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Tag Me, Touch Me
“Unca Sam.” The small hobbit child was regarding him solemnly, dark brown eyes
wide under tangled blond curls.
“Well, now,” Sam responded with equal seriousness, turning from the table to
lean down and examine the speaker. “What’d be the problem, Will-lad?”
“Pansy willna play with me,” came the quick answer, as Marigold’s eldest
continued to stare earnestly at him.
This was hardly surprising, since Pansy Cotton, a plump cherub of some six
months, lay placidly in a basket on the grass nearby, shielded by a blanket from
the early spring sun, and contemplating her own fat lightly-furred little foot
with grave curiosity.
Sam gave a warm laugh at that, and reaching down, swept his nephew into his lap.
“Aye, and it’s not a’that easy bein’ the oldest, now, is it?” he chuckled,
ruffling his nephew’s curls affectionately. “Ah, you wait, m’lad, when they get
old enough to want t’be playin’ with you, you’ll be that grown, you’ll be
thinkin’ them a nuisance and an annoyance. ‘Tis the way o’the world, that ‘tis.”
Will gave a grin at the thought of being as grown and worldly-wise as that, and
settled for bouncing enthusiastically in Sam’s lap, and reaching out for the
honey pot that sat so temptingly near on the well-spread table.
It was Sam’s birthday lunch, and Marigold and Tom Cotton had not stinted on the
repast. All of the combined Gamgee-Cotton clan was present. Frodo was expected
later this afternoon, but he was presently awaiting the arrival of Merry and
Pippin who, word had it, were on their way as well, and were expected to reach
Bag End later that afternoon. The party, behind the younger Cottons’ smial,
promised to still be continuing at that time.
All agreed that it had been excellent timing on Sam’s part, to have been born in
early spring, when the weather was generally so fresh and fair. The ground was
still that hard, and frozen of a morning, that not much could be planted as of
yet. But the snow, except for where it still lay in shady glens here and there,
had melted away, and the air was fresh and fragrant with the first growth of the
season. In short, it was the perfect time of the year, as long as one wasn’t
chased indoors by a sudden spring downpour. But there was no sign of rain this
fair afternoon, and all sat under the budding leaves, and enjoyed the feel of
spring sun upon their faces.
Certain members of the party, however, were taking no heed of these phenomena.
Will squiggled down again, when it appeared that there were too many grown-ups
about to be able to address the honey-pot without notice. Sam gave a private
sigh of relief, for he had noticed Rose, Tom’s sister, further down the table,
with that peculiar look she tended to get whenever she observed him with his
nephew. Not for the first time, Sam heartily wished that she would find herself
a nice young lad. Tom must have some more friends of his that he could be
bringing up to dinner now and again.
Instinctively, he glanced further down the table, to where the gaffer sat, deep
in conversation with Tolman, Tom, and Jolly Cotton. The topic, he knew, was the
question of exchanging the back Baggins’ field for hops instead of oats this
summer, and if the younger element hadn’t found him so fascinating, he would
have been part of the discussion as well.
But as far as little Will Cotton, or Jolly’s son, Samwise Cotton, and his two
younger twins, Petunia and Periwinkle (more commonly known as Pet and Peri),
were concerned, Sam’s sole function was to delight and enchant them, a task he
never minded fulfilling. Unlike their fathers or grandfathers, Sam was an
ever-reliable source of amusement, stories, and the occasional sweet treat
guaranteed to draw a sigh from their mothers, as well as the words, “Sam, you’d
be spoilin’ them fierce, now.” Which, of course, was nothing but the truth.
So, on these rare extended family events, the younger element had gathered
around Sam, as he sat at the end of the table, and gazed at him expectantly.
“Here, now,” he muttered, aware that he should be joining in the determination
as to whether one or two years lying fallow was sufficient for an oatfield,
“why’d you not be playin’ out in the sun?”
Four pairs of eyes studied him carefully, without a word, and Peri’s fingers
found their customary place in her mouth.
Sam couldn’t help a smile at that. They certainly were more entertaining than
any oatfield he’d ever known, fair enough. “Why don’t y’be playin’ tag?” he
asked them lightly. “It’d be a grand day for that.”
Four pairs of eyes lit up at the thought. “It!” shrieked Pet, always the
quickest off the mark, and she shot away from the others to the tree to count.
With squeals of glee, the other three set off, followed by Sam, and they were
not seen (although they were occasionally heard) for at least the next hour. And
when they did all reappear, it seemed as though a mid-afternoon nap was
irresistible for the younger ones, and their mothers, grateful for the respite,
found them curled up under the shade trees, snoring faintly.
“Sam, you’d certainly be havin’ a way with them,” Marigold chuckled, as she
stood next to her somewhat disheveled brother, an arm wrapped around him. “ ‘Tis
a waste indeed… No, I’d not be sayin’ naught,” she laughed, as Sam turned to her
with a long-suffering look. “But I’d be glad enough for your help, there’s no
denyin’ that.”
*****
Afternoon was beginning to wane, and the shadows from the old oak were starting
to lengthen across the field. Even after the unsurpassed birthday lunch that
Marigold, Rose, Mistress Cotton, and Aster, Jolly Cotton’s wife, had conspired
to turn out in Sam’s honor, the thoughts of those present were finding
themselves drawn to the idea of teatime. Sam had, finally, joined in the
discussion over the question of the back field and its capability for supporting
hops, but the conversation had considerably dwindled as of late, and was
becoming more of a reminiscence regarding particularly fine brewing years, when
there was the sound of approaching company, and Frodo arrived with his cousins.
There was nothing like the arrival of three gentle-hobbits to stir the rest of
the party up, even if this particular three were considered, amazingly enough,
nearly members of the family. Indeed, one of them was family, for all practical
purposes, and the gaffer and old Tolman Cotton never, in their private moments
together, quite got over shaking their heads over the fact that the Master of
Bag End could be considered to be as such. It was almost equally difficult to
look up to his cousins with the loftiness that their future positions within the
Shire would seem to command, and indeed, the younger Cottons, especially in the
matter of Pippin, found this to be quite impossible.
“Mr. Pip!” came the chorus of high voices, upon their arrival, and the
occasional “Mr. Merry!” as well. Frodo’s arrival was greeted with rather less
commotion, since he was a much more familiar figure to them. However, each of
the young ones found the occasion to give him several hugs, as Frodo greeted the
older members of the party. His quiet and gentle ways had made him, long ago, a
great favorite of their’s, and Peri, if allowed to, would have shadowed his side
all day long, a small hand firmly in his, and the other just as firmly in her
mouth.
Pippin immediately was pulled down on a chair, and quickly surrounded by hobbit
youth. There was a chorus of rather shrill young voices, informing him of
several things at once, including that it was Unca Sam’s birthday, and that it
was exactly twenty-four days until the speaker’s half-birthday, and that the
black cat had had three kittens, one with stripes, and that Unca Sam had been
playing tag with them.
It was that last fact that caught Pippin’s attention. “Tag, hmm?” he questioned
young Samwise (normally known as Sammy to reduce confusion) and stroked his chin
thoughtfully. “But I’ll be guessing that this’d be Buckland tag that you’d
playing.” He gave a quick grin to Sam, who was standing behind the children with
a smile. “No offense, Sam,” he added parenthetically, with a chuckle. Frodo and
Merry had also joined them, curious as to what Pippin was getting up to this
time.
“Now, with Tookborough tag,” he confided, studying the children with great
seriousness again, “we add a little extra. When you tag a person, they must pay
a forfeit.” Seeing the puzzled looks around him, he explained further, “That’s
when you get to tell the other person that they have to do something, and they
must do it. Like hop around the chicken coop three times, or kiss the cat’s
nose.”
This idea immediately produced delighted squeals from the audience. “Now, it
can’t be anything dangerous, mind,” Pippin hastened to add, as he caught the
look on Sam’s face, “just something silly.” The audience nodded with enthusiasm
over this, and with another quick squeal of, “I’m It!” Pet was off to cover her
face to count again, and the children rapidly disbursed, with only the faintest
grumbles from Will about Pet always getting to be It.
*****
Afternoon was nearly gone, and the shadows were lengthening, as Frodo, Sam,
Merry, and Pippin started home to Bag End. The sun had gone down, and the air
was starting to chill for the evening when Frodo suddenly cast a side-ways
glance at Pippin, and questioned, “Forfeits, Pip? With tag?”
Pippin looked a trifle smug at that. “Took rules,” he responded, somewhat
loftily.
Merry gave a slight snort at that, as he walked at Pippin’s side. “Pippin Took
rules, more like,” he commented wryly.
“Well, yes,” Pippin conceded with a grin at that, “but nothing’s worse than
being boring, I say.”
“So if you think you’d be the one making up the rules, there’d be no chance of
that?” Frodo gave Sam a quick glance, and could see by Sam’s answering smile
that he suspected what Frodo was thinking. Unobtrusively, Frodo also gave Merry
a slight nudge as Pippin walked ahead looking rather pleased with himself, and
Merry gave a fleeting look over at both Frodo and Sam and grinned. All three
stopped, letting Pippin walk on ahead unknowingly by himself, along the faintly
seen footpath in the dusk. It took a few moments for Pippin to be aware of this
fact, and when he finally turned around questioningly, he was well ahead of the
others.
“Very well,” laughed Frodo at that, “Your rules, Pip. You’re It,” and the three
vanished suddenly into the trees on either side.
Pippin let out a delighted chortle at that, and made a quick decision.
*****
Merry did not know the woods and fields that well between the Cottons’ smial and
Bag End, especially in the fading light, but then neither did Pippin. What he
was sure of was that it would be him who Pip would be chasing. What he was not
sure of was how difficult he should be to catch.
Watching Pippin this afternoon as he cheerfully entertained the children, yet
mingled easily with the grown hobbits, had paradoxically impressed upon Merry
the fact that Pippin had, one way or the other, nearly grown up. Somehow, this
fact, inescapable though it might be, had never come to him when he was in
Pippin’s company at Brandy Hall, or Tookborough, or even Bag End. For there,
Pippin was always Pip, merry, irrepressible, delightful, but always the
youngest. It was only this afternoon that he had suddenly caught a glimpse of
the future Took and Thain and realized, with somewhat of a shock, that at
eighteen years of age, Pippin was not so far from that fate, after all. And
reassessing Pippin’s comparative age had caused certain other reassessments as
well.
He stopped for a moment, ducking behind the trunks of an ancient cluster of
sycamore, and listened carefully. Frodo and Sam, he had seen earlier well ahead
of him, so that quiet sound in the grove behind him could be but one hobbit.
These were Pippin’s rules, he realized quite suddenly, and with an odd sense of
unease, he wondered how seriously Pippin was taking them. But there was a
peculiar thrill to this thought and a certain determination to find out.
With an intentional rustling brush against a low hanging branch, Merry stepped
forward from behind the trees, and there, standing before him on the path, in
the deepening light, was Pippin. “Tag,” murmured Pippin, very quietly, standing
alert before him, but still, with his hands at his sides.
“You haven’t touched me yet, though,” Merry softly mentioned.
“Not yet,” Pippin’s smile was fleeting and he continued to stand before Merry in
an almost wary stance.
“What forfeit must I pay, then?” Merry had to ask, with a strange compulsion to
know.
Pippin studied him for a moment in the faint light. “Kiss me,” he said then,
nearly inaudibly. And, only slightly louder, he added, “You never really have,
you know.”
“Of course I have,” Merry couldn’t help disagreeing.
“Not really,” came Pippin’s immediate answer, and the expression on his face was
one that Merry had never seen before.
And how did it come to be, in this unfamiliar wood, on this seemingly ordinary
day, that this would happen? It wasn’t until much later that Merry remembered
that he had once heard that Sam’s birthday was also the elvish new year, and
perhaps that might have explained it, but on this chilly evening, there was
really no justification for Pippin suddenly being in his arms, and there was
absolutely no rationalization for the way his mouth met Pippin’s, and there was
no excuse, none whatsoever, for discovering how wonderful and how right it all
suddenly felt.
“Oh,” said Pippin softly, when they shyly drew apart, and his face was lit with
that wonderful Tookish smile that Merry suddenly realized how much he cherished.
“That was, oh, just…” and his mouth was on Merry’s again, more insistently this
time, with Merry holding him even closer as he returned Pippin’s kiss. Both were
breathing rather unsteadily when they separated this time.
“I think there’s a forfeit I want to claim,” whispered Merry rather unsteadily
at that, drawing himself reluctantly away from Pippin. “Hurry back to Bag End,
Pip. I’ll be waiting for you there.”
And he was suddenly off in the gloom, leaving Pippin standing there, leaning
against the new bark of the tree trunk with his heart beating fast.
*****
Frodo and Sam heard Merry before they saw him, fully expecting that he would now
be It. With a laugh, Sam stepped to the side, anticipating that Merry would
continue to follow Frodo, who had sprinted on ahead. But instead, Merry
astonished Sam by stopping dead in front of him and, with the most unusual
combination of confusion and embarrassment on his face, reached out and grasped
Sam’s arm. “Tag, Sam,” he muttered sheepishly.
“You’d be wantin’ a forfeit from me?” Sam asked, plainly amazed at this.
Merry swallowed, with distinct uneasiness, and cast his gaze to the ground. “I
wanted to ask you something,” he mumbled, and Sam was all of a sudden sure that,
had there been enough light, Merry would have definitely been red about the
face. “Something personal.”
Sam had no idea what to say to this. His relationship with Merry, although not
as strained as it originally had been, still had never been comfortable. When he
thought about it, especially after Frodo’s cousins had paid Frodo and him a
visit, he had always attributed it to the fact that they were both, in some
ways, far too alike. Sam had always privately thought that there was a lot of
truth in the old Shire wisdom that true friendship complements rather than
matches. He and Merry were nearly the same age. They both usually considered
life in a pre-eminently practical manner, and were both very knowledgeable in
the useful arts and customs of the Shire. And of course, they also had their
connection with Frodo in common. It was several years before Sam felt Merry’s
resentment of him start to finally fade, to be at last replaced by reluctant
acceptance. But by this time, they had arrived at a wary truce.
Sam considered Merry standing uncertainly before him, and suddenly felt
intensely curious. “And what could I be doin’ for you, Merry?” he asked, almost
incredulously.
Merry paused for just a moment more, and then blurted out, “How old were you,
Sam? I mean, with Frodo. At first. The first time.” And then he added, in almost
a whisper, “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
A slow smile started to creep across Sam’s face. “Well, if ‘tis forfeits, I
suppose I must be tellin’, then. I’d have been twenty and two years. Not far
into bein’ a tween, at that.”
Merry said nothing, but Sam could see the disappointment on his face. “You’d be
thinkin’ about Pippin, now, am I right?”
Merry looked up, startled, at that. “Yes,” he answered, almost inaudibly.
“Why, I’d not be worryin’ about his age all that much, then,” the smile on Sam’s
face grew a bit at that.
“Why not?” Merry couldn’t keep from asking.
“Because with Pippin, it’d only be a matter of time. I’d be thinkin’ not much
would be changin’ for the both o’you in these next few years, and he’d seem to
be grown up enough t’me.” And then, giving Merry a friendly clasp to the
shoulders, he added, “But then us Gamgees would not be much for wastin’ time.
Marigold was married at nineteen and both o’me brothers by twenty, so you can’t
be goin’ much by us.”
Merry said nothing, but seemed to be considering Sam’s words.
“Would that be the forfeit, then?” Sam couldn’t help asking.
“Oh, no, that wasn’t it,” Merry looked directly back at Sam, with the beginning
of a rather wicked grin on his face. “That would be to tell me what you did to
Frodo on our camping trip last year.”
Sam burst into a delighted laugh at that. “Aye, he does get that noisy
sometimes, it’d be no wonder you’d be curious.” And he told him.
Pippin had already reached Bag End, and was waiting with Frodo for the other two
when Sam and Merry slowly walked up to them. In the faint light that was
remaining, Frodo gave Sam a puzzled look as Sam reached out to him, tucking a
strong arm around his waist. “Tag, me dear,” he said to Frodo with a warm smile.
“Take me to the Green Dragon, Frodo-love.”
Frodo did not question him, but wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist as well.
“Whatever you wish, dearest,” he murmured, paying no heed to his cousins.
And as they walked away, Sam called quickly over his shoulder to the other two,
“The guest room you’d usually be usin’ wants cleaning. You’d best be usin’ the
one next t’ours.”
Frodo glanced quickly to Sam at that. “Sam, that room only has one bed instead
of two.”
“Aye,” Sam calmly replied, with a smile. “And here I was, wonderin’ what to get
them for my birthday.”
*****
Pippin followed Merry into Bag End, through the kitchen, down the hall, and into
the unfamiliar bedroom, his hand held tight in Merry’s grasp. Merry had only
paused briefly in the kitchen, lighting a slip from the smoldering kitchen fire,
and never once looking back at Pippin. But his hold on Pippin’s hand was firm,
and Pippin never questioned, never doubted where they were going.
It wasn’t until they were in the darkened room that Merry let go of his hand,
and carefully lit the fire. He turned around, and Pippin saw, as he had
expected, Merry’s face closed off, quiet and contained.
For all his life, Merry had been, ultimately a mystery to Pippin. When his
emotions ran the highest, Pippin would see, as usual, the walls come down
between them, and he never really knew, truly knew, what Merry was thinking.
Much as he loved Merry, and oh, how he did, Merry was a puzzle and an enigma, a
riddle that Pippin sometimes felt on the edge of solving, but never quite did.
And suddenly, Pippin felt a fear that perhaps, this time, he had asked for too
much, too soon. He should have waited for Merry to be the one to make the first
gesture. And if he lost Merry through his impetuousness? Pippin could feel his
heart drop away from him at the very thought of it. No Merry would be nothing at
all, no light, no joy, no love.
But Merry had seen some of this in Pippin’s eyes, and held out his hand once
again. “Whatever you wish, Pip,” he said very softly. “Whatever you want.”
Pippin grasped Merry’s hand decisively at that, and suddenly he was in Merry’s
arms again, and Merry’s mouth was on his, and this, oh, yes, this was what he
wished for. And when he drew away, needing to look into Merry’s eyes again, the
joy surged within his heart, for it was love in Merry’s eyes, beyond any doubt,
and the walls were all gone, and Merry’s smile was tender and sweet, and for him
alone.
“You do love me, at that,” Pippin couldn’t help the note of triumph in his
voice.
“Ah, my dearest, sweet fool of a Took,” Merry laughed warmly. “You have no idea
how much.”
“Then you need to show me,” Pippin breathed before finding Merry’s mouth again
and daringly darting his tongue in.
With a hum of pleasure, Merry returned the favor, and never breaking off his
kiss, managed to maneuver Pippin back toward the bed so it took only slightest
of pushes, and Pippin toppled back with Merry over the top of him. Then Pippin
had to break away for just a moment and gasp at the wonder of Merry over him and
Merry’s arms around him, and his kisses, finer that he had even dreamed they
would be.
Then Merry sat up, beside Pippin on the bed, and with sudden great seriousness,
pulled Pippin up to a sitting position. “I don’t know how familiar you are with
this whole procedure, Pip,” he stated gravely, “but this…” and here he tugged at
Pippin’s jacket sleeve, “will have to be coming off.”
Pippin couldn’t help but laugh, and quickly stripped off the offending jacket
and tossed it heedlessly to the other side of the room. “And now you,” he
breathed, and lightly tugged Merry’s jacket off of him and sent it sailing as
well to join his own.
“Carry on, Pip, you seem to have the idea,” Merry smiled rather wickedly, as
Pippin started in on the buttons on his shirt.
“Entirely too many of these, Merry,” Pippin murmured, before he was distracted
entirely by the thought of bare Merry within and the sudden mesmerizing sight of
Merry’s torso, which he had seen so often before but had never quite considered
in this particular manner. And now the question of what, exactly, would Merry do
if he put his mouth just, oh, there, and gave the tiniest of little nibbles
presented itself. Experimentation proved that Merry gave the strangest strangled
yowl at that, and immediately proceeded to divest Pippin of his shirt as well,
and demonstrate enthusiastically precisely what that sensation entailed. Pippin
couldn’t help but marvel, in his fleeting rational moments, that two such
useless bits could provide such exquisite pleasure.
Now there was nothing for it but to remove anything that remained between them
as hastily as possible, and Pippin set to this task with great enthusiasm. So it
was no time at all before they lay naked together in the great feather bed, and
Merry, propped up on one elbow, looked down at Pippin, and ran his hand slowly
down the side of Pippin’s face. Pippin watched Merry’s face in a daze, his heart
in his eyes. And he knew that he had been right, always right, all of his life.
It was Merry, and there was no one else, and never would be. It seemed as if
Merry was reading his thoughts as well, for that tender smile came to his face
once more, and his words, low and sweet, touched Pippin’s heart, and held it for
the rest of his life. “I do love you, Pip, my dearest one. More than anyone,
more than anything.”
Then Merry’s hands and mouth were on him, and Pippin lost himself in the dream
of them holding him, stroking him, encircling him, caressing him, until there
was nothing else in all the world except the burning in his blood, and the all
encompassing love in his heart, and the stars in his eyes, as he closed them and
let himself burst into a glory of passion.
It was much later that night, when the fire was nearly burnt out, when Pippin
suddenly remembered the game that had brought this all about. “The forfeit,
Merry,” he said suddenly, wrapped in Merry’s arms with their legs entwined, and
Merry’s hand running idly through his curls. “What forfeit did you ask of Sam,
anyway?”
Merry gave a suggestive, impish laugh at that. “Here,” he responded, sitting up
and grinning at Pippin. “Let me show you.”
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