


Shelter From the Storm

by Mews1945



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-07
Updated: 2006-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mews1945/pseuds/Mews1945
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo is lost in a storm, and Merry comes to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter From the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hobbit-Smut With A Cherry On Top challenge

"Frodo, you will be careful, won't you?" Bilbo held the reins, gentling Frodo's little mare as Frodo mounted, settled himself in the saddle, and checked to make sure that his pack was secure behind him. "It's a long ride to Buckland. And it's quite possible there will be snow." He scanned the sky where only a few clouds floated in the blue, then smiled wryly up at Frodo. "My old bones are telling me so."

"I will be careful, Bilbo." Frodo restrained a sigh. One would think he was a child of nine rather than a full grown hobbit of twenty nine. But in his secret heart he was comforted by Bilbo's concern, and he smiled fondly at his cousin.

"Please, don't worry about me, Bilbo."

"Too late for that, Frodo," Bilbo replied. "You've been my lad for ten years, and good years they've been, but the worry is all a part of it." He patted the mare again and stepped back, releasing the reins as Frodo gathered them into his own hands. "Tell Saradoc and Esme I'll see them five days hence."

"I will." Frodo grinned at him. "Oh, and Bilbo? _You_ be careful too."

He clapped his heels to the pony's flanks to start her off, and rode away with Bilbo's chuckles to cheer him on his way.

Frodo's pony was a placid little grey mare named Bluebell who had an easy gait and a tendency to stop and graze by the wayside whenever Frodo's attention wandered, which it often did as he rode along. It was only the second time he had ridden alone to Buckland and he felt rather lonely without Bilbo along to beguile the hours with his tales and songs. But Merry had written and pleaded with him to come a few days early for his Yule visit, so that the two of them could have a bit of time together before the many other guests arrived. Frodo had promised that he would and looked forward to spending a few quiet days with Merry.

The weather was fine and fair, if cold, and the first day of his journey went well. He spent the night at the Bridge Inn, where the only other guests were a pair of oldsters who were happy to join him by the fire with a stoup of ale after supper. But Frodo was very tired from the unaccustomed riding and went to his room earlier than was his habit. He slept fitfully in the strange bed and woke several times during the night restless and uncomfortable. Only when dawn began to lighten the eastern sky did he finally sink into true sleep, worn out and with an aching head.

The morning was far advanced when he woke and his head still felt heavy and dull. When he got up, he wasn't hungry and settled for a breakfast of strong tea and dry toast. By the time he had finished, the inn's groom had brought his pony up to the inn yard, saddled and ready. The innkeeper accompanied Frodo outside and stood with him, surveying the sky before turning to him with a dubious expression on his round, red face.

'Tis a weatherin' sky, Mr. Baggins," he said. "We'll have snow afore evenin', I shouldn't wonder. Mayhap you'd be better off to stay another night here and ride on tomorrow."

Frodo studied the clouds, their dark bellies drooping over the rolling countryside to the west and north. To the east, there was still a fair bit of blue sky showing. He had to agree with the innkeeper. It seemed likely that snow would arrive before darkness fell. But he was expected by early afternoon at Brandy Hall, and he longed for the ease and warmth of his family about him, and an evening spent talking and joking with Merry, with the comfort of a deep, soft feather bed awaiting him at bedtime.

"I daresay I can reach my destination before the storm arrives ," he said. "But thank you for your concern."

He mounted his pony and set out for what should have been an easy ride the rest of the way to Brandy Hall. The wind at his back was soft at first, if a bit chilly, but began to rise soon after he left, and before he had traveled far it was blowing hard and it brought the snow with it. The cold swept down on him and gripped like an iron fist and both hobbit and pony were soon suffering acutely as they laboured onward. Frodo rode with his head bowed, wishing his cloak was thicker and that he'd taken his old hat out of his saddlebag before leaving the inn. He considered stopping to get the hat out, but it seemed easier to just keep going, with his scarf and collar pulled up to shield his neck as much as possible. He also wished he had listened to the innkeeper and stayed at the inn for another night. He could be sitting by the fire right now, with an ale in one hand and his pipe in the other, safe and comfortable, rather than out in the storm. A second uneasy night in the hard bed would have been preferable to this. Bilbo would chide him if he learned how foolishly Frodo had behaved.

After a long, miserable time of such ruminations whilst the snow beat against his back and thickly frosted his hair and shoulders, and his pony struggled on through the worsening storm, he reached a crossroad where a wagon track and the east road met. There was an old forked tree that he and Merry had often climbed as lads and it was the tree that reminded him of a short cut that they had frequently taken across the fields. Brandy Hall was several miles further on by the road, but cutting across the field would save at least half that distance. The snowfall had thickened and the wind whirled it about him, and the icy chill that had crept into his bones decided him. He had to urge Bluebell strongly to turn and leave the comparative smoothness of the road for the rougher going of the field, but she was a docile little beast and obeyed his will. He soon found himself wishing that she had refused.

The pony was picking her way carefully over the furrows when she stumbled, and nearly went to her knees. Frodo clutched the saddle to prevent himself from falling, and somehow Bluebell kept her feet, but when she took another step she lurched, then stopped and stood trembling. Frodo dismounted and bent to check her leg, running his hand from shoulder to knee, then to her fetlock. The leg was swelling just below the knee joint, but he could feel no break in the slender bones and he straightened up and went to the mare's head, stroking and soothing her as best he could. Her shaggy coat was matted with particles of ice and snow and her breath puffed from her pink nostrils in great, pale clouds. Frodo gathered the reins and looked up at the snow spinning down from the darkening sky overhead.

"Come along, Blue," he coaxed. "We must go on. Come along now, there's a good pony."

She nickered and followed when Frodo tugged at the reins. He murmured encouragement, hoping he would soon spy the lamps of Brandy Hall shining through the gathering dusk.

* * *

  
Frodo stumbled for what felt like the tenth time and only just managed to keep himself from pitching head-first into a snowdrift. He steadied himself against the pony's shoulder and peered into the darkness, shivering as the wind knifed through his heavy cloak and coat as though they were linen rather than lined wool. He could see no lights anywhere, but he dared not stop moving for long, so he plodded onward, coaxing the mare to follow and trying to hold off the fear that clutched at his throat.

He would have done better to stay on the road, with the trees and brush on either side to serve as windbreaks. In the open field there was no protection from the wind's bite or from the icy snow it flung at him. His feet, furred and leathery-soled as they were, had long since gone completely numb, and his hands, though encased in his best woolen gloves, were stiff and icy. And the scarf he'd wrapped over his nose and mouth wasn't any help and made him feel half-smothered as well.

Just to remain upright and lead the flagging pony required all his strength and he had begun to think he must have veered from his path somehow. Perhaps the wind had shifted and confused him. Surely he should be seeing the lamps of the Hall by now. He put his head down, feeling rather desperate, and pushed onward, hoping that he was moving toward safety and not away from it.

He had been so long alone with only the voice of the wind that he did not at first realize that he heard other voices within it. When he did notice, he stopped and raised his head, peering hopefully about him. He saw a small, misty light bobbing through the snow, then Bluebell nickered and another pony neighed in answer and Frodo felt his heart lift, although he was too exhausted to feel much beyond vague relief. He managed to lift his hand and tug his scarf down from his mouth, stiff and frozen as it was with moisture from his breath. When he spoke, his voice was frighteningly weak. He cleared his throat and tried again, managing a hoarse shout that carried a bit further.

"Who's there? Uncle Saradoc?"

"Frodo?" The voice was like Saradoc's but higher, a light baritone rather than a bass bellow. "Frodo, is that you? It's Merry! Answer so that we can find you!"

"I'm here!" he called back, his voice trembling. He staggered forward, trying to hurry toward his cousin and of course that was when he tripped and went sprawling. His ankle twisted and sharp pain shot through his leg, and the impact smashed the breath out of him. He lay spent and helpless, fighting just to fill his lungs, his heart pounding wildly from the shock. A pony appeared out of the dark and snow and shied away, snorting. Frodo heard Merry speaking to it in a firm, calming tone. He pushed himself up on his forearms and as he did, he saw Merry dismount and come hurrying toward him through the blowing snow. He put his strong arms about Frodo and hugged him. "Frodo, you fool, just look at what you've gotten yourself into!" he scolded. "You're nearly frozen. Can you put your arm around my waist?"

Frodo managed to wrap his aching arm around the sturdy body and gasped as Merry rose and all-but lifted him to his feet. Merry's strength startled Frodo, as did the size of him. He seemed to have grown several inches taller since they had seen each other nearly a year ago. Merry felt hard-muscled and powerful and very warm, and Frodo leaned on him, panting.

"Come along," Merry said, guiding Frodo to his pony's side. "I've got our Bob with me. He'll help you up behind me. Just hold onto my stirrup for a moment, Frodo. You can do that, can't you?"

Now that he had been found, Frodo's weariness seemed to have doubled. "I think so," he whispered. "I've sprained my ankle. And I am so very cold." But he managed to wrap his fingers around the leather of the stirrup that Merry pushed into his hand and clung with all his failing strength. Another hobbit appeared at his side and he recognized one of Brandy Hall's grooms and murmured, "Hullo, Bob, I'm very glad to see you."

"Aye, and it's glad I am to see you, Mr. Frodo," Bob replied. "Let me just help you get your foot into the stirrup here and I'll give you a good boost and we'll soon have you on the pony."

A moment later, Frodo was mounted behind his cousin, his arms wrapped about Merry's waist, his cheek laid against the broad, muscled back, and they started off at a walk, Bob and his lantern lighting the way. Frodo's teeth chattered, his body shuddering helplessly from the cold.

"Bob," Merry called. "We must get Frodo warm as soon as possible. Head for the Borderer's cottage. We won't bother going all the way back to the Hall tonight."

"Aye, Mr. Merry."

Frodo wondered just how far astray he had gone, but he was too weary to let it concern him for long. He gave up thinking and leaned against Merry's warmth, hoping they would find shelter soon. The pony's easy gait rocked him and the knowledge that he was safe filled him and he sank into darkness.

* * *

  
He awoke in a room strange to him and lay wondering where and when he was. The bed was smaller than his own at home and the mattress was harder than he was used to. The walls that he could see were made of a dark wood that gleamed. There were blankets piled on top of him and when he moved his hand experimentally down his body he discovered that he had been stripped of his wet clothing. It was no use, he still felt chilled and pulled the blankets to his chin and turned his head to see where Merry had gone.

His cousin knelt before the corner fireplace, feeding the fire in the grate. He worked smoothly, his long fingers dexterous and quick, the light shining on his face and gilding the wheaten gold of his curls.

Frodo watched him, bemused by the changes he saw in Merry. When last they had seen one another Merry had been a gangling lad with thin arms and legs, unkempt curls on head and feet, and had usually sported smears of soil or food somewhere on his clothing. Merry had been in the midst of changing from lad to young adult hobbit, grappling with all the stormy feelings that had precipitated, sunk in despair one moment, wild with elation or rage the next. He'd been a trial to his parents, his tutor, and the workinghobbits charged with teaching him the skills necessary to someday fulfill his duties as Master of the Hall.

To Frodo, Merry had been the young cousin who had loved him and followed him like a shadow for all the days they had known each other, and in that respect Merry hadn't changed in the slightest. When he stood and turned now to smile at Frodo it was plain that that was still true. Merry wore his everyday clothing, a plain woolen jacket and breeches over a flannel shirt, but he looked neatly turned out and clean and his curls were only slightly disordered. The freckles of summer had faded, leaving his skin fair, smooth and clear. His smile was the same crooked grin that Frodo had always found so endearing.

"Ah, so you're finally awake," he said, and came to sit on the bed. "Are you warmer now?"

"A bit," Frodo said. "Merry, where are we? And how did you ever find me out there?"

"This is one of the cottages we keep stocked for the Borderers to use when they're patrolling," Merry replied. "I thought it better to bring you here because it's much closer than the Hall, and you were desperately in need of shelter." He looked Frodo over critically. "When the storm started and you hadn't arrived, I became concerned and decided to ride out and meet you on the road, and Bob agreed to come with me. We rode all the way to the crossroad and by then I was quite certain you had done something ill-advised and gotten yourself into trouble. It occurred to me that taking the old shortcut would be just the sort of harebrained thing you would do."

"Harebrained? Now see here, Meriadoc. . ." Frodo tried to sit up, stung, but Merry put a hand on his chest and held him down easily.

"Yes, and of course I knew that you'd be in a predicament if you had," Merry went on calmly. "Bob and I turned off and took the old path. The snow had drifted, but it was actually almost clear in some areas, and we saw the track of a pony's hoof, and it's a lucky thing for you that we did. It actually wasn't very long afterward that my pony scented your mare. You had turned in a circle, Frodo. You were heading back toward the road, but you were tacking to the left, so you would not have come to the road, but kept wandering in that circle, no doubt until you fell from exhaustion."

Frodo shuddered at the thought.

"Ridiculous Baggins," Merry added tartly. "It's a wonder you've survived to the age you have, when you're such a careless creature. Really, Frodo, to leave the road in a snowstorm is daft, even for you."

"See here," Frodo said again. He tried once more to sit up and managed to raise himself up on his arm and glared at Merry, who only grinned cheekily at him. "If I weren't half-frozen and completely naked you wouldn't dare speak so to me, you impudent scamp."

"Ah, but you are, Frodo, so you'll lie there and do as you're told, or I shall refuse to give you back your clothes. Not that they're going to be fit for wearing after this in any case. And perhaps that's for the best. You never did have much taste, cousin." Merry brushed at his own lapels fastidiously.

Frodo let himself fall back against the pillows, still too weak to remain propped upright for long. "Says the hobbit who wore a yellow waistcoat with a red and green striped shirt," he retorted.

"That was last year, Frodo," Merry answered. "I was a mere lad." He grinned. "Well, now, I have tea ready. I'll get it, shall I? Perhaps a bit to eat will improve your temper."

"My temper is not in need of improvement, Meriadoc. Your manners, however. . ."

Merry waved his complaints away with an airy gesture. "You'll feel better after tea," he said, and stood up.

Half-resentful and half-amused, Frodo watched him cross the small room, noting the ease and power in his movements, the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist and hips and the flexing of the muscles in his thighs beneath the close-fitting breeches. It occurred to him that he was looking at Merry in a way and with a mixture of emotions that he had never allowed himself to feel toward him before. A rush of hot blood rose in his face and he forced himself to look round the room, seeking distraction. There was little to see. By the bed was a small table with a candle holder, though the candle wasn't lit. In the fireplace the fire now burned briskly. Before it sat a cushioned chair and a side table, and across the room was a dining table with two chairs placed neatly under it. In the corner opposite the fireplace stood a large cupboard and by the door was a peg rack where his clothing had been hung to dry alongside Merry's cloak and hat.

"Where has Bob gone?" Frodo asked. He had only just remembered that the other hobbit had been with Merry, and felt a twinge of shame that he had actually forgotten him. "And the ponies? Is Bluebell alright?"

Merry had busied himself with the crockery from the cupboard and fetched the tea pot from the hob. He returned to Frodo carrying a tray on which was a plate that held buttered bread with strawberry jam, which he had cut into pieces, a wedge of sharp cheese, and a sliced red apple. There was also a mug from which rose wisps of steam. He sat down on the bed again, the tray on his lap.

"Bob rode back to Brandy Hall and took the ponies where they could be sheltered and cared for," he answered. "Your mare is lamed, but she will recover, he thinks. And he'll tell Mother and Father that we're safe here. When the storm ends, they'll send a cart for us." He picked up the mug. "Here, Frodo, I'll help you with your tea."

"I can do it." Frodo reached for the tea but Merry batted his hand aside easily.

"You're still weak. You'll drop it. Let me hold it for you."

"You overstep your bounds, Merry," Frodo said sharply and was shocked when Merry only laughed at him.

"My bounds have changed, Frodo. I've grown, in case you haven't noticed." He offered the mug again and Frodo finally accepted a sip of the tea. It was sweet with honey and tasted powerfully of brandy and he grimaced.

"It'll warm you," Merry said. "Drink it."

"You're rather imperious for the lad I used to chase down in order to force him to take a bath," Frodo teased, smiling. He drank more tea obediently and discovered that the second taste was much more agreeable.

"I am no longer that lad." Merry set the tea down and put the tray on the table by the bed. He picked up a slice of the apple and turned back to Frodo. He was still smiling, but his eyes had darkened when he met Frodo's gaze, and his voice was softer when he spoke again. "Remember the winter when I was ten and fell off my pony and broke my arm, Frodo?"

Frodo nodded. "I remember." He looked into the beloved face so close to him, and felt his breathing quicken. The feelings that had surprised and disconcerted him earlier returned, and there was no distracting himself this time. Merry was too close, too warm and appealing, and Frodo could not deny the temptation his very presence created, although he knew he must try to hide it.

"It did hurt terribly," Merry went on. "And I couldn't eat for hours, not even the warm drink Mother had made for me. But you brought me an apple, and sliced it into bites and fed them to me."

"And you were so good and brave and tried so hard to do what I asked," Frodo said gently.

"I would do anything for you, Frodo." All levity had gone from Merry. He spoke with a solemnity unusual in one so young. "And now I'm grown up and I want to care for you."

"I don't have a broken arm." Frodo knew his attempt at a joke was pathetic, but the words seemed to come out without his volition. He was still compelled to try to cling to their familiar roles. "I can feed myself."

But Merry did not acknowledge his poor effort at humor. He stared at Frodo, his eyes smoky-blue, intense and heavy-lidded and after a moment a smile curled the corners of his mouth, one that was more than a bit provocative. Still, there was a nearly imperceptible tremor in the hand that held the apple slice which he extended to Frodo. He was not quite as assured as he seemed.

The moment seemed to stretch as Frodo still hesitated, aware that he was being offered much more than a bite of apple. He was afraid, because it was, after all, a very risky choice he was being asked to make, and there was much to lose if he made a mistake. Not least was the deep and loving friendship he had always had with Merry. That would be changed, no matter how he chose now.

"Merry, I am not sure that you realize just what you're doing."

"Please," Merry said, his smile vanishing and his voice low and serious. "Don't say I'm just a lad, Frodo. I'm not, you know. I've grown up. I've been with lasses. And with lads," he added, and for a few seconds, his gaze wavered. "I'm sorry for that. I wanted you to be my first. But. . .well, it happened, as such things will when one is young and rather hot-blooded and there are opportunities. They were both older than I, and it meant nothing to them, or to me. You're the one I've always wanted, _always._" A blush colored his cheeks. "Well, ever since I realized there was something to want."

He took Frodo's hand and held it gently, and Frodo felt the strong beat of the pulse in Merry's wrist and the feverish heat in his flesh. "The last time you were at the Hall, I began to realize that you could be much more to me than my best friend. I still want that friendship, but so much more as well. You are the loveliest creature in all the Shire, and I can't help but want you."

Frodo's face burned and his heartbeat sped up and he could feel it in his throat and temples. He couldn't pull away and wanted only to wrap his fingers around that slender wrist and pull Merry to him.

"Oh, Merry, I don't know if I would be right to take what you offer," Frodo said gently. "You have grown and you are beautiful, but you're only twenty three."

"Soon to be twenty four, and that has nothing to do with it," Merry retorted. "I am an adult, even though I'm young. I know what I want, I tell you."

"Still," Frodo began, and stopped himself. There were so many arguments to make against doing what his body and his heart so clearly wanted him to do.

A year ago, Merry would have raged, or pestered Frodo to do what he wanted. Now, he only waited, the little slice of sweet fruit trembling very slightly as he held it out.

And how could Frodo tell him the truth? That one of the reasons he hesitated for so long was that of the two of them, Merry was the more experienced. He hadn't had the opportunities Merry had. Hobbiton was not Buckland, and there were few lads about who were willing to dally with Bag End's heir. But, he thought, his mouth dry, no other lad could compare with the passion and beauty being offered to him here and now, a gift with all their shared history of fierce love and devotion behind it.

Finally, unable to deny Merry's longing or his own, Frodo opened his mouth and took the bite of apple between his teeth, aware that he was accepting everything that Merry offered by doing so. It was a winter apple, the flesh soft and a bit grainy, but wine-sweet, and it was very like the one he'd fed to Merry long ago. But there was a great difference in the two apples. For Merry to feed him so and for him to accept it was an act of courtship, and they both knew it. Merry pressed his fingertips against Frodo's lips and Frodo kissed them and watched, fascinated as Merry then put those fingertips into his own mouth and sucked the trace of apple juce from them. He picked up the mug of tea and sipped from it, then held it out. Frodo drank, but kept his eyes on Merry's. A drop of tea was left on his lip when he gave back the mug. Merry leaned, a bit hesitant, and took the drop from him with his tongue and Frodo felt a shiver go through him that had nothing to do with the cold and snow outside their warm sanctuary.

Before Merry moved back, Frodo slipped his fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and drew him in a little closer and kissed him for the first time, softly. Merry gasped and clutched at him, but Frodo gentled him with a hand on his cheek, and after a moment felt him relax slightly. They drew apart and Frodo leaned over and picked up another small slice of the apple. He offered it and Merry bent his head and took it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He smiled, looking into Frodo's eyes, and licked his lips.

They fed each other the buttered bread and jam, and the warmth mounted between them, fueled by glances and shy touches and frequent, searching kisses. Merry broke bits off the wedge of cheese and placed them in Frodo's mouth and followed them with cidery-tasting slices of apple. The sharp flavor of the cheese was even more intense when contrasted with the sweetness of the fruit. Once, when Frodo gave him a bite of bread, Merry kissed his fingers and drew one into his mouth to suck a little smear of strawberry jam from it, and the warm, wet touch of his tongue seemed to set a fire blazing in Frodo's body. When he took the last bite of apple, Frodo caught Merry's hand and returned the caress, looking deep into the storm-cloud blue eyes and watching them smoulder as he sucked two fingers clean of sweet juices. Merry's lips parted and he took a slow, deep breath.

"Are you still hungry, Frodo? There's more food."

"I'm not hungry for food any longer," Frodo answered. "Only for you."

Merry took the tray to the dining table and left it, then returned to the bed. He took off his coat and shirt and Frodo caught his breath when Merry's body was revealed, his chest deep and broad, muscles tightening beneath the smooth skin as he moved, small, dark nipples peaking in the chill air. Merry finished stripping himself swiftly and turned to face Frodo. The hard angles and curves of his body, the fur of reddish gold framing his sex, and the throbbing length of the shaft rising against his belly were all beautiful. Frodo held out his arms, wanting desperately to touch all he could see. Merry came to him, climbed onto the bed, and slid into Frodo's embrace.

He had held Merry many times, as a child with scraped knees and as an older lad seeking comfort for a wounded heart. He had been supported by Merry's arms out there in the storm, and ridden with his arms wrapped about his cousin in trust and gratitude after being rescued from his own folly. But nothing had prepared him for the way he felt when they were lying face to face, bodies pressed tightly together, Merry's flesh hot against him. Frodo slid his hands from the broad shoulders down the long, curved line of Merry's back to his hips and pulled him closer.

They kissed and he opened his mouth when Merry pressed with his tongue, seeking entrance, and he returned the caress as well as he was able, but he thought his inexperience must be obvious. If it was, Merry did not speak of it. He drew back slightly, smiling into Frodo's eyes.

"Frodo, I have wanted you for so long. Months and months I've waited and planned and wondered if you would have me, or if you might even laugh at me. . ."

"You should have known that would never happen," Frodo said, stroking the satin skin beneath his hands, then cupping Merry's rump and squeezing to feel him shiver.

"Well, I did worry, and I hoped for a chance to be alone with you when you came to us for this visit. Although I never expected to be this fortunate."

"Fortunate? I would not call my nearly freezing a fortunate circumstance," Frodo retorted, giving him a pinch that made Merry yelp.

"Well, it got us here, didn't it?" Merry said, drawing back slightly to grin at him. "Alone together. Although I suppose it was a bit hard on you, at that. But you must admit Frodo that it was lucky that I came to find you."

"Yes, that I'll concede," Frodo said, and gently rubbed the spot he'd pinched. "I'm glad to be here with you, Merry, very glad."

Merry stroked Frodo's cheek and his forehead and leaned to kiss him again, then pushed him gently onto his back and began to trail kisses down his throat to his chest. Frodo sank into the pillows, helpless before the power of the sensations those kisses aroused in his body. His only other experience had been a fumbling, hurried encounter with an older lad in Hobbiton, neither of them sure of what they were doing, acting mostly on instinct. There had been no real intimacy and it had left Frodo feeling somehow cheated, as though the interlude had promised far more than it could have delivered. It certainly had not prepared him for the overwhelming heat and tenderness welling up in him from Merry's caresses, or the shock of feeling that warm mouth close on him and suck him deep. He arched, trembling as lightning bolts seemed to travel through his body.

When Merry withdrew for a breath, Frodo pushed himself up on his forearm and reached to touch the bright curls hovering above his belly. "Merry," he gasped, and quivered as Merry's fingers wrapped around him. "Ah. . .who taught you this?"

Merry tilted his head up to meet Frodo's gaze, his eyes soft and nearly black in the dimming firelight. "Someone older, and that's all I'll say. Be still, Frodo." And he lowered his head again.

Frodo moaned and fought the need to thrust as he was again engulfed in sweet heat and felt Merry's hands stroke and squeeze, cup and fondle, until his flesh felt as though it was singing and his body was moving in uncontrollable response.

"Merry, I can't hold back," he whispered.

Merry raised his head again and growled, "_I don't want you to,_" then bent to Frodo's straining flesh, taking him in as deeply as possible and hollowing his cheeks as he bobbed his head in a faster rhythm. Frodo was swept beyond any control and cried out as his seed spilled from him in throbbing spasms that arched his back and wrung another cry from him before he collapsed and lay with his chest heaving

When he could move, he opened his eyes and tried to lift his head, but he had not the strength. Merry lay with his arm around Frodo, holding him protectively, and he murmured, "Just rest a bit, Frodo love." He pressed his face against Frodo's throat and kissed him. "There are other things to do before morning comes." He moved his hand softly over Frodo's body. "The family will descend on us then."

"I'm afraid you're right," Frodo agreed, kissing the smooth brow he could reach. "They'll drag us both back to the Hall."

"Where they will undoubtedly pamper you within an inch of your life." Merry sighed. "Well, at least there'll be lots of Yule treats and special foods to eat."

Frodo tugged Merry higher so that he could kiss him. "No feast could be more wonderful than the meal we shared tonight," he said. "I am glad we have this time together." He combed Merry's hair gently with his fingers. "But now that we've begun, I fear I won't be able to have all of you that I want. There will be too many watching eyes at Brandy Hall. We'll be fortunate to find a moment alone."

Merry chuckled and nuzzled his face against Frodo. "Not to worry. I already thought of that. You'll need to return to Bag End early, to recover from your ordeal and your sprained ankle in the comfort of your own home, and I can accompany you when you go so that I can take care of you. And since I'll be with you, Bilbo will have no reason to cut his own visit short." He chuckled. "What do you think of that? A good plan, don't you agree?"

"Your parents won't like that," Frodo said. "And I doubt Bilbo will stay at the Hall if I go home. He won't trust you to take care of me. "

"They won't forbid it," Merry answered. "I've earned a holiday. And as for Bilbo, we can get round him easily enough. He'll be so immersed in his books and papers that he won't be aware of what the two of us get up to. Nor will he care if he does know, I'll wager." He hugged himself closer to Frodo. "You do want me to come, don't you Frodo?" For the first time that night, he was openly uncertain, like the young tween he actually was.

Frodo held him closer and kissed his cheek. "Yes, Merry, of course I do. I want that very much."

"Then it's settled," Merry said with satisfaction and curled himself about Frodo. Frodo smiled into the dimness as the fire ebbed and Merry began to caress him again, and he felt the beating of his heart increase its pace and moved closer in the familiar embrace, seeking the lips that parted to welcome him.

He knew that Merry would convince his parents and they would give in and let him go to Bag End. Merry had a knack for getting his own way. He was a bit spoiled, but he was strong and loving and Frodo's heart belonged to Merry in a way that it had never belonged to any other. From the day when Frodo had been brought to the great labyrinth of Brandy Hall, a lost and frightened orphan, Merry had been there. On that first night when Frodo had lain in the strange bed in a room he was sharing with the Master's small son, it had been Merry who had climbed determinedly into his bed and snuggled into his arms when Frodo cried, and Merry who had comforted him and promised to be his friend always. It was Merry who had loved him first and best, and it was Merry who had been and still was his shelter from the storm.

END


End file.
