I don't often make author's notes, but I have to say that this story is for Daffodil Bolger (Aratlithiel's evil twin), who preceded this scenario with her fab stories CHOICES and FAIR PLAY, both which can be found, along with her other fab fics, here: http://www.lightindarkplaces.net/DaffodilBolger/DaffodilBolgerIndex.html

"Oh, this feels good." Merimac submerged to his nape with a happy sigh. "I've bruises and kinks atop bruises and kinks."

"'Tis only what you deserve, all that running about and playing games with those lads as if you were still a tweener." Paladin was rummaging in the top drawer of the press next to the bed, his tone quite unsympathetic.

"Nay, fair one," Merimac aped his cousin's Tuckborough accent with a smirk. "'Tis what I get from running afoul of Merry Brandybuck." The smirk turned to a grimace as he shifted, water lapping noisily. "Faith, but that lad is growing up. And filling out. He really dropped me, the cheeky sod, and more than the once."

"Methinks he's a bit of jealousy driving his tackle."

"Yes to both references…" Merimac shifted again, sunk lower; this time his bath water slapped against copper-banded metal, sloshing over its rim to hiss at the cheerfully roaring hearth only a length away. "Oh, but I think I am truly dying of pure contentment."

"Both references…" Paladin angled about to peer at his tub-ensconced companion; through a misty haze of scented hot water, Merimac waggled his eyebrows at him and Paladin snorted, turning back to the dresser. "Ah. Tackle. You well know I meant the lad's propensity at ploughing into you like a determined and protective pony stud, not the bits which make of him that pony stud… tell me, now, where did you stow your remaining shirt?"

"I've more than two!" Merimac protested, wounded. "I mightn't be the disciple of fashion that you are—"

"This from the one who once had a peacock's tail embroidered on his waistcoat back for a farthing-court day—"

"It was a statement— "

"I'll say it was."

"A statement of protest, y'fool—and that's besides the point. I'm not the one who has three closets-full, but I can afford a few luxuries!"

"Clothes are not luxuries, but necessities," Paladin said with mock severity; he turned and rested one hip on the press, eyebrow cocked.

"I enjoy a nice set of clothes as much as the next hobbit!"

"The point is, are those clothes here, then? Considering your habit of packing one bag and cadging necessities off your gullible relatives…"

"We-eelll," Merimac hedged then said, a bit meekly, "Bottom drawer. One shirt and an extra pair of breeks," and submerged his head beneath the surface of the hot water. He stayed there for some moments and when he surfaced, blowing like a bottlenose in a ship's fore-wake, he found that Paladin had pulled the cobalt shirt and soft woollen breeches from the bottom drawer and laid them on the press. In fact, Paladin was carefully brushing at the fabric with his fingers, waging war against several imaginary bits of debris.

"When did you start playing gentlehobbit's retainer, eh?" Merimac demanded. "I can find my own bloody shirts."

"Someone has to look after you, my favourite cousin. Particularly when you insist on jumping in the middle of tweener routs and getting the whey pounded from you."

"I didn't get the whey pounded from me!" Merimac protested with a lurch forward; almost immediately he winced and sunk back into the tub. The sound he made was not a whimper… well, not quite.

And Paladin, blast his eyes, had one hip shot against the tall press and that one eyebrow still artfully cocked. Merimac sucked in a mouthful of water and just as artfully fountained it toward his old friend. Paladin dodged it, watched as it hit the bed, kept smiling.

"Shut up, you," Merimac finally said.

"I'm saying nothing."

"Bollocks to that," Merimac snorted. "Your unspoken judgments are fair burning my ears. And as to jumping into tweener routs, I'd be well enough if that overzealous nephew of mine—and yours—had been playing with his brains instead of his balls."

"Mm," said Paladin, unconvinced.

"The young'uns cobble up interesting things, and I enjoy a good game of football," Merimac protested. "Wouldn't hurt you to have a game occasionally. You're getting too soft and respectable playing Thain, planting crops and siring bairns, eh?" He snuggled down deeper into the water, remarked with mock sadness, "It's a distressing fact that most hobbits reach their majority and you'd think they were picking out a bath-chair to rot in, they become such staid, solid old fuddy-duddys. It makes me want to puke my g—hoy!!"

This as Paladin came striding over and leapt, fully-clothed, into the bath with a rather-large splash. Water filled Merimac's eyes and nose and open mouth for long seconds; with a shake of his head like some great, shaggy brown dog, he slung water and hair from his face. "Are you out of your mind?"

Paladin was peering down at him, arms crossed and water up to his knees. "Call me an old fuddy-duddy, will you?"

"Bloody damn, Pal, that's your best pair of pants—"

"Now who sounds like an old fuddy duddy?"

Merimac opened his mouth, found no suitable reply in his considerable repertoire, settled instead for a quick yelp of laughter. "It's because I'm used to only travelling with one spare, eh?"

Paladin chuckled, bent over and kissed him on one cheekbone.

"Ow!" Merimac yipped.

"Oh, give over; you're such a bairn. Touchy as a farmer with a smial of ripe daughters."

"I'm not the farmer, my dear," Merimac pointedly replied, raising wet fingers up to touch the bruised spot with a broad grimace. "Mother forefend! And I only imagine it's because I prefer the lads, eh?—that you even let such a character as myself go sporting beneath your roof?"

"You are a character, no question to that." Paladin brushed at his wet breeks with pretend dismay. "As to sporting, at least I'd know I could be trusting you to take the girl gently and thoroughly, fulfil her needs and mayhap teach her something useful in the process."

"Oh, no. Not even for my dearest friend am I about to fall into that bit of work."

"A pity you're so set in your ways," Paladin's eyes glittered teasingly; Merimac knew full well Paladin wasn't that adverse to those 'ways'—they'd certainly served him well. "You're too much the girls' uncle, at any rate, to be carrying out any other role. But better you any day than, for instance, that jockey Pimpernel seems to have fallen for. He rides like a centaur, granted, but I'd thought Nel would have better taste. Horrid lad, all pimples and clumsy feet."

"We all had clumsy feet at that age. And only lucky sods escape the pimples." Merimac peered accusingly at his cousin, then chuckled and dropped his chin down into the water—the level of which, he noted with some dismay, had dropped. "Look now, I appreciate your hospitality, my fairest of hobbit-mates, but you've gone and knocked the hot water all over the floor. Once you get out, I'll be lucky if it covers the family jewels, so to speak."

Paladin stepped out with some alacrity. Then he peered over the tub side and sighed in dramatic chagrin. "Not even a twinkle. Those gems are surely still submerged. Deflated, even. Pity."

"Deflated." Merimac splashed a gout of water at him, further dampening the fine wool of Paladin's breeks. "You wound me to the quick. Instead of hanging about and making very pathetic and—deflating, was it?—attempts to oogle a pair of goolies you've seen all too often, you could do something helpful, such as getting me some more hot water. Seeing as how you're the one, after all, that has so deprived me."

Paladin gave a small bow—one quite graceful and proper, even with damp trousers. "Tonight, fair friend, your wish is my command."

"Hm," said Merimac thoughtfully, "this sounds quite promising."

Paladin flicked him a sideways smile and walked over to the small stove, picked up one of the enormous, frothing coppers that had been put there to warm the water. "I'll broaden that promise by several. Dry you off. Doctor all those cuts and bruises." His smile was broadening as he returned to the tub. "See if we can… erm… inflate you a bit. Feed you a good shot of something suitably inebriating, give you a nice rubdown with Lanna's famous arnica oil, tuck you in, kiss you g'night—"

"All right, all right!" Merimac protested, laughing, as the water was poured in, deliciously hot.

"I had to arm wrestle my dear wife for the privilege, you must know."

"Are you speaking of the rubdown, the tucking, or the g'night buss?"

"The lot. She's always fancied you overmuch. The greedy wench also has a tremendous right push." Paladin flexed his free arm, miming a wince. "'Twas a fearful struggle, but I prevailed."

Merimac smiled up at him. "I'm so proud of you, love."

"And so you should be." Paladin padded to the stove, exchanged the empty copper for the other full one. "In your state, did we both come to your chambers I fear the exertion might slay you on the spot."

Merimac started to protest this, then gave it up as the second frothing kettle was emptied next to his hip. Bliss. "You spoil me."

"Quite intentionally. I don't get much chance, you know."

"And Paladin Took is known for taking his chances when he can get them."

"As much as I've heard Merimac Brandybuck is no' adverse to taking his."

"Mm. Just so."

An old custom, this; on the occasions when Merimac visited Great Smials, there were several nights during which he and Paladin shared quarters. It usually wasn't the first or even the second night, and even then it varied from visit to visit—but usually the assent was mutual, and silent, and understood. There was some added element of excitement that would signal the time—a gathering of tension and need, a promise laid by the meeting of eyes and the certainty:

Eglantine would feel it as well, smile, and willingly give ground.

The two were silent, looking at each other. Merimac finally said, a bit hoarsely, "Just a while longer in the soak, all right?" Seeing the expected answer light brighter in Paladin's green eyes and acknowledging it with a slow, broad smile, Merimac submerged again.

As Merimac shivered delightfully in the heat and steam, Paladin divested himself of his wet clothing, donned one of the robes left hanging from a wall hook, and walked over to the small table next to the stove. Through half-closed eyes Merimac watched him, thinking how lovely and utterly fascinating Paladin was and had always been; how the years had burnished a callow, quicksilver lad into this deep-sounded, self-contained immediacy of personality; how much they'd both changed—and how much they'd stayed the same. The only sounds were the water slapping softly against the tub sides, the ticking of the metal stove in the corner, the dull clink of Paladin pouring himself a cup of tea—stirring a spoon of honey and a large splash of milk into his cup. He drank it as he always did—in swift gulps, caring little if the liquid was just that much too hot.

By the time pleasant immersion had wrinkled finger- and toe-tips, the bath water was beginning to cool. Merimac stood up, noted that he was suitably pink and steaming—much like the huge crayfish he'd seen cooked in huge pots on the seashore—and stepped out. True to his word, Paladin was there and swathing him in a fire-warmed bath sheet, massaging his nape with one hand while offering him a decent-sized shot of Tuckborough uisge with the other—after taking a sip himself, of course. Merimac tossed back the liquor, feeling it burn pleasantly all the way down, then gave a sudden yip as Paladin pushed too hard against his shoulder.

"Sorry," Paladin said, quickly shifting his hand. "If you're too bashed up—"

"I'm not that bashed up," Merimac protested defensively. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

Paladin snorted his opinion of that and relieved him of the emptied glass. "Get yourself dry, you daft Brandybuck."

"I thought you were going to help me."

"I thought I could touch you without having you whimpering."

"Oh, my dear," Merimac said, very soft and deliberate. "When have you ever been able to do that?"

Silence. He could all but feel Paladin twitch to his well-groomed toes. Merimac smirked to himself, took the few steps over to the bed then tilted his head about, looked over his shoulder—letting the bath sheet slide accidentally down that shoulder, of course.

"You," Paladin said thickly, "are the worst tease I've ever met."

"I think it only honestly qualifies as teasing if you don't intend on following through." Merimac raised his eyebrows and sat on the edge of the bed as Paladin continued to stand, stilled as if he'd been pole-axed. "So what are you waiting for, eh?"

A grin ghosted those lips. "I'm sure I don't know."

"Then get your arse over here, you daft Took."

Two silent, quick steps and Paladin was there, bending over him with hands fisting into the towel and pulling it down about his hips, lips nuzzling into his hair. Merimac angled forward, breathed in the scent of him, let the breath whisper out over his teeth and against Paladin's breastbone. The hair there stood erect and Paladin shivered, shifted, nipped his way down to the tip of Merimac's ear…

"Ouch!"

Paladin retreated slightly, gave him a jaundiced look then blinked, peered closer at his ear. "By all that's… you've a set of teeth marks there already!"

Merimac touched his ear apologetically. "It was that young snot Lotho Sackville-Baggins. He's never quite forgiven me for that walloping I gave him. Years ago it was, too!"

Paladin grimaced in sympathy. "Should we sentence you to quarantine?"

"Oh, mayhap," Merimac smiled up at him, pulled him close once more. "If you're part of the sentence. Come here."

And lips were nibbling at his cheek—the same cheek that young Merry had so soundly smacked…

"Yow!"

Paladin pushed away with a growl. "Bloody damn, Mac, where doesn't it hurt?"

Merimac glared right back, more angry at himself than anything, to be sure. He raised his elbow up to Paladin's face and said, a bit belligerently, "It doesn't hurt here."

Silence.

The sea-green glare slowly melted into a raise of dark brows, then a sideways, amused curl of lip. After another wide pause, Paladin bent to the held up elbow and kissed it. His eyes were on Merimac the entire time.

"Anywhere else?" Paladin whispered slowly.

This was getting interesting. Merimac had the wild impulse to point to his trouser buttons; with a re-hitch of what dignity he had left, he pointed to his forehead. "This isn't… too bad."

There never was a Took—bairn, tween, or adult—that didn't crave the game, and sure enough those eyes brightened. Paladin leaned forward, put gentle fingers to Merimac's brown forelock and riffled it back. Uisge-scented breath trailed in the wake of those fingers, sending a lengthy, delighted quiver through Merimac, who closed his eyes as lips gently pecked at the indicated place.

Oh my, but this was getting more than interesting. He could feel the heat of Paladin's body, scent the whiff of sweet hay that was always about him, see the pulse in that tanned throat pounding out a swift tattoo of need.

"Where else, then?" Paladin whispered. "I mean, I don't want to… hurt you."

With relentless and somewhat-uncomfortable insistence, Merimac's anatomy was all for hurt, and hard, and right now. But the cheeky gleam in his lover's eyes kept him to the rules of the game. "Here." Still just a bit petulant, Merimac pointed to the right side of his chin—the left side was sporting a fine gash.

Dark lashes dimmed those glittering eyes only a trace; first Paladin manoeuvred the towel from about Merimac's haunches, making much show of holding it up and dropping it to the floor. Then, still deliberately, Paladin bent forward once again, ran his tongue over that gash lightly, and moved over to attend to the indicated spot, suckling and nipping until Merimac wondered that he didn't just go off on the spot like one of those wretched tween boys. And over having his chin sucked on, for the Mother's sake!

"Here," he said a bit desperately, and pointed to his mouth.

And oh, but the kiss was glorious, and it had been too long. He yanked Paladin down, uttering a small yelp as his lover fell atop him and rattled sore bones, but Merimac held tight when Paladin thought to move, gamely kept that kiss going, all tongue and quick gasps and stealing of breath…

Paladin finally broke off with a laughing intake of air. "I don't mean to hurt you, now," he said, trying to shrug from his robe and, as Merimac's close grip made this impossible, said teasingly, "'Twould be easier to get naked with you if you'd let go of my arse for the moment, you know."

With a sigh, Merimac obliged. "My young nephew definitely has more than a bit to answer for," he growled, watching as Paladin slid from his robe and turned away for a moment by the bed-side stand. The scent of beeswax and sage teased at his nostrils—the base of Eglantine's famous arnica mix—Merimac twitched with anticipation even as he kept doggedly to the subject. "And his possible nobbling of one of the main reasons I come to Tuckborough is…"

He trailed off; Paladin was back in bed and bending over him.. A light, moist breath heated Merimac's bruised breastbone, a fleeting touch of tongue-tip then oiled fingers teased at the mottled purple there. "You mean you really did come to Tuckborough for the fabulous sex?" Paladin remarked in his turn. "And here I thought you merely came to get beat up by a herd of tweeners."

"Lower," Merimac insisted.

"Taking all those hits for Frodo—yes, I saw you and it's a big softy, you are… except for this, perhaps. Not too terribly soft, this… unless I touch it right here…"

"Mmm…"

"I keep telling you, love, if you're sparing the rod you'll spoil those boys."

"I'd rather… be… making you spare… with a different kind of rod, if you under… oh…"

He gasped as those oil-slicked fingers—which had been merely teasing until now—clenched and pumped; in the same moment Paladin slid over and across him, angling him, tight to bursting in those slender fingers, between the cleft of his buttocks. "I'd say 'deflated' 'tis no longer true, not at all… does this hurt, then?" was the soft murmur and Paladin rocked, back and forth.

"No. Oh. Yess…" The last was a hiss; Merimac ran his hands up Paladin's thighs, gripped his haunches to still him, spread him. Paladin smiled, his hand guiding even as his hips were being guided, all of it drawn out and heavenly and just so…

"Slow," Merimac whispered. "I want to…watch you."

"I know," was the whisper back; Paladin descended ever so deliberately, one shuddering, small lurch after another. It took every ounce of will Merimac had to not just thrust upward into that warm, tight willingness once the halfway point had passed; instead he slid his shaking hands from Paladin's haunches to his belly and down, thumbs caressing the tense, muscled line conjuncting hip and groin.

He filled his hands with turgid, twitching flesh and heat blossomed in the back of Paladin's eyes; with an eager gasp, Paladin drove down hard; once again slowly and tantalisingly rising back upward.

"Are you…" he panted, "hurting yet?"

In answer Merimac reached up, tangled his fingers into dark hair and pulled Paladin forward into a kiss. At the same time he curled the knowledgeable fingers of his other hand about his lover's erection, slid two fingers across the weeping tip, slicked those fingers at the sensitive spot just beneath. Paladin groaned appreciatively into his mouth; Merimac slid his fingers faster, then twisted his hips upward just so… and Paladin's groan turned into a cry, vibrating against his tongue and teeth.

"Did I hurt you?" he teased, nipping at Paladin's lower lip.

"More," was the hoarse reply.

"More of this?" Merimac asked, gripping his hand snug and stroking his thumb back and forth. "Or… this?" and he twisted again, rocking his hips upward, knowing that either would incite some sort of retaliation.

Paladin let out a curse that was more entreaty than vituperation, started rolling his hips in a fashion that not only drove him harder into Merimac's fist, but also tightened the upward thrust. It was Merimac's turn to gasp, open-mouthed against Paladin's lips—no curse this time, but a voiceless whimper that started from his belly and worked its way upward through his teeth.

Paladin's forehead had been resting against his own; quick pants of moist warm breath against his cheeks and hair tickling his temples. A particularly fierce thrust from Merimac shoved Paladin forward and he collided against the headboard with a small grunt; Merimac stilled in concern but Paladin arched up and back, arms wrapping about Merimac's knees and thighs bunching as he rocked up then down—any untoward coital mishaps fled every corner of Merimac's brain as he watched. He loved to gaze at Paladin almost as much as he loved to mount him, wanted to see that lithe body shudder and knot and drive down against him, watch those lovely eyes go all half-masted, shining flat. The sight all but finished him then and there: all sweat-wet and flushed, belly quivering, ribs straining, shoulders knotting and throat tightening—and the most incredible of all of those incredible sights, that blood-dark need straining upward within his fingers, throbbing and flaring, and just beyond it the proof of his own need, stiff-sheathed and sliding, disappearing with each thrust. The sounds of hearing his lover lose control rose over the slap-slide of damp flesh and tight-thrust friction, gained and held time with his own gasps and groans, rose with each stroke, faster and harder and… and…

One last arch, one last strain of muscle and bone and a low growl, and Paladin was spilling into his hand and over his belly, a lovely rictus of sight and sound that finally sent Merimac over the edge with a final few thrusts and a hoarse sigh.

Slipping, collapsing, sliding down into the spent numbness of oblivion, of the sharp-sweet smell of satiation, with heaving breaths and warm, damp comfort melding them into one skin.

"Now I hurt," Paladin murmured drowsily to the ceiling. "Wonderfully so. You?"

"I think I'm numb," Merimac said when he could catch his breath, then grinned suddenly. "But then, perhaps it's only right that you should be hurting, fair sir. I mean, aren't you too old to be playing such tweener games?"

"Likely enough." Paladin, his own breath less than steady, pulled gently free and rocked forward, just as gently aligning his body with Merimac's. "But you and I both know it stopped being a game a long time ago."

"When?" Merimac cuddled him close, just wanting to hear it.

"A fair spring day in Buckland—"

"It was mid-summer, in the haying—!"

"Was it?" Paladin smiled at his successful tease, folded his arms on Merimac's chest and put his chin atop them. "As if I'd not remember. You had hay all in your hair, and sweat gleaming on your arms. You were dirty with chaff and nearly black with sun, and when you turned to me and smiled, it was as if a shaft of sunrise had pierced my heart—"

"That's not how I remember it," Merimac interrupted softly. "As I recall, you'd been driving the wagon I'd been forking the hay on, and one of the ponies got spooked, and we both had to hang on its head to keep it from bolting, wagon, fodder and all, across the pasture. You were laughing like a mad thing, and panting, and you smelled of pony hide and fresh-mown hay, and your hair was in your eyes despite you wearing that awful straw hat… but those eyes! Oh, they were shining, and you the most beautiful thing in the Shire I'd ever seen, and I thought, it's no longer a game."

"Mm. As I recall it," Paladin smiled and kissed Merimac's chin—the uninjured side. "I thought you were the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen, all fractious and sweated and tight-muscled as that damned plunging pony you were holding. Then—and all the while you holding to the pony as if he were nothing, you turned to me, told me that you would swear yourself to me, if I but wished it. And I said—"

"You said you'd wish it," Merimac finished, his voice a-tremble. He reached out, turned his lover's left hand, palm up, and traced a small, faint scar upon that palm. "So that evening, after the work was over for the day, we went to the river to wash off the grime. We blooded and bound our hands together—"

"With that same ratty rope you insist on wearing about your waist," Paladin teased, reaching out to tug at the rope belt where it hung upon one of the bed posts; he softened the tease with another touch of his lips to Merimac's chin.

Merimac grinned. "And as I further recall, we spent the remainder of the night shagging our brains out, and almost didn't hear the call to work the next day."

"Missed breakfast, too, which was the worst." Paladin was still fingering the rope belt, rather pensively. "But everything changes, even an oath."

"We've kept ours quite well, all things considered, eh?" Merimac stroked a dark curl back, smoothed two fingers over Paladin's temple.

"Aye, we have. Just as you've kept this," Paladin softly replied, tugging at the rope. "I shouldn't have said it was ratty, dearest of cousins… you've treated it lovingly and well."

"Well, no use wasting a good length of expensive rope," Merimac murmured, and shifted meaningfully. "Or a night all to ourselves."

A grin lifted one corner of Paladin's mouth; his eyes glinted. "And here I thought you were worn out from all those… tweener games."

"Mm. Tell you the truth, I forgot about sore muscles and bruises amidst you adding a few of your own to my collection."

"You're the one who knocked my head into the bedstead." Paladin rubbed the crown of his head in mock injury.

"Poor lamb," Merimac purred and knuckled it gently. "I guess I got carried away. But I didn't hear you complaining."

"No, indeed." Paladin ran his fingers along the line of Merimac's jaw. "It has been too long, love. And lusty enthusiasm isn't just the province of youth."

"Mother forfend!" Merimac grinned and nuzzled into his hand. "And oh my, look here—I fear I'm not as decrepit as you fancied. Those tweens must be a good influence after all. The old rooster's starting to preen itself again."

Paladin looked down, smirked, and Merimac leaned across, licked his nose.

"Fancy another game, old Pal?"

* * * * * *