West of the Moon
A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive
Frodo has a nightmare while visiting Buckland, and Pippin proposes a rather unorthodox form of comfort.
Author: Lobelia Sackville-Baggins
Merry jolted awake, unsure in the thick darkness what had even woken him; but it had woken Pippin too, making him stir restlessly in Merry's arms and then lift himself onto his elbows. Blinking dubiously, the two of them were still for a moment, listening.
The sobs were barely audible, breathy and uneven, but clearly coming from Frodo's room next door. Merry rolled to the side of the bed and groped for his pants, but Pippin stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I'll go," he said firmly.
"Pip," Merry began rather groggily, meaning to tell him to go back to sleep; but Pippin was already up, tugging a nightshirt haphazardly over his head.
"I'll be right back," Pippin promised, and was out the door before Merry could protest again. Frowning, Merry lay back down, twisting the pillowcase restlessly in his fingertips as he listened to Pippin knocking softly on Frodo's door. Frodo gave an indistinct answer, and after a moment Merry heard Pippin's voice, soft and worried, mingling quietly with Frodo's. Something that sounded vaguely like a protest from Frodo, and an answer from Pippin in a tone of voice that Merry recognized all too well and that infallibly resulted in Pippin getting his way; and then after a minute the door to their room opened and Pippin came back in, Frodo in tow.
Merry wondered if Frodo had been crying in his sleep; he looked frankly bewildered, tousled and tear-stained, and not any too awake. Pippin herded him over to the bed.
"In you go, Frodo," he ordered, bundling his cousin into the bed.
"But -" Frodo began.
"There you go, under the covers with you. Comfortable?"
"Pippin, I don't -"
"Good." Pippin stripped off his nightshirt and got in beside Frodo, prodding and nudging until Frodo was nestled securely between him and Merry. Frodo frowned up at Merry in bewilderment; Merry gave him a resigned shrug and wrapped an arm around him, reaching across to rest his hand on Pippin's shoulder.
"There. That's better," Pippin said happily, curling against Frodo. "Turn over a bit - there you go."
Frodo sighed in exasperation and leaned his head against Merry's shoulder. "Pippin, I said I was sorry I woke you. I was having a nightmare, that's all," he explained to Merry, tilting his chin up to look at his cousin.
Merry frowned. "Tell it to us, then. Maybe we can tell you what it meant."
"Did you turn into a gammer when I wasn't looking?" But Frodo nestled closer to Merry, tugging Pippin with him, and sighed. "It wasn't anything really. It was... everything was cold and dark and I couldn't move, and there was something in the dark that I was terrified of, so terrified that I could barely even breathe, but I didn't know what it was. And I hurt so much that it felt like every bone in my body was shattering."
"Oh, Frodo," Merry whispered into Frodo's dark hair.
"That's awful," Pippin said, distress clear in his voice.
"That wasn't the worst of it. I'd lost something, I don't know what, but it was... it was horrible, vile, and I needed it, it was precious to me. I'd been entrusted with it and something horrible was going to happen if I lost it, and it was gone. And something else was gone too, I don't know what that was either but it was as if all the light and love in the world had disappeared with it, all of the Shire and home bound in this thing that I'd lost and could never get back."
"I think I'm going to cry now," Pippin said, his voice muffled in Frodo's hair. His arm slipped tightly around Frodo's waist, wriggling between Frodo's body and Merry's.
Frodo laughed shakily and wiped at his eyes. "It's all right. I'm awake now, and it's gone. I should -"
"If what you 'should' involves you going back to your room, Frodo Baggins, just you think better of it," Pippin answered sternly.
"Stay here with us, Frodo," Merry whispered. "I can't bear the thought of you going back to your room to lie there alone in the dark, after all that."
"Hrm." Frodo gave a small wriggle, forward and back, and suddenly Merry rather wished he hadn't. "But it looks as if I interrupted something."
"We were asleep."
"But we aren't anymore," Pippin pointed out.
"No, we -" Merry stopped dead and lifted his head a little, peering suspiciously at Pippin over Frodo's soft mop of curls.
Pippin gave him a charmingly innocent smile and nuzzled Frodo's hair aside to catch Frodo's earlobe between his teeth. "We're quite awake now," he mumbled around Frodo's skin.
Frodo's eyes, which had drifted closed, flew open again. "Pippin -"
"I don't think I can sleep now, hearing about that," Pippin whispered, his mouth tracing gently along the upsweep of Frodo's ear.
"Really that wasn't what I - Mmmmmm."
Merry followed the path of Pippin's mouth and found that he had latched onto the exact spot behind Frodo's ear most likely to make their cousin purr like a cat and melt into a quite irresistible lump of sensuality. He took a deep, shaky breath, watching Pippin's tongue laving Frodo's skin and Frodo stretching slowly between them.
"I think," Pippin murmured, slipping his hand under Frodo's nightshirt in a long slow stroke over his hip and up his side, "that we could all use something to distract us. Just so that we can go back to sleep, you understand."
Frodo's gaze rose to Merry's, full of rueful laughter. "He's quite demanding, isn't he?"
"He is indeed," Merry said in a rather strangled voice, and congratulated himself on his remarkable ability to say anything at all.
"I wonder if this is actually a good... ah. Oh."
"Mm, yes," Pippin breathed, his hand moving in a slow caress on Frodo's chest. Merry swallowed hard and watched the movement of Pippin's hand under Frodo's nightshirt, suddenly painfully hard and all too aware of the response of Frodo's body against his.
"Do you," Frodo asked Pippin breathlessly, "always get what you want?"
"Oh, sooner or later," Pippin laughed. His hand slipped out from under Frodo's nightshirt, leaving it rucked up around Frodo's chest, and laced into Merry's hair. A gentle pressure brought Merry's mouth forward onto Frodo's.
Frodo's mouth was warm and soft under Merry's and his body was sandwiched rather tightly between theirs, and Pippin's hand slipped between them, fingers dancing with maddening lightness over the both of them. Frodo moaned into the kiss and wrapped himself around Merry, moving in a slow thorough undulation too deliberate to quite qualify as a wriggle, and it certainly looked as if Pippin was going to get his way this time too.
Giving happily in to the inevitable, Merry reached past Frodo and pulled Pippin closer, sliding his hand over the smooth line of Frodo's hip to find where Pippin was pressed tight against him. In response, Pippin's hand tightened around Merry and Frodo both, and he gave a soft cry against the nape of Frodo's neck. Frodo whimpered, his hand tightening in Merry's hair; and oh, all this was very nice indeed, but would surely be nicer if Frodo's nightshirt weren't bunched between them.
Merry wriggled a little away and slid his hand under the nightshirt, pausing to toy with a taut nipple and watching in fascination as Frodo gasped and bit his lip. That was surely worthy of further investigation, but first he wanted that inconvenient nightshirt dispensed with; nudging Pippin back a bit, he pulled it off over Frodo's head, dropped it onto the floor, and slid down to replace his hand with his mouth. Frodo arched forward with a muffled cry and twisted his hand behind him to do something that Pippin apparently quite liked; and just watching this, watching Pippin's hands on Frodo's body, was so arousing that it made Merry's head swim.
"Please," Frodo whimpered, and whatever else he had intended to say was lost as he stiffened with a sharp cry. Merry smiled lazily, quite familiar with the effect that Pippin's fingers could have on the hobbit body, and began kissing his way slowly down Frodo's stomach. Frodo's breath was coming in sharp pants now, and Pippin was squirming and moaning in a way that suggested that whatever Frodo's hand was doing to him felt very good indeed, and Pippin's leg slipped over Merry's back and pulled him full against Frodo, at which point it seemed no more than common sense to take Frodo into his mouth as deeply as he could.
Involved as he was in what he was doing and the lovely sounds it was drawing from Frodo, it took him a moment to notice that Pippin had pulled away. Only briefly, though, and then he was back, slipping a hand under Frodo's knee and drawing his fingertips lightly along the soft skin behind it as he tugged it upward. Then his hips were sliding flush against Frodo's and Frodo arched hard, pushing back against Pippin with a sharp, desperate cry.
Pippin caught Frodo's hip for a moment, holding him still; and Merry slowed his own rhythm, reaching between Frodo's legs to caress him and Pippin both and drawing distinctively appreciative whimpers from both of them.
"Merry," Frodo gasped. "Let me... ah, Pip, yes! "
Merry laughed and shifted obediently around, feeling Frodo's mouth close around him as Pippin began a slow rhythm. It was awkward at first, trying to match that rhythm between them; but then it fell into place, and Pippin's thrusts moved Frodo's hips against Merry's mouth in a way that was neither too fast nor too slow, and one of these days Merry was going to find out where Frodo had learned to do that and send a properly-worded thank-you note along. Pippin's fingers laced into his hair, guiding his movements as Frodo writhed between them with increasingly frantic cries that vibrated along Merry's skin in a way that seemed to connect his ears quite directly to places much lower down. And oh, it was wonderful, Pippin's hand and Frodo's mouth on him, his mouth on Frodo and his hand stroking over Pippin's hip, and suddenly Frodo's tongue gave a sharp twist that made Merry quite certain that he could have tied a knot in a cherry stem with it and it was all too much, and he was crying out Pippin's name and Frodo's and clinging desperately to the hot tangle of bodies as release flooded him.
"Mm," Pippin sighed after a moment, and with some difficulty Merry lifted his head from Frodo's thigh and peered upward to where Pippin's tongue thoroughly probed Frodo's mouth.
"Mm," Frodo returned, and wriggled his hips between them. "Don't stop."
Merry laughed and shifted around to take Frodo in his mouth again, letting himself be drawn forward as Frodo's legs wrapped around him. Pippin began moving again, harder and faster this time, and Frodo's cries became increasingly urgent until he caught one fist in Merry's hair and the other in Pippin's, tensing between them.
"Frodo, I'm close, I can't -" Pippin gasped, his hand tightening on Frodo's hip.
"Merry, Pip, yes, please, just a... little... Ah!" Frodo wailed and caught Pippin's arm in a white-knuckled grip, twisting against them, sharp cries of pleasure mingling with Pippin's as Pippin's hand tightened almost painfully in Merry's hair.
For a long moment they were still, limp and boneless against one another. With considerable effort, Merry hauled himself back up toward the head of the bed, wrapping an arm over Pippin and Frodo both. Frodo murmured in contentment and rolled over to pull Pippin into his arms; Pippin nuzzled sleepily against him, wrapping an arm and a leg over Frodo and onto Merry.
"Mm. That was nice," Merry said after a minute.
Frodo laughed breathlessly. "Very. You do have some wonderful ideas from time to time, Pippin."
"Of course I do," Pippin answered smugly. "Now you'll sleep better."
"I'm sure I will," Frodo said around a yawn, and settled comfortably into his cousins' arms.
Merry found himself frowning a little; the thought of Frodo's dream still unsettled him. Then he set it aside and whispered, "Night, Frodo. Night, Pip."
"Mmm," they answered more or less in unison, clearly halfway asleep already.
Nestling closer to them, Merry smiled and nudged his face against black and auburn hair intertwined on the pillow, and did not dream at all.
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