by

Willow-wode

It seemed that, for as nearly as long as he could remember, Merimac had known cousin Paladin.

Paladin had always been there, had always been part of the background hum of familial presence, had been among the countless cousins and relatives and retainers. They'd seen each in both casual and formal occasions and had enjoyed each other's presence well enough when they had happened to be thrust together. Such short-lived visits had never quite extended to being fostered together—commonplace for lads of their rank it might be, but they were both the secondary sons of their clans and lived on opposite ends of the Shire. More often than not they were traded for fosterage instead of sharing it.

They were much the same age, separated by only a few years—and where in the mid to late teen years such a difference could be formidable, for Paladin Took and Merimac Brandybuck it never had been. Merimac had come to his change early—too early, as his mother liked to sigh—and Paladin right on schedule, so they had been much of an age all their life. They had played Touch and Freeze as faunts, Wolves and Archers as children and teens, and now were basically unremarkable and unrecognised in the ragged pack of post-pubescent lads running wild at Shire birthdays, harvest homes and seasonal festivals.

Then Merimac came to realise, near the summer solstice of his seventeenth year, that he had not known Paladin, not at all. Not really.

He came to this awareness amidst another simple game.

There was a friendly yet earnest rivalry between the clans of Took and Brandybuck, and had been for untold years. Of course the matter that they had, in olden times, come from nigh the same broad infusion of Fallohide was irrelevant: the Brandybucks were 'vulgar' and forthright, acquisitive and all-too-keen to the value of a working day or a copper; the Tooks were 'fey' and lordly, too clever and playful from having prospered in rolling pastures and softer climes. The Brandywine River was lover and antagonist both to Buckland; the Tookland Hills were not so adversarial, and over time it became a common view, exaggerated or no, that where a Took would game and revel in the playing, a Brandybuck more likely desired the win.

So whyever would Paladin, who was Took as the day was warm, come sauntering up to him, grinning in that foxy, conspiratorial way he had? And then suggest they enter the three-legged-race? Together?

Merimac gaped at him. Even with all the intermarrying the two families did, the competitive instinct was still intense, and sometimes anything but amiable.

It was breaking an unspoken rule.

Paladin merely grinned again and held out several lengths of rope, his eyebrows quirking upward. Merimac felt the small quiver of satisfaction he always did when he challenged The Rules, and said, why not? then, we'd better get ready, it's about to start.

Spring had so far been uncommonly wet, and therefore dismayingly sultry, with mist hanging in the valleys long into the forenoon and dew rampant upon the turf long before the sunset. In fact, just yesterday eve Merimac and his older brother had spent a long time in the grass pastures near the Shiprock, making pictures in the silvery wet with their fingers and toes. Merimac had spent entirely too long tracing a graceful, green swath of sailing ship, and Saradoc had obliterated it with his blond, broad feet, trouted him up the side of his head and told him bluntly, when he'd yelped, that Merimac should be bloody glad their father hadn't seen him drawing it.

So, with the air hanging so close and damp, it was only natural that Paladin's dark hair should be curling down his neck in damp ringlets, and that his shirt should be nearly sopping—after all he had, only moments previous, been in the relay race. (The Brandybucks had not won that one—due to Adelard Took's unexpected turn of speed at the last furlong and cousin Marmadas' clumsy feet.) It was also expected that Paladin would still be slightly out of breath from said race.

But as Paladin aligned his left leg to Merimac's right one, and began to tie their furry ankles together, the hitch it gave to Merimac's own breathing was not at all customary.

Paladin seemed not to even notice. In fact, with his zeal to not miss the race, Paladin tied the next length of rope a little too snug. But Merimac barely noticed that—for as Paladin had bent over, that damp shirt clung tighter to the strain of muscles then slid forward, and Merimac found himself staring at sun-browned, sweat-dappled skin framed by damp-loosened braces and linen. Before he could blink, Merimac's fingers had twitched forward with a sudden and absurd need to touch; he frowned and closed his hand at his side as Paladin lurched back up, experimentally bent his knee.

Merimac wobbled, not ready for the sudden movement, and yipped as the rope bit taut; Paladin straightened and this time his expression was apologetic, as was his muttered, a bit tight, sorry. Wriggling his leg within the ropes' confines, Paladin relaxed the rope and flashed a brilliant smile that threatened to make his cousin wobble yet again, and this for altogether different reasons. Merimac quickly schooled himself into a pose of absolute, rakish indifference—the one that annoyed his father no end and had made more than one tweener twitch down to his or her toes, wondering if that youngest Brandybuck sprout who was already too tall and precocious for his age really did know what he was about, or if it was all an enticing bluff.

Merimac was usually more than aware of doing it, and how. But right now he wasn't sure why he was doing it. And with Paladin Took, of all hobbits.

Paladin blinked, and his dark brows knitted together; in the distance a small horn tatted a quick arpeggio, signalling the call to the next race. We'd better practice on the way, Paladin said, the intriguing expression smoothing away as he burrowed under Merimac's arm, making Merimac realise several more untoward truths. Somehow in the past months he had shot a full hand past Paladin's height, and his cousin's dark hair smelled not only of sweat and dirt, but sun and fireweed honey, and—this was the most improbable and disturbing—

He fit.

Paladin's arm was lean, but quite strong about him. The ropes creaked as the two lads moved their legs experimentally. The hard fingers gripping his waist, the heat of the wiry body next to his, the pinch of plait at the soft skin behind his knee, all made a tremor zigzag itself up Merimac's spine.

Perhaps that was why they lost the three-legged race, falling in a heap of tangled rope and furry feet and wildly-waving arms four lengths from the finish line. Merimac aired his most inelegant and foul curses at their ill luck (and his stupid gangliness) but Paladin giggled (giggled!), buried his face into his cousin's chest and demanded to know when Merimac had gotten so bloody clumsy.

I'm not clumsy! Merimac growled, and Paladin cut startlingly green eyes upwards at him, said teasingly, You are, you great bounder! and reached down to set them free.

Hoots and shouts and hobbits running about, but all Merimac was conscious of was Paladin's nimble fingers working those ropes, each one giving way to his urging. Paladin's foot had somehow curled itself atop his own, heated with sun and sweat, and the tug of toes clenching against fur was maddening—but not so much as the ropes, being set free one by one. Before Merimac could draw breath to—protest? question? whimper?—the final one was slithering ever so slowly down his calf and tickling at his brown-furred ankle. Merimac reached down and snatched it up then, in a trick he'd learned from an old riverhobbit, quickly and nimbly looped the rope about Paladin's wrist, snugging tight.

Paladin's look of surprise sent another strange quiver up his spine.

I'm… Not… Clumsy, Merimac told his cousin quietly, intently. Having proven his point, he started to let go; his grip inexplicably tightened as those dark brows drew together again, and in almost as precisely the same fashion as before the race. Paladin's gaze went half-lidded, lowering to where Merimac's hand was knotted in the rope, where the rope had knotted about his wrist.

Then Paladin leaned forward, put his cheek to Merimac's, and whispered, I believe you. He pulled back and slowly those eyes slid upwards once again to meet Merimac's.

Merimac wondered when exactly he had forgotten to breathe, because it was a fact that he wasn't breathing but his heart, conversely, was hammering so loudly it must have been audible even above the clamour about them.

The spell ended as a well-aimed apple core smacked into the back of his head. Merimac turned to see his brother and cousin Marmadas vehemently motioning at them to get off the field—the next race was about to start and they were sprawled right in the way.

Paladin's eyes turned towards Saradoc and went flat as stone, then softened as he turned back to Merimac. He tugged at the rope, said Come with me, and it was as if Merimac was the one tied, not holding the rope in fingers so trembly they threatened to lose hold altogether.

Mutely, he obeyed.

Somewhere between the Shiprock meadow and Brandy Hall's courtyard, Merimac said thickly, I know a place, and they changed direction, accord unspoken.

They went quite a ways, and somehow as they walked Paladin's hand had slipped into his along with the rope. Neither spoke. The grass clung, wet and soft, to their feet. The place that Merimac knew lay several ells from the Hall proper, alongside the River; it was cool with breeze, warming sun dappling through oak and osier. It was hard to find, his own place.

Paladin's expression, as he looked about, was appreciative. Endearing. Thrilling.

Merimac still couldn't believe he'd brought him here.

Neither could he believe that Paladin was here, that his cousin was turning to him, those green eyes—green as sea grass, as shallows lapping the shore—once more soft and serious. Paladin raised his free hand and stroked the brown hair back from Merimac's own eyes. So, will you? he asked, and the words were teasing but his tone was not. Will you let me touch you, handsome lad?

Merimac's hand twitched upon pliant rope, upon twining fingers, and he nodded. As Paladin reached up and cupped his cheek he thought that dying was very possible, only that he couldn't die now, not before he kissed those parted lips. So he did. Then again. And again, as if that mouth would hold secrets he would fain be told. Paladin's gaze met his, clung then closed, but Merimac didn't want to close his own eyes, he wanted to drink in every sight, every scent, every sound.

Paladin's eyelids were ivory veined with blush and blue, his lashes dark crescents upon freckle-dusted cheeks, his sunburned nose pointed straight and sharp, and his mouth… oh, his mouth…

Merimac's fingers twitched upon the rope again; his hips, of their own accord, arched forward. Paladin didn't push back as expected; he grinned against Merimac's mouth and sidled away, his eyes opening, glimmering with mischief. With a small growl, Merimac rocked sideways as well then found Paladin's own substantial reaction with, not his hip, but his free hand. Grabbing breech fabric, Merimac ran his hand down the hardness straining beneath it, and said, a smile quirking his own lips, Might I touch you, pretty lad?

His cousin gave a gasp, then a chuckle, then leaned forward and breathed into his ear, Impatient Brandybuck.

Tookish cock-tease, Merimac retorted, only no sound came forth and the River burbled next to them as Paladin tasted the words left silent upon his lips, tongue darting as if licking honey from them.

Quite a rooster there to be teasing, his cousin said in the broadest and commonest Tuckborough accent Merimac had yet heard from him, and rubbed his own hip against it, further mischief kindling that hot glitter higher within his eyes. But a fine tumble is like any game, cousin Merimac. And bein' a Brandybuck, there's probably a thing or two you need to be learning, here.

You're sure of that? was Merimac's soft counter, aping his cousin's drawl. I think I'm fair knowin' the rules of this three-legged race—

Oh. Yes! was Paladin's laughing response into his neck. But again, bein' a Brandybuck and all, you'll have no doubt not recognised that there's little pleasure to be had in getting to the ending too soon.

Oh? Merimac pressed closer, rolled his hips and smiled as Paladin gave a small groan, then snaked his narrow fingers into Merimac's tangled nape and pulled his head back, lips against his chin.

This is not about the winning, cousin-mine, not here. This is… Paladin nipped a slow, deliberate trail of fire down Merimac's throat, all about… and wrapped his hand tighter in the rope as Merimac arched his head back even further to utter a soft growl, the game.

Bloody pigheaded Took, Merimac thought but could not gather any will to say. No stranger to kisses, he thought himself, and willing participant in more than his share of experimental gropes and nudges. He well knew what he liked, and what he wanted—

Or at least he had thought he did.

Because this was different, maddening. Incredible. His free hand ran up Paladin's stomach, and his bound fingers stroked the rope, and the squeak it returned made his knees weaken further. Madness, all of it—yesterday he didn't even think of Paladin like this, and now, today…

Paladin's tongue teased at his earlobe.

Today was…

Then at his nape.

Today.

There were murmurs in his ear, almost a melody. The words strung themselves about him, touching him sweet and hot as the quick fingers dancing along his nape, as the slender body wriggling against his own. Merimac was panting as if he'd been running non-stop; the blood pounded in his temples and down to his toes, he was so hard he ached, and Paladin hadn't even yet put a hand on him below the collarbone!

Paladin was… entirely too good at this.

I think I want to remove to Tuckborough, he said bemusedly, are there more like you back home?

Paladin smiled.

The rope in Merimac's left hand gave a sharp tug; he found it laced about his palm, wrapped close to Paladin's own, and Paladin smirked, used it, pulling him forward and off-balance. Merimac found himself crouching atop his cousin, knees parted and digging into the sandy gravel on either side of Paladin's hips, one hand pulled up over Paladin's head, the other still gamely stroking that hard and tender arch of flesh straining upward beneath his fingers.

Now who's the cock-tease? Paladin whispered. Merimac clenched his fingers and the soft words broke into a hiss as his cousin arched backward, sable hair spilling and curling beneath him on the gravel and sand. Merimac sat pole-axed for moments, wondering if he had ever seen anything so beautiful in his life as this lad lying before him all pale-dark and framed in auburn river-bottom loam and… and how did this happen? His fingers were made awkward with the wondering, fumbling with the carved bone buttons as if he'd never unfastened a pair of breeks or lifted a shirt in his life, and the memory of Paladin's little taunt when did you get so clumsy? burned across his cheeks, raising colour.

I didn’t mean it, Paladin said suddenly, and either Merimac said it aloud or Paladin was indeed Tookish as people whispered and could read his mind… and with what chaos was going through his mind right now, Merimac wasn't sure he wanted anyone to be biding there, even himself. But the reassurance stilled his shaky fingers, and he slid his hand beneath damp fabric to gather damper flesh, with a quick deftness that caught him many a minnow in the shallows.

Paladin twitched, both against his body and within his hand, and Merimac bent double to bury his nose into the fine fur on Paladin's belly, to trail kisses there, to breathe and taste salt-sweat lad. From the small whimpers that left Paladin's lips, he had no problem relinquishing the upper hand if it was pleasurable in the process… and wasn't that just like a Took, anyway.

But his cousin was not idle, no, using his own free hand to good and lustful purpose, just as he'd been using the bound one to hold Merimac close, and with a wriggle and a kick undone breeches were dispensed with. Neither of them bothered with shirts—neither of them wanted to let go of that bit of rope that had begun all of this—so soft linen still framed Paladin's torso, and Merimac's shirt teased at his own skin, slipping off one shoulder. Paladin reached out, pulled it further down with a smile that suggested pleasure in the sight, and while Merimac was aware of being put together in a manner that a few found attractive, somehow Paladin's simple action was more heady than any cozening words ever spoken to him.

A game? No. This had, somehow, ceased to be just that.

Long, heated moments slid across their bodies like fine silk, an everything of sight and sound: damp skin, warm exhalations, tight curls of fur, water and shifting gravel, an occasional ah, smattered with there, right there, small pleading whimpers and hoarse catches of breath. Or the ragged now of touch: kisses and fingertips, palm and tongue, pushing and wriggling, intent and intending. Then Paladin was turning him over, his voice a purr of persuasion, please, let me, and in a sudden, tense confusion Merimac let go of the rope.

Doing so was somehow akin to physical pain, a sundering that made Merimac gasp and quickly taking it up again, the only security in a sudden void. He nipped it in too quick and sharp, making Paladin lurch against him; but once Paladin was there he stayed there, free hand trailing down Merimac's thigh, hips cradling haunches and hard flesh impatiently nudging itself between. Merimac stilled, panting like a trapped hind.

You have, haven't you? Paladin whispered against his shoulder blade, let me, oh, I want you, and Merimac was afraid to answer, unwilling to tell this beautiful lad who had somehow possessed the cousin he'd known all his life that he had, yes, but only the once with this and it had been awkward, had left him too… exposed, somehow, and that it had really hurt.

Instead he nodded, locked his elbows and gritted his teeth, assuming the required position and waiting for the awful discomfort that hopefully would become something more pleasurable with a bit of working at it. He waited. And waited, and waited, and then opened his eyes to peer over his shoulder at Paladin, who was still kneeling there, hard and ready as stone yet not moving, giving him the oddest look. You look like you're waiting for a beating, he murmured oh-so-softly, and Merimac felt his cheeks heating and wanted to turn away, save that the look on his cousin's face was not mocking. Not at all.

Instead Paladin rocked back, one hand curling about Merimac's hipbone, flipping him over, and suddenly they were rolling by the riverside, gravel and sand flying, grit and wet against bare skin. Merimac found himself atop wriggly, warm and lithe hobbitlad; the tables had turned and his arms were filled, his mouth was being sounded deep and fierce, and suddenly his world was trembling with being bound…

Bound by a voice whispering his name over and over and lips suckling at his throat, bound by rope sliding across his nape and hands twining into his hair, bound by legs curling tight about his haunches, bound by hard flesh weeping slick tears onto his belly, by hips sidling, shifting and a soft whisper of is that better? into his ear.

Not better, no. It was simply perfect.

Merimac sucked in a broken breath, filled his free hand with dark, soft hair, plundered his cousin's mouth with tongue and teeth. Paladin's fingers clenched hard; the unbound one loosening itself to trail along his cheekbone, fingers sliding into his mouth; Merimac curled his tongue around them, suckled greedily, made protest as they were withdrawn. Paladin silenced him with his own mouth, that damp hand reaching between them. Slick fingers wrapped themselves, fierce and firm and oh-so-lovely, about Merimac, pulling him to nestle against Paladin's own erection, curved and twined and twinned; this was something he'd never done, never even dreamed would feel so fantastic.

It didn't matter that they were new to each other, that they lurched a bit clumsily in their search for rhythm. It didn't matter that the game was drawing to a close all too soon. And soon was also unimportant, because all that mattered was now, now, now…

Merimac was unsure of whether hours or minutes had passed, and somewhere in the midst of it he gave a hoarse sigh and came before he could draw another breath.

Paladin's eyes were almost gold as he pushed against Merimac only two more times, and whimpered into his breast, and slumped against him.

For long moments there was nothing but the rasp of breath, the River, and the rope.

The rope tickled at Merimac's nape with every one of their heaving, shuddering breaths. The River tickled at his toes; they had managed to somehow roll their way down close to it.

You're squashing me, you great walloping Brandybuck, and Paladin's voice indeed sounded squashed. Merimac inched down so that only the weight of his shoulders lay across Paladin's hips, and so that his head nestled on Paladin's belly and—most important—angled over to one hip so that tender and spent anatomy didn't have to rub itself further raw against the ground.

His feet were in the River, brown fur floating back and forth with the ebb and flow of the waves, his brown head pillowed on tangled, sweated boy, and his whole being rocking to and fro with the force of sated and commingled breath. Surely there was no more likely happiness to happen in his heart, between the River's touch and Paladin's.

D'you think we can just be staying here forever? Paladin asked a bit plaintively, and Merimac sighed.

Much later, at the Hall's communal dinner, Merimac gave his father yet more cause for irritation. It was plain truth that Rorimac Brandybuck never was shy to give either side of his tongue quite loudly—praise or censure—and Merimac, unlike his brother Saradoc, was just sensitive enough to never quite grow accustomed to the sting of it in public.

But tonight was different, and Merimac didn't even bend his neck when his father bellowed that he should bloody well put on some bloody braces to hold his breeks up like a proper Buckland farmer and stop dressing like some bloody riverboat gipsy. In fact, the harangue didn't even penetrate.

Merimac looked down the family table, exchanged glances with Paladin, fingered the newly-plaited rope belt cinched about his waist, and smiled.

* * * * * *