Disclaimer: All characters belong to the Tolkien Estate. No offence is intended, nor profit made.
AN: Frodo and Merry are more or less movie canon, so the difference in ages is not that great. Though they talk rather more like book Frodo and Merry, which is not helpful.
Setting: Post-Quest and before Frodo sails.
Rating: NC17
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk
Merry stood before the hearth at Bag End and smiled. There had been a time not so long ago when he had barely reached the mantel, yet now he could easily rest his arm upon it. He had grown.
"Ent draught, my dear cousin," he proclaimed, proudly, "is a wondrous thing indeed. I am now much taller than you." He tried not to puff out his chest in pride but it was difficult to resist, given that he was wearing a very fetching new waistcoat the colour of fresh mustard, and new breeches of moss green. Frodo sighed.
"You are taller, yes, cousin. I am pleased for you, truly I am. Yet it is not always the inches from foot to crown that count, but more often those from root to tip." Frodo sat quietly upon the wooden settle in the parlour, smoking his pipe and regarding his cousin wryly.
"Ah, but that has grown, too!" Merry said, smugly; he thrust out his hips to emphasise the point. "Why think you that I had to have new breeches made?"
Frodo smiled, indulgently. "My dear cousin, when we first played our -games- in the gaffer's shed, did we not agree that I was substantially bigger than you? By some measure?" Frodo tapped out his pipe upon the hearth.
"That was years ago, Frodo! Things have changed, obviously. Let's to bed and I'll prove it to you." Merry had a glint in his eye which promised much, but Frodo was having none of it.
"We will to bed, to be sure, and we will carry on as we always have. Ent draught or no Ent draught." He rose from the settle, his arousal plain to see, and Merry's eyes watered. Since their return, Frodo had not been himself and would not even entertain the thought of lying with his cousin in the old way. Merry had sorely missed their trysts, though he had been patient during the quest and considerate of Frodo's ordeal and the subsequent months of convalescence. Now his skin tingled and his cock twitched in anticipation of an afternoon abed with Frodo. He longed to run his hands through Frodo's curls and crush his lips with hot kisses. No one had lips like Frodo's, no one had such smooth, satin skin...
"You have oil, cousin?" Merry asked in as casual a voice as he was able to muster, as they made their way to the master bedroom.
Frodo drew the curtains closed and turned back the coverlet. Beneath his pillow, where it had lain neglected for some months, was a little bottle, placed there almost out of habit upon his return to claim his old life. He picked it up and shook it gently. Merry, unable to resist any longer, pulled his cousin into his arms and kissed him.
At first, his kisses were soft and affectionate, good natured pecks and nibbles, a means of reacquainting himself with Frodo's mouth and neck, his smell… But then his body began to reawaken to the feel of Frodo, and it was so good and it had been so long; so very long.
Merry stretched across for the bottle of oil with one hand whilst pulling free his shirt tails with the other. Beneath him, Frodo squirmed and tried to reclaim the little flask with its precious contents.
"Lie quietly, Frodo, that's a good hobbit," Merry teased, laying the bottle on the bedside table within easy reach. Now he was tugging at his cousin's breeches, pulling them down and off. He gasped in delight at the glorious skin revealed but his pleasure was diluted as he felt a deep pang of sorrow; he beheld the wounds that marred the perfection that had been Frodo's. Their eyes met but no words exchanged. Carefully, Merry traced his tongue along the scars and abrasions, his eyes fixed always on Frodo's as he lapped at the abused body beneath him. Straddling Frodo now, Merry slipped off his shirt, gratified at Frodo's intake of breath. Frodo reached out his hand and touched Merry's body, seeing, as he was, for the first time, his cousin's own souvenirs of the war. He took Merry's hand in his then, guiding Merry's fingers into his mouth, suckling them one at a time as his cousin writhed above him.
Merry moved, pulling off his breeches and tossing them aside. "Oh, Frodo," he murmured. Tenderly, he took Frodo into his mouth, the very taste of him enough to bring him to the edge. Frodo bucked beneath him, whimpering those words Merry hoped were reserved for him alone. He lifted Frodo's hips just enough to get his hand beneath, squeezing his cousin's buttocks and grazing his cleft. Frodo caught his breath, tried to move away, but Merry's grip was firm. With his finger he worshipped Frodo's opening even as with his mouth he did the same to Frodo's member. "Merry…" Frodo cried out and then he opened his legs wide and gasped "The oil! Now!"
Merry needed no further prompting. He released Frodo's body for just long enough to shuffle down the bed and onto the floor. Frodo panted, up on his elbows, his pale skin flushed with arousal.
"You do know what you are doing, I suppose?" Frodo asked, a little scepticism mingled with his lust. Their games had always run a certain course, taken a certain route and ended the same way every time. He had always been the one to take, with love and with gentleness and with care. Now it seemed his cousin had other ideas.
Frodo watched with fascination as Merry poured a little oil onto his member - and he gulped as he realised the Ent draught had indeed been meticulously even-handed in its beneficence. For Merry's cock was much, much longer and thicker than he remembered. It also seemed to quiver, as if it knew it was being admired… Frodo shook his head and forced his eyes away from Merry's magnificent member. He felt his ankles being grasped and then he was tugged down to the bottom of the bedstead. Merry stood, one knee resting on the mattress, and leaned down to insert a slick finger inside Frodo, then a second. As Merry's fingers went to work, Frodo took his own neglected cock into his hand and began to stroke, gently. He watched his cousin, concentrating as he prepared him for their lovemaking, and wondered why he had never seen how pretty Merry was with his tongue lolling like that, why he had never let him do this before. What a waste. Then he had no time for thinking because he was being penetrated and all he could hear was Merry's tiny gasp as he sank inside; all the preparation, all the foreplay, all the years of love and devotion, all collaborated to allow a smooth, easy glide that was at odds with that huge shaft. Frodo felt not pain but fulfilment; he hooked a hand beneath his leg to allow Merry as much freedom as he could to move.
The bed creaked to Merry's rhythm but no words were uttered. Both hobbits were entirely lost in the moment, heedless of the sun's setting which cast a fiery glow all around their cosy room. Frodo released his grip on his thigh and held out his hand, which was instantly grasped by Merry; their fingers entwined as their bodies merged over and over again. Frodo finally came, sweet little gouts of stickiness on his damp belly, and a moment later Merry, too, had succumbed.
"Oh Frodo," Merry whispered as he lay down beside his lover. They pulled the eiderdown up and over their cooling bodies and lay awhile, sated and languid. Merry gently stroked his cousin's shoulder and then a great weariness took a hold of him and he felt his eyes begin to droop. Whether it was the gloaming or the first patter of rain upon the pane, he could not say, but it seemed to Merry that Frodo glowed in his arms. At any rate, he was warm and boneless.
"May I keep you, Frodo? Keep you as you are now, as we are now?" he breathed in Frodo's ear. "Answer me, love."
Frodo murmured, half asleep, and opened one eye. "It seems you are quite big enough to do with me whatever you please," he replied, sighing, then he turned on his side and began to snore softly. Merry smiled, practically bursting with love and pride; he pulled the eiderdown in tight around Frodo, spooning him in the growing darkness.
He would keep Frodo with him forever, always by his side; this he knew with certainty. Keep him and love him and make love to him for the rest of their days. As sleep began to overtake him, he found himself almost absently stroking the scar upon Frodo's chest, that first, evil wound from Weathertop that had nearly claimed his cousin.
But that was then and this was now and all was right with the world once more and the evil had been defeated... Merry snuggled down against Frodo's warmth and kissed his back. Forever, Frodo he thought, then fell soundly to sleep.
The End