Through the Open Door

by Lullenny

email: gutter2stars @ yahoo.com

*

Pippin knocked on Bag End's green door expecting Frodo would 
answer, smile in cheerful welcome and invite him inside for a 
cool drink against the summer heat, but he waited on the front 
step without a response he began rocking back and forth on his 
heels, silently rehearsing yet again the reason for his visit.  
He remained unsure how best to broach the two salient points 
that brought him here without seeming a braggart, or a child, or 
both; and he had a sudden desire to slink away.  But then he 
heard sounds of life coming from inside, and the door swung 
open.  It was Merry Brandybuck, and he was neither welcoming nor 
cheerful; he was, in fact, frowning.  

Firmly gripping the door Merry said, "Peregrin Took." 

"So it says in the Yellowskin," retorted Pippin, as taken aback 
as Merry seemed to be.  Pippin and Frodo shared a lot of 
cousins, but lately Merry was not one of Pippin's favorites. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Pippin had no desire to tell him, nor could he think of a clever 
response to the rude question, but suddenly he was oddly 
bolstered.  Merry was flustered: he was, in fact, sloppy and 
unmannered as a boy, a far cry from his usual suave self.  And 
since Merry in the past year had taken to treating Pippin like a 
child when he bothered to notice him at all, Pippin felt rather 
superior, or nearly.  He bowed, all flourishes and mockery as he 
said, "And good morning to you, too, cousin." 

"I mean," said Merry, his face growing pink as though the 
simplest of courtesies remained a task nearly beyond him, "what 
brings you all the way from Tuckborough?" 

"I might ask you the same: Buckland is a lot further away; and, 
if I might be so bold to say it," observed Pippin, "it looks as 
though you just arrived at a run."  He glanced pointedly at 
Merry's rucked shirt, messy hair, and his braces missing one 
button.  "Actually, I am just passing through, you know.  But 
Frodo is expecting me."  

Merry reddened more as he mashed down his hair and shoved his 
shirttail into his trousers.  "Yes, well, I-- Frodo's expecting 
you?" 

"He'd better not have forgotten.  I have it all in writing if he 
has, from his last letter.  We had made plans, and I have every 
intention of holding him to them."  Pippin rose up on his toes 
to look into the shadowy hall past Merry's shoulder.  "Is he 
in?"  

"He is.  He is," said Merry, nodding as though that were 
explanation enough.  "He is.  He was -- that is, we were sitting 
down to elevenses." 

"Then let me through, and I'll have him roust out another plate.  
I just tramped up the Hill from stabling my pony at the Dragon, 
and I'm famished," said Pippin. 

Just then Frodo came up behind Merry.  "Pippin!" he said.  "You 
certainly made good time.  I didn't expect you until supper at 
least."  

"Well, I'm here now, though Merry won't let me in." 

Pippin saw Frodo and Merry exchange a fleeting glance, but he 
wasn't sure what it might mean.  They seemed angry; he wondered 
if they had been arguing.  Better combed and tucked, still Frodo 
looked as flustered as Merry, and the high color on his cheeks 
was far more noticeable.  

Merry withdrew; Frodo opened the door wide and put his arm 
around Pippin's shoulders, steering him inside where it was cool 
and dim and dry: an altogether delightful respite from the 
pressing heat and odd tensions at the threshold.  "Merry said 
you were sitting down to elevenses?" said Pippin, with not a 
little longing when it almost seemed Frodo was about to lead him 
into the parlor rather than the kitchen.  

"Why, yes indeed.  Nothing fancy, mind -- very casual, you 
know," said Frodo, "but there's no standing on formalities here, 
not amongst friends.  Since Sam's gone to Tighfield for the 
summer, things around here are casual.  Quite casual.  Very 
casual, actually." 

"There's never a need for formalities on my behalf, Frodo; you 
know that, and  -- heavens!" exclaimed Pippin, goggling at the 
debauched kitchen.  "What were you doing on the table, the 
spring-ringle?  Or did a wandering party of goblins decide to 
drop in for a bite?  Is that treacle?"  He drew his finger 
through a pool of sticky syrup and sniffed it.  

"Er, yes, actually," said Frodo, and he chivvied Pippin to the 
sink and began vigorously dunking Pippin's hand in a basin of 
cold and rather dirty dishwater.  

Bemused, Pippin allowed it and took a more careful inventory of 
the mess.  He expected dirty plates, crumbs, and a cup of tea 
half-drunk, but the pot of treacle was on its side, and there 
were odd shapes smeared through it across the entire length of 
the table.  Among other things (a spoon, a whisk, a dirty 
napkin, a bitten scone, a feather duster, and a green waistcoat) 
a teacup lay scattered on the floor in pieces.  Pippin thought 
the waistcoat strange, but he thought Frodo's indifference to 
the broken teacup even stranger: Frodo cherished the china more 
than Bilbo had.  Last Yule Pippin dropped a dessert plate from 
the collection, and though it had not broken, the near miss had 
earned him the sharp side of Frodo's tongue -- and in front of 
Frodo's friends, including Merry.  The humiliation still clear 
in his memory Pippin said, "A shame about your teacup, Frodo, 
but I don't imagine a feather duster is the best way to clean up 
broken china." 

Merry made a choked sound that turned into a cough; and although 
Frodo ignored Merry, he abruptly left off scrubbing Pippin's 
hand and thrust a tea towel at him.  "And since when would you 
know anything about cleaning, you lazy brute?" 

"I can't imagine he knows much.  Not much at all about," added 
Merry, apparently recovered from his coughing fit, "cleaning."  

Pippin frowned, disliking his tone.  

"He might not at that," said Frodo, "though he might surprise 
you.  I can imagine him doing a dish or two."  

"Washing up is nothing compared to, say, beating the rugs 
clean."  

"Sweeping the fireplace is no picnic."  Frodo gave Merry another 
significant look, and Pippin decided that whatever passed 
between them, it wasn't anger.  As it was, Pippin felt as though 
they had forgotten he was there.  

"And neither is chopping wood."  

"Or," said Frodo, "dusting." 

"I suppose cooking is right out?" said Pippin.  "You may have 
had fun dancing on the table, but I'm hungry, and as your guest 
I have come to expect a certain level of hospitality that 
includes baked goods at the very least."  

Recalled to his duty as host, Frodo soon had Pippin seated at 
the table, the table wiped clean of crumbs and treacle, the 
treacle replaced with a pot of honey, the honey ready to be 
stirred into a precious china cup that Frodo set in front of 
Pippin.  Since all the scones were gone, he sent Merry into the 
far pantry for a seedcake.  Pippin wished Merry a lot further 
than the pantry -- wished him back in Buckland -- for he was 
bursting still with news to divulge to Frodo, news that Merry 
would use to tease him if he knew.  In the few minutes they did 
have alone Pippin wanted to take the opportunity to speak with 
Frodo, even if only to ask him why, out of all their cousins, he 
had invited <i>Merry Brandybuck</i> to Bag End, but when Frodo 
leaned close to pour steaming tea Pippin saw a thick thumbprint 
of treacle on the smooth skin behind his ear; and he said 
nothing, too busy thinking what it could mean.  

His cousins listened politely enough as Pippin described his 
ride from Tuckborough and the current goings on in the Great 
Smials, but he could tell he didn't hold their full attention.  
Their continuing distraction rankled.  Pippin expected Merry to 
ignore him, but Frodo had always been a particular friend.  
After tea, it got worse, and Pippin eavesdropped on them, 
skulking in the hall as they stacked the dishes in the kitchen, 
speaking furtively while they thought he was smoking in the 
parlor.  

"Can't you get rid of him?" asked Merry.

"No," replied Frodo, "but I don't want to, and neither do you.  
You know he's a fun lad, always ready for anything and very 
endearing; in fact, if you weren't keeping me busy, I would be 
tempted to -- "

"Frodo, please.  Do not finish that thought.  I don't think I 
could bear the humiliation of being thrown over for a brat like 
that." 

Frodo chuckled, but only briefly.  He said, "He's hiding it 
well, but he's being punished -- some disgrace or other, he 
wouldn't say in his letters -- and I can only imagine he's 
rather down.  I can't turn him out." 

"He's not down at all," said Merry, indignant.  "He's positively 
beaming.  What on earth was his punishment?  He's moving 
entirely too easily to have got the belt and then ridden all 
morning." 

"Oh, it was far worse.  His father forbid him to go to the 
midsummer fair and dance in Tuckborough," replied Frodo.  

Merry chuckled meanly.  "He wouldn't like missing the biggest 
party all year.  I know I wouldn't." 

"And the only way he could be sure Pippin stayed away, short of 
tying him up, was to send him on an errand to the Mayor." 

"All the way to the White Downs by himself?  He's hardly old 
enough to go crossing the Shire alone, the pest." 

"He's older than you think he is.  I was younger than him when I 
started visiting Bilbo," said Frodo, "and I walked from Buckland 
more often than not.  And," he added in a different tone, "I was 
younger than he is now when I started doing other things, too." 

They stopped speaking for long moments, and there was a soft 
rasp of cloth on cloth. 

"But Frodo," and Merry's voice had lowered so that Pippin could 
hardly hear, "he'll never leave us alone.  This morning's 
interruption was painful enough -- and we don't have time to 
wait until he leaves: we have to start first thing tomorrow if 
we are going to make the fair ourselves." 

Frodo's murmur was unintelligible.  Trying to hear, Pippin 
peered round the corner.  Merry was pushing Frodo back until the 
table stopped him, but Merry kept moving until they were pressed 
together.  From his vantage Pippin saw them in profile.  Merry's 
hand was on Frodo's neck, his thumb stroking just behind his ear 
while Frodo whispered to him.  Neither seemed inclined to notice 
Pippin, but he ducked back anyhow and leaned against the wall, 
rubbing his palms on his thighs and frowning.  

He looked again.  They were closer: Frodo looked intently at 
Merry's mouth, Merry's fingers were deep in Frodo's dark hair, 
and it seemed Merry and Frodo would forever be moving into a 
kiss.  Pippin felt strangled: he realized he had held his breath 
as he strained to hear what Frodo whispered; and he kept holding 
it as he watched their mouths linger until finally 
<i>finally</i> they touched, Frodo's still shaping silent words.  
Merry's eyes drifted closed as Frodo's mouth opened to his, and 
Frodo's fists clutched the back of Merry's shirt.  Pippin 
gasped, lungs starved for air, and pulled back into the hall 
again.  He slowly slid down the wall until he sat on his heels.  
He held his head in his hands.  It felt heavy. 

Never before had he thought about kissing Frodo, or Merry, or 
any other hobbit that wore breeches.  But he was thinking about 
it now in such exquisite detail that he felt quite miserable and 
trapped, crouched on the floor.  The jealousy that he had been 
unable to label and had been eating at him ever since Merry 
opened Frodo's front door suddenly took a new and intimate grip 
deep in his chest.  Worse, the jealousy slid in more directions 
than one: Pippin thought Frodo very desirable, but he was also 
deeply affected by how Merry made Frodo at once tense and melt 
in his arms.  He knew it wasn't the seedcake and tea that 
rendered his limbs heavy.  Pippin wanted Merry to do that to 
him. 

Pippin rose and slinked once more into the doorway.  

Merry's hips rolled against Frodo's repeatedly, and Frodo seemed 
determined to climb right into Merry though his mouth, until he 
finally stopped and drew back far enough to say, "This isn't -- 
this won't make waiting any easier."  

"Let's not wait," Merry said roughly.  "You have a lock on your 
bedroom door." 

"Is there really a need to retreat behind a locked door?" asked 
Pippin, and it seemed an avid stranger used his voice and his 
feet to walk him right into the kitchen, proposing.  "After all, 
Frodo says I'm always ready for anything."  

Frodo and Merry leapt apart.  Frodo looked more rumpled than 
Merry had when he'd answered Pippin's knock, and both glowed red 
to their ear tips.  Their reactions fed a greedy satisfaction in 
Pippin too new for him to do anything with but experience.  He 
knew better than they did how it felt to be caught, however, and 
knowing that rewarded him with a thrill of confidence.  He 
walked up to stand between Frodo, who remained against the 
table, and Merry, who stood a few steps away seemingly unsure 
what to do with his arms because he crossed them, and then set 
his hands on his hips, and then shoved his hands deep in his 
pockets, all in rapid succession.  

"Pippin, I --" said Frodo.  

Pippin braced his hands on Frodo's shoulders.  "You do like me, 
don't you?"

"What?  Of course I like you --" 

"And you did promise this visit would make up for missing the 
fair, right?" 

"Yes, but -- " 

"I refuse to be left out while you and Merry are set upon having 
such a good time," he said.  "I want join in the fun." 

"Join in the fun?"  Merry sputtered.  "This is hardly a game." 

"Isn't it?"  

"You're too young to have any idea what you're talking about," 
he retorted. 

Merry's derision stirred an angry challenge in Pippin.  "Care to 
place a wager on that, cousin?  Come here and kiss me, and 
you'll take back those words."  

Frodo protested, but Merry seemed more than willing to take 
Pippin down a peg or two, and Pippin was more than eager to let 
him try: Pippin knew Merry underestimated him.  Severely.  

"I'll take that wager, <i>cousin</i>," said Merry as he stepped 
close, "and I'll make you <i>eat</i> those words."  

Pippin was only a little shorter than Merry, but he was used to 
the angle, and so when Merry grasped his upper arms and kissed 
him, Pippin opened his mouth and licked the firm line of Merry's 
lips.  Pippin watched warily -- he recognized this was not 
romance -- and saw Merry's eyes widen in surprise.  Pippin 
mirrored Merry's grip on his arms, tilted his head and worked 
insistently until Merry yielded and Pippin could taste him, 
tongue to tongue.  After a moment that seemed like twenty, he 
softened his grip on Merry's arms.  They drew a little apart. 

"That," said Merry, "was beginner's luck."  But his voice was 
uncertain.

Pippin was deeply pleased that he could look Merry in the eye 
when even last summer he couldn't.  There was guarded surprise 
on Merry's face, and a subtle shift that looked almost like 
approval: both sharpened Pippin's pleasure as much as the kiss.  
"Frodo has more experience; let him have a go and give his 
opinion."  Pippin turned to Frodo, who stood inexplicably close. 

Frodo looked torn between doubt and desire, and the struggle was 
oddly beautiful, though Pippin didn't think of it quite that 
way.  Pippin felt opposing pressures in himself: even if it was 
a new thing, he knew he wanted Frodo; and even if he disliked 
the older tween arrogance, he knew he wanted Merry, too.  He 
wanted Frodo to twist under Merry; he wanted Merry to arch over 
him; and most of all he wanted to forget his father's assertion 
that he was too young for such antics, and besides, tweenage 
passion would fade quick enough, so he'd better plan for the 
future with his head, not revel in the moment with his cock.  In 
this moment he wanted a great deal, not all of which he could 
honestly name, but he wanted nothing so much as another kiss, 
from Frodo this time.  No need to consider the future.  

"So maybe you've kissed someone before," said Merry.  "That 
wasn't all I was talking about.  There's so much more that 
happens in a bed."  

Pippin hardly heard him.  He stared at Frodo, remembering how 
the slow, fraught connection had held Frodo and Merry 
transfixed, spiraling on the edge of a kiss while Pippin had 
watched breathlessly from the hall.  He saw urgency in Frodo 
now.  There was no leisurely drawing together, no waiting; 
suddenly they clasped one another close, their mouths open to 
each other, hot and wet.  As when Pippin kissed Merry there was 
no romance, yet there was no challenge, either, only lust.  
Pippin closed his eyes.  His breath sawed through his nose, and 
Frodo was tight against him, not yielding at all like he had 
been in Merry's embrace, but taut.  Pippin could hardly stand; 
his legs were too soft to support him, and his guts puddled like 
hot water deep within him.  He managed it, though, and when he 
pulled away, it was only stubbornness that kept Pippin upright.  
He licked his lips and said, "Well?  Do I know what I'm talking 
about?"   

"I suspected you might even before I kissed you," said Frodo, 
his voice tight.  "But I think Merry's got a point.  Kissing 
alone is no proof of further knowledge."  He thumped him gently 
on the chest, and Pippin felt a crinkle of paper: a letter 
hidden in his pocket, one direct consequence of his experience, 
but its contents seemed a poor way to prove it, and he did not 
mention it. 

"Yes.  I have an excellent point," said Merry.  

"One I must refute, it seems," said Pippin. 

"Refute personally and," said Merry brazenly, as he defined his 
ultimatum, "to the both of us." 

Frodo frowned.  "Merry --" 

"Together," Merry insisted.  "Right here." 

"All right," Pippin said, though he was far from sanguine about 
the circumstances.  Happily, foolish bravery worked best without 
any thought at all, and he jumped into the dare immediately and 
began working open the buttons at the top of Merry's breeches.  
He paused for a moment, but only a moment, to consider an aspect 
of the situation deeply before he said, "Of course, you two must 
prove to <i>me</i> that you know what goes on in a bed.  Even if 
we're not in one."  And then he put his hand into Merry's open 
breeches. 

Merry and Frodo both gasped, most likely for different reasons, 
although Pippin wasn't sure about that assumption.  Watching 
seemed to affect Frodo as much as touching affected Merry, which 
was a strange new concept to Pippin -- newer and stranger by far 
than holding Merry in his hand: he had held his own cock often 
enough, and he knew what it felt like to have another's hand on 
him.  

Merry stumbled and clutched Frodo's shoulder with one hand and 
Pippin's forearm with the other; Frodo led Merry to lean into 
him, there against the table, and Pippin was drawn with him, 
having held on.  Merry drew his air in little snatches, and he 
bit his lip when Pippin twisted lightly.  Frodo groaned when 
Merry would not.  He kissed Merry, and Pippin felt the reaction 
in his hand.  Pippin felt oddly excluded despite his intimate 
placement of palm and complained.  "You two are hardly holding 
up your end of the bargain."  

Frodo drew Pippin in with an arm around his neck; drew him near 
until all three stood in a circle, their faces close.  "Merry," 
whispered Frodo.  "Merry, please . . . "  Merry fumbled for 
Frodo's breeches, but Frodo said, "No.  Pippin.  So I can see."  

Merry's hand was rough, the pleasure intense, and Pippin uttered 
a surprised exclamation that Frodo plucked right off his lips 
with his mouth.  They kissed for long, lazy minutes, Merry's 
breath harsh in Pippin's ear.  Pippin wormed his free hand down 
Frodo's side and pushed past the waist of his breeches to find 
exactly what he expected, long, hot, and damp.  Frodo's tongue 
in his mouth made him dizzy; Merry's hand on his cock made him 
weak.  He broke from Frodo to gasp, and Merry took his place: an 
open wet kiss, well-practiced.  Pippin hardly had to move his 
hand for Merry because Merry thrust into it, and Frodo shuddered 
in time with the hard, slow strokes of Pippin's other fist.  

Merry pulled back from kissing Frodo to pant; his face flushed 
with a dark pink that rose up from his chest; and his hand lost 
its intent on Pippin.  "Keep going, keep going," Pippin insisted 
greedily.  The rhythm resumed, but not as steady as he would 
have liked; the pressure increased, and Pippin's loosened 
trousers slipped down his hips to bunch at his knees.  "Keep 
going, keep going, keep <i>going</i>," he repeated, a plea to 
encourage the pace he wanted uttered in reedy gasps.  He would 
blush to recall the sound of it, knowing Frodo and Merry 
listened, but then Frodo distracted him with his soft chant 
rising, <i>oh, oh, oh</i>, at the same cadence as Pippin's 
litany, which was the same beat as Pippin's hand on Frodo.  
Frodo's brow puckered as if he was in pain; he turned his head 
away abruptly and shuddered, gripping hard Pippin's shoulder and 
wetting Pippin's hand. 

"Frodo," Merry choked.  He hid his eyes in the crook of Frodo's 
bent neck as he spilled, and his hand tightened hard on Pippin 
at the same time, pulling the very ground from under Pippin in a 
silent, violent heave of ecstasy. 

Frodo kept him up with his steady arm, and Pippin rested his 
head on Frodo's shoulder.  He looked at Merry inches away and 
wasn't sure what he saw in his face, though he thought it looked 
a bit like worry.  He felt the same wrinkle on his own brow, but 
he was pretty sure it was tenderness, and so hugged Merry's 
waist and Frodo's to retain the circle they'd made.  His nose 
touched Merry's and he nestled closer, lightly tracing Merry's 
cheek and eye and ear with his lips while Frodo pressed kisses 
into their hair.  

When they withdrew one from another at last they stood equally 
distant as they refastened their clothes.  Frodo gently urged 
them to sit and moved the kettle over the fire before readying 
cups, saucers, and spoons for tea.  Pippin caught Merry watching 
him, sleepy and more than a little thoughtful.  Merry looked 
away quickly to follow Frodo as he puttered.  Pippin abruptly 
asked, "So do you take it back, Merry?" 

"What?"  Merry was puzzled; it looked almost like hurt on his 
face. 

"That I'm too young to know about what goes on in bed," he said 
impatiently.  "Do you take that back?" 

"Your age isn't relevant anymore, Pippin," said Merry.  "Too 
young or not, you know now." 

"I knew before today," he insisted, "and I want you to 
acknowledge that." 

"You knew," said Merry.  "I take it back."

"Oh, that hardly counts -- say it like you mean it."

"I do mean it, you git," Merry retorted.  

"You don't sound convinced," said Pippin archly.  

Frodo down a tray and joined them at the table.  Merry took a 
teacup and fiddled with it.  "I think he's just surprised." 

"Why?"  Pippin turned from Frodo to Merry.  "You're surprised 
because I'm old enough?" 

"I guess I hadn't noticed until just now," said Merry.  "I 
expected you to back down, Pippin, but you didn't, not at all."  

"He gave as good as he got," Frodo added warmly.  "Better, even, 
which was a bit of a shock.  You are very young, Pippin." 

"I still think of him as a pest," Merry nodded at Frodo, and 
then turned before Pippin could protest.  "But Frodo's right: 
you gave as good as you got.  Makes me wonder just what you've 
been up to this past year in Tookland."  

Pippin resisted the urge to pat the letter in his shirt pocket.  
His father had written it, a request to the Mayor to keep Pippin 
busy and out of Tookland for the next fortnight to prevent him 
going to the fair; what the Mayor didn't know was this visit was 
also to keep him away from Peony Tunnelly, a comely, adventurous 
lass.  Pippin liked that she stood taller than him and spent 
hours leaned with her against trees, kissing.  Over the spring 
she and Pippin explored the length and breadth of Tookland 
finding every hidden place to tryst, eagerly perfecting their 
erotic skills with each encounter.  They continued to enjoy the 
other's company until Pippin dared to sneak her into his room, 
where Paladin found them naked and very busy.  The mortification 
nearly struck Pippin dead on the spot.  Paladin let Peony shove 
her frock over her head and scuttle out the door, but he lay 
several stinging lashes on Pippin's bare bottom with his belt 
before Pippin could snatch up his breeches and dash from the 
room.  

Once he realized he would survive, Pippin was left with a 
banquet of conflicting emotions: bitter disappointment for 
missing the fair; anger for whoever had ratted on him (he 
suspected Pearl); guilty confusion for Peony because neither of 
them wanted to see the other anymore; angry bewilderment for his 
father because he was both furious with him and yet ashamed for 
having been caught; and yet despite all the conflicting emotions 
he felt a great, smug pride in all the sexual congress he'd 
manage and couldn't wait to share the entire bewildering load 
with Frodo.  Inhibited by Merry's presence, he hadn't yet said a 
thing, but now, after having given and accepted the very 
pleasure he wanted to crow about, he could tell even Merry all 
about it. 

"Wonder all you'd like, Merry.  You'll never hear the tale from 
me," said Pippin.  "Though I suppose I could show you."  
  
"Oh?"  Merry sat straighter, his eyes glinting.  "All right, but 
you had better hop to it.  Frodo and I are leaving for 
Tuckborough at dawn." 

"We have the afternoon and night still."  Pippin liked the 
challenge that sparked between them.  

"Too bad you couldn't come with us." 

"Why has Paladin sent you to the end of the Shire?" asked Frodo. 

"I'm not inclined to tell that tale, either, Frodo," said Pippin 
primly.  He slumped a little, though.  "But I am to help grade 
the roads for the entire fortnight I'm there."  

"That is harsh on Paladin's part; no matter what you did, he was 
a tweenager once and probably did worse."  Frodo reached over to 
push Pippin's hair from his forehead.  "I must say you managed 
to hide your disappointment very well."  

"I can't say I look forward to spreading gravel through 
midsummer.  Bad enough I have to miss the fair."

"I could walk with you tomorrow," said Frodo, "and keep you 
company tomorrow night."  

Pippin looked up at Frodo, unexpected happiness pushing aside 
his disappointment.  "You'd do that for me?"   

"I would," said Frodo.  "You would owe me a debt, of course -- a 
rather big one."  

"Of course."  Pippin watched Merry's long fingers push his cup 
in circles.  It made a small sound as it turned, and Pippin 
wondered if he turned it long enough, would it wear a ring in 
the wood of the table.  "But then, you and Merry would miss 
going to the fair together." 

"Merry could come with us," said Frodo.  

"Ha," said Merry.  "And miss the fair?  You're good, Pippin, but 
not that good." 

"Ah, but see, then I could prove you wrong yet again," replied 
Pippin.  He knew somber thoughts worried Merry somehow, but the 
challenge remained genuine and very easy to answer.  "And I 
think I now know exactly what it was you and Frodo were doing on 
the table before I knocked at the door.  You keep making such 
dares, Merry, and who could resist shutting you up?" 

Frodo coughed and looked down, blushing.  

"No," said Pippin, straightening in his chair, "I think you and 
Merry should go to Tuckborough." 

"Are you sure?" said Frodo.  

"I have to face up to my shovel."  Just or not, the punishment 
had been assigned, and he was still child enough to want his 
father's forgiveness he knew waited once he paid his due.  Merry 
brightened, though, and for the first time the resignation was 
easy for Pippin to bear.  "It's only a fortnight."  

"You know, you are very welcome to visit when you're finished."  

Pippin touched Merry's arm.  Merry looked up.  Pippin asked, 
"Will you be here when I come back through?"  

"I could be," he said, and his eyes were guarded.  

"I must admit, I was disappointed when you answered Frodo's 
door, but this -- this --"  Pippin drew a vague shape in the 
air, "whatever it is we did here this morning -- I like it."  
Slowly he added, "I would like to do it again.  All three of us.  
Together." 

Frodo and Merry looked at each other.  Pippin saw they knew each 
other very well, and he worried they would shut him out again, 
but then they turned to him. 

"Come to Bag End when you can," said Merry.  "We'll both answer 
the door." 

*