A/N: So, I've been wanting to do a pretty little Merry/Pippin for a while now. They've always been just so cute! And plus, they seriously have something going on. DO NOT DENY IT.

This is really rather emotive, so I'd appreciate any reviews telling me yay or nay. This is the way I write, so I'd love critiques. :) I don't know when this is set. Possible pre-quest, because they're both rather chipper. This is the way I envisioned their relationship, so... enjoy!

Oh! And Diamond + Merry? Or Estella + Merry? Whatever, I chose Diamond. So ignore that little bit if it's wrong.

It was the first day of summer.

The sky was an effortless blue, and the heavens moved slowly, caught in an invisible tide. Rippling like velvet, small puffs of cloud dragged themselves across the canvas, leaving behind them whisperings of more pleasant summer days to follow. The sun was nothing more than an exuberant yolk of egg, sitting placidly in amongst its subjects.

The apple orchard had been quiet that morning. Sitting rather happily, with bluebirds and blackbirds alike flitting here and there, alighting upon great, heavy boughs, chortling and gossiping at the morning and each other. The tiny, sour apples - just beginning to catch their first blushes of red – lay nestled amongst puckered white blossoms; stubborn, as always, to leave spring behind. The orchard had been calmly contemplating the upcoming harvest, when two figures had slipped over the yonder hedge and into the rows of knotty trees.

"Merry, hurry up!" The whisper-shout cut the still morning air, and caused the taller of the pair to double his pace, leaping over the hairy patches of deep green grass.

Pippin felt he had hardly run as fast in his entire Hobbit life. His sides pinched and stung with the effort of running, and his sense of balance was quite off-kilter – but that, of course, was due to the fact that a large basket of plums was clutched tightly to his chest.

"Pip – Pippin!" The boy in question skidded to a halt and lurched wildly, plums threatening to plummet towards the springy ground. Whipping about, his eyes immediately sought the distant figure of his best friend, who was waving one arm wildly, (the other occupied with a fat melon) his eyes glittering anxiously. "Here, over here!"

Darting a look behind Merry's shoulder, Pippin made his decision. He charged back the way he had come, stumbling once or twice, but eventually collapsing into a little dip in the orchard where Merry was currently huddled, looking for all the Shire like a cornered squirrel. The pair tucked themselves into the tight space between the lolling roots of the tree, each breathing in gasps and pants, fruit pinned to the safety of their chests.

"Ssh, shh, he might hear you!" Pippin managed to roll his eyes at his cousin once before the distance yapping of dogs could be heard, echoing and bouncing off the trees. A sudden hush fell over the pair, and the orchard was silent once more. Only the faint smell of sweat on Merry's skin and the incessant songs of the birds punctured the air. A fidgety sort of boy by birth, Pippin managed three minutes before he gave way to a sudden wriggle and allowed himself to breathe again.

Merry's elbow darted into Pippin's side, and a glare shot his way. "You do breathe noisily, Pip."

"What, like this?" With Pippin proceeding to wheeze like a pair of bellows, Merry could do nothing more than break into a grin and start sniggering. "You're an idiot, Peregrin Took."

"And whose fault is that?" quipped the so-called idiot, dumping the basket of plums in front of his crossed legs and selecting a pair of the prettiest. He met Merry's amused look and shoved a plum into his cousin's face before a retort could be given. "Just have a plum and shut up, Meriadoc."

Merry snatched the proffered fruit, smirking at his full name. "My, my, we are feisty today," he muttered, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. The plum was delicious. Sweet, but just on the cusp of being a touch sour. Humming his approval, Merry sucked and slurped up the juice of the fruit before popping the seed into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around for a moment, the seed was the deposited into calloused palm (spit and all) and promptly hurled into the distance.

"They, my dear Pip, are -" Grey eyes met blue, and Merry's sentence petered off in uncertainly. "Delicious..."

Pippin hadn't been able to help himself. Merry had looked simply delightful that day. With the late-morning sunlight hitting his auburn curls just-so, and the flush of their run painting his cheeks apple-red, and his magnetic conversation, and his full mouth latching onto the purple skin of the plum – with juice running down chin that was lapped up by pink tongue – and his clear, sky-after-rain eyes touching his own... Pippin couldn't help but stare and gaze and want. After a sigh-breath of stillness, a particularly rowdy squawk from a bird made Pippin look away, eyes falling on his own, lonely plum. His breathing sounded particularly loud in his ears. Merry was right. He did breathe loudly.

Sucking in a gutful of summer air (for courage) Pippin started on his plum, purposely avoiding his best friend's eye. 'That's right,' Pippin thought, gloomily chomping away, 'Merry is your best friend – your cousin. There is no chance in the entire Shire and the rest of Middle Earth that anything, anything will ever happen.'

Heaving a deep sigh, Pippin chucked away the pip of his plum. Get it together. "So, Merry, I was thinking, a little later d'you want to go over the brook and try and get some of those little river fish you like so much? They're in season right now, and we ought to be able to catch a few with a tiny bit of bait..." He trailed off. Babbling was something he did when he was nervous, and he knew that Merry knew.

"Pip?"

The boy in question shivered just a little bit. Well, at least he's talking to you. Feeling suddenly as if several things were at stake, Pippin forced his eyes to meet those of his cousin.

Merry was gazing at Pippin with a very strange expression on his handsome features. His eyebrows were crinkled together in what could have been scepticism – or perhaps irritation. Pippin hadn't fully finished cataloguing Merry's many moods. It seemed that whenever he discovered one, five more popped up. Like mushrooms, really.

Merry swallowed audibly, and raised a shaking hand. "You... you have some – some juice. There. On your chin." He paused. And then he crossed the small space between them to place his thumb upon Pippin's lower lip.

The range of emotions that suddenly flooded through Pippin were sinfully numerous in number. Unable to repress a little wriggle of want, he started to lean into Merry's hand, breathing in the smell of dirt and sweat and apples and Merry. That name must have passed his lips, because all of a sudden Merry was hovering closer; so close Pippin could count his eyelashes, and could see the delicate dusting of summer pollen clinging to his sun-kissed skin.

They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity. Eyes locking upon the other, breath shared between the pair. Heat. Pippin shifted closer, just a tiny bit, and reached out to take a small handful of Merry's delicate white shirt. Breathe. Heartbeat. Pause.

"Merry?" A shy, uncertain whisper. Like everything could fall apart in a second.

"Yes, Pip?"

Pippin closed his eyes, counting. He opened them. "That... that's not my chin, Merry."

A flash a sinful, beautiful smile. Merry's nose wrinkled and moved closer. "I don't suppose this is your chin, either, is it?"

And he kissed him. His best friend. His cousin.

Merry tasted like plums and tea. His lips were sticky from the fruit, and Pippin drank in the suddenly overwhelming sense that Merry was everywhere. The feeling of skin brushing skin through starch-soft cotton. The feeling of Merry's hand cradling his face, touching his ear, his hair. The feeling of Merry kissing him.

"Oh, Pip." Whispered between kisses that came quicker, more urgent. "Pip - Pippin."

He could do nothing but kiss his cousin more – to press himself against the taller boy, pull him closer by the handful of shirt. Despite the ferocity of the desire to get closer, their kisses remain short. Sweet. Butterfly wings against the petals of a flower. The delicate handling of an expensive ornament. Of something special.

All too soon, they broke apart, each breathless, each wanting more. Pippin's eyes were closed, and he opened them slowly. Savouring the image of Merry: tousle-haired, swollen-lipped, flushed of cheek. Pippin felt a pang in his lap, and he closed his eyes again. Merry followed the path from Pippin's lips to his cheekbones, and then the bridge of his nose. The tickly sensation of auburn curls brushing Pippin's eyelids. Lips replaced hair, and Merry kissed his cousin's eyelids; so gently, so prettily.

"Wake up, Pip. You're not dreaming," Merry breathed, his voice hushed. He kissed Pippin's forehead and drew away a little bit, allowing himself to memorize the features of his infatuation. At Merry's voice, Pippin forced himself to look – despite the assurance, he was still wary – and he smiled when Merry's face swam into view. He paused, and then broke into a grin.

"Wait until Diamond finds out!"

Merry yelped and toppled backwards, and Pippin shot to his feet, impish grin in place. "Oh, come now," he chided, hands on hips, watching Merry struggle to his feet. "Surely you don't think she'd have a problem with this, do you?"

"You –" Merry finally found his feet, and swept the abandoned melon back into his arms. "Wouldn't dare." His eyes flashed, his mouth stretched into an irrepressible grin. Pippin's heart thumped, and he waggled a finger at his companion. "Play nice, Meriadoc!"

Merry stepped towards Pippin, eyes suddenly taking on an entirely different emotion. Ginger curls fell in front of his gaze, making him seem all the more exciting. "Make me." And Merry kissed his cousin again and again, and each time felt like the first until it was nothing but a haze of Merry and Pippin and he still tastes like plums. Pulling himself away, Pippin forced back the smile threatening to pinch the corners of his mouth and attempted to adopt a look of sobriety. He ducked and grabbed the basket of plums, meeting Merry's just-kissed expression.

"Do you still want some of those fish?" Pippin asked, (oblivious) tucking a curl of hair behind Merry's right ear. "Because it's almost elevenses, you know, and they'd go grand with that melon."

And his cousin, his best friend, smiled softly and managed to weave their hands together. "That," he replied, "would be lovely."