could feel Pippin's curls pressed against his shoulder, as Pippin pressed himself back home. Frodo felt that the moment pounded on him, when Pippin froze, twitching, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He could feel Pippin fully, flesh against pulsing flesh, and the muscles in his arms responded, throbbing dully, as he wrapped them around Pippin, and tried to pull him closer.

Pippin seemed to come, though, and Frodo fell into the rush of pleasure oh yes oh please and he gripped at Pippin, biting down hard on his lower lip, afraid to cry out, as Pippin seemed to roll like a wave (he knew them well in his dreams), pushing back (and he pictured sea-foam spreading on white sand), building into something that was frantic despite being achingly slow. Pippin rocked back into him, and his mouth was on Frodo's, and Frodo lost himself in Pippin, as Pippin lost himself in him.

He was aching, yes, hard and on fire, and Pippin was moving, and Frodo felt his body pulsating now that Pippin wouldn't, no, couldn't stop. He grunted, growled, and rocked into Pippin's thrusts; his lips secured themselves around Pippin's, and Pippin cried out, reflecting all of Frodo's own disjointed thoughts, as Frodo felt a jolt of pleasure that was so intense that it most certainly felt like pain.

Oh, and he wanted to it, and he ground himself into it, feeling more than hearing Pippin as he cried out, again, though muffled as it was when Frodo buried his mouth into Pippin's; and Pippin seemed stretched out too thin and too tight and oh so close to breaking, and Frodo swallowed hoarse, harsh groans as Pippin wound himself up; closer, closer, closer, and then Frodo had reached the pinnacle, and stars seemed to fill the room, and sunlight burst into being behind Frodo's eyes, spreading red-gold light that raced like wildfire, and they were both consumed.

Pippin, gasping, shuddering, collapsed atop Frodo, and Frodo sunk back into the covers, easing his legs back down. "Frodo," Pippin gasped, and Frodo felt the almost-cool of sweat on his skin, burning more than any fire, and muttered something, incoherent and rough, his body tensing, and buried his face into the crook of Frodo's shoulder and neck, and then seemed to breathe Frodo in.

Frodo blinked, and wrapped his arms back around Pippin, feeling the beating of his heart roaring like thunder, and he kissed Pippin's sweaty curls, and whispered soft nonsense against his ear, tingles and sparks of pleasure melting through him, like fireworks fading in the sky. Pippin drew back, and a laugh seemed stuck on his mouth, and he breathed it out, slowly, then needing to catch his breath. "Well, that was something."

It certainly was, and it seemed certain, as well, that there was something there that neither he nor Pippin seemed to want to say, and then Pippin buried his face back, nostrils flaring, their bodies disconnected, yes, but still pressed close.

"Can you rest now, cousin? Do you think you could sleep?"

Frodo pressed a kiss to Pippin's cheek, and Pippin tilted his mouth to Frodo's, returning the favor. "Yes," Frodo said, after, though he wasn't so certain that he was. "I think I can."

"Good," Pippin said, then quickly dropping off. Frodo couldn't help but say he felt strange, and he gently eased Pippin over onto his side. Pippin muttered something, sleeping soundly, and he curled against Merry, who grumbled and pressed even closer.

Frodo sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, before reaching for the candlestick; the candle had almost fully burned down. He blew against the flame, and it flickered, strong and fighting, and it flickered once more as Frodo exhaled, before then going out.

Frodo (and he was tired, sore, and in good need of a long, hot bath), drew himself from the bed, pulling on a long robe, tying it off half-heartedly at the waist, then leaving his room, and heading out to the front parlor. Watched the sun as it rose higher in the sky, Frodo was sure that no matter how much he wanted it, he would not sleep.

It was far too early for such thoughts, and he needed a drink.