In his vision Merry stretches, soft sheets sliding against his skin and the fluffy comfort of a feather mattress underneath him; and he retains enough understanding to know that he is home, some home of his own and not Brandy Hall, and that he is seeing not what is but what might be if he only turned aside from the quest. A soft, sleepy murmur from beside him attracts his attention and a warm body nestles against his own, limbs twining around him, slow, drowsy kisses pushed against his throat. Merry smiles and bestows caresses on warm, smooth skin, and his body still holds the memory of making love for hours the night before. "Morning, love," he whispers. "Sleep well?" "Mm." Pippin pushes his nose into the curve of Merry's neck and says succinctly, "Breakfast." Galadriel's gaze moves on, leaving Merry shaking, and he doesn't quite look at Pippin for the rest of the day.   For the first time in his life, Merry wondered if the Big People didn't have the right idea about sleeping arrangements. They always slept so far from each other, the Big People did, sacrificing both protection and warmth. There were tradeoffs, however, like everything else: if he were a Big Person, sleeping all by himself in a corner of this tree-lined shelter, then the slow, quiet stirring of Pippin's breath against his shoulder would not currently be keeping him wide awake and tense in every muscle. He shifted wearily, bringing a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose, and felt Frodo stir a little with the movement. She was wrong, he told himself. Pippin is my cousin, my best friend. I can't… I don't… But oh, that glowing happiness, that warmth that had filled him at being able, after such long wanting (but I don't want it, I don't), to touch Pippin with a lover's surety… Pippin stirred, stretching a little, and his knee curved to brush Merry's leg. With the ease of long practice, Merry wriggled out of the hobbit-pile without waking any of his companions and made his way silently out into the woods. Air. He needed air, and solitude, and time to think. Not paying attention to where he was going, he wandered deeper into the woods, knowing that he was probably getting lost and not caring. When the ground leveled off he played a game with the land around him, walking as long as he could with his eyes closed: if I can get a hundred paces without doing myself some sort of injury, then all this will go away and I'll be able to go back and go to sleep… At ninety-five paces he walked into a tree. Merry braced his hands on the tree and leaned his forehead against it, listening to the soft singing of the breeze in the leaves. It's true, he thought miserably. I want him. Oh, I want him. And I can't have him. He'd never want this. I wish I'd never come here. There had been something more than knowledge in that vision, something not quite a memory; Pippin's hands tangling in his hair, stroking urgently over his back, moving down to catch hold of Merry's hips and position him impatiently – Merry, I want – This? AH! Merry groaned and thumped his head against the tree. Oh, I would give anything not to know this. Anything. I'd take the Ring to Mordor and let Frodo go home. How am I supposed to go on with Pippin as if nothing had happened? Following the sound of water, he began walking again. The pool was undoubtedly a bare puddle to elves but it came nearly up to Merry's knees. He dropped his cloak onto the grass and waded out into it, clothes and all, moving to stand underneath a wide fall of water over a shallow lip of rock. Cool water drenched him, soaking his clothes against his skin; bracing his hands on the rock wall in front of him, he tilted his head downward and let the water wash over him. The steady flow against his skin was soothing, wiping his mind clean of thought, of any experience but the moment and the cool liquid veil cloaking him in shadow. Clean, but not clean enough. Not enough to wash away the painfully vivid tactile image of Pippin's fingers wound into his hair, mouth opening hot and eager under Merry's own, that dancing Tuckborough burr making music of words breathless with need. Skin bared to Merry's mouth – He doesn't want this. This is Pippin we're talking about. If he wanted me he'd have said so long ago, or just climbed into bed with me in the middle of the night. Water ran into his eyes, forcing them closed, ran down his face and along his lips like the caress of a cool, gentle mouth. He pushed soaked hair out of his eyes, feeling the sting of imminent tears behind his eyelids; he was exhausted, lonely, miserable, getting cold, and so hard that it hurt, and there seemed to be no prospect of that condition improving to any marked extent in the foreseeable future. Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, Merry leaned his forehead against the smooth rock and let his hand move, sliding downward over the water-slicked stone. If he were unbuttoning Pippin's pants, he would have taken his time with it; easing one button open and then pausing to caress the hard swell under the cloth before moving on to the next one, while Pippin, impatient as ever, squirmed and pushed against his hand. Or maybe he wouldn't have had the patience himself to tease like that. Maybe he would have dispensed with the buttons in short order and slid his hand inside to close around petal-soft skin over aching hardness, and Pippin would still have pushed against him but now it would have been with a sharp, gasping cry that meant yes, more. Merry let out a trembling breath and caught his lower lip in his teeth, his left hand clenching unnoticed into a fist against the rock above his head. Like most of the Tooks, Pippin had a small portwine birthmark on his chest, no bigger than a coin. If Merry were to run his tongue over that spot, which probably didn't taste any different from the skin surrounding it but it wouldn't hurt to be sure, a slight movement of his head would bring his mouth to tight, dark nipples that seemed made for the ministrations of an encircling tongue. But it wasn't in Pippin to lie there and be done to; and before long his fingers would be closing around Merry with a deft, sure grip, stroking with a steadily quickening rhythm. And because he was Pippin, and insatiably curious, it would probably not be very long before his hand was joined by his mouth – – Merry's hand opened against the rock with a quick, spasmodic flex, palm flat on the sheer stone, fingers straining for purchase through the cold veiling of water, and he choked down on a whimper and fought for air around the water coursing over him – – and a tongue that could coax seventeen syllables out of the word breakfast could surely do equally amazing things elsewhere, but what Merry would really want would be Pippin's body against his, hands digging into his back, legs locked around his waist, lithe body driving against him until every muscle in Pippin's body tensed like a bowstring and – – and Merry gasped, biting his lip against a cry that would have emerged as Pippin's name, spilling against his hand and the water and a vast yawning emptiness that Pippin could have filled and didn't. When he stopped shaking, Merry put his drenched clothes back together as best he could and leaned into the rock, face tilted downward against the water, hands clasped over his head and forming a small barrier around which the water broke and flowed. How long he stood there, he had no idea; but he drifted in and out of awareness for what felt like a long time, thoughts moving in the slow circular irrationality of half-sleep, and eventually the air began to taste of morning. "Trying to drown yourself?" Merry jolted awake and startled so badly that before he knew what was going on he was sitting in the water, spluttering and sneezing against the waterfall flowing onto his head. A hand gripped his arm and pulled him back out of the flow and to his feet; Merry dashed water out of his eyes and looked up, and thought absently that this was probably the first time in his life that he had genuinely not been happy to see Pippin. "Hello, Pip," he said wearily, and began trudging toward the edge of the pool. Pippin kept pace with him. "Is this where you've been all night?" he asked, and the tone of his voice was so unusual that it took Merry a minute to process the fact that his cheerful, easygoing cousin was furious. "How did you know I was gone?" "I woke up when you left. I would have gone after you but I thought you'd be right back, and then I thought maybe you'd just gone for a walk and you'd be back soon, and then I couldn't find you at all. I thought something had happened to you, Merry, and now it's cold and you'll be lucky if you don't catch your death. What possessed you to –" "Pippin." Merry picked up his cloak and scrubbed ineffectually at his hair with it. "Stop. You've found me. Let's go back." "I don't know the way." Pippin reached for his own cloak and threw it around Merry's shoulders. "And I want to know what's wrong. You've been… been angry with me or something all day, you won't even look at me, and now you spend half the night standing fully clothed under a waterfall." "Pippin, why are you so irate?" "Because I was worried, and then I stopped being worried and started being scared, and you won't tell me what's wrong." "You haven't let me get a word in edgewise, how could I?" Merry protested, then sighed and relented. "I'm not angry with you, Pip, but I don't want to talk about what's wrong either." "But you always do. What's so bad that you can't talk to me?" Now Pippin's voice was quiet and hurt; and Merry gave up trying to dry his hair, sat down on the grass, and rubbed his hands wearily across his face. "Pippin. Please. It isn't you, I just don't feel like talking right now. I'm too tired and too cold, and I don't know why I thought standing under a waterfall was a good idea but it wasn't." Pippin stood watching him for a minute, arms folded testily across his chest, before he sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Take your shirt off," he ordered. Merry blinked. "What?" "You heard me. I'm not giving you all my clothes, but at least your top half will be dry. Off with it, then." "Pippin, no. You'll be cold. My clothes will dry soon enough." "Brandybucks, really, I've no patience at all," Pippin muttered between his teeth. "Take it off, Merry, or I'll take it off for you." Why doesn't it just rain, too? Merry thought dismally as he began to obediently unbutton his shirt. "You can't possibly be this upset just because I won't tell you what's wrong." "I'm not. It's because you won't tell me and you wandered off and I thought something had happened to you and you still won't look at me." Pippin knelt down in front of Merry, bracing his hands flat on the ground to either side of Merry's upraised knees, the linen of his open shirt brushing like a bird's wing over Merry's legs and feet. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, look at me!" Unwillingly, Merry looked up. Pippin's eyes were stormy, swimming with unshed tears, and Merry felt the force of that gaze like a blow. "Pippin…" he said slowly. "When Galadriel was… what did you see?" Pippin sat slowly back on his heels and looked away, an odd expression stealing over his face; there was sadness there, and something like shame, but overlain with a wistful, wondering joy. Merry watched as Pippin's eyes turned toward some vision that Merry couldn't see, and it tore at Merry's heart not to be able to follow him. "We were lying on that little hill that overlooks the Brandywine," Pippin said finally, very quietly. "It was night, summer, and the sky was so full of stars that it looked like you could walk across all of forever on them, one to the other like stones across a brook. We were a little tipsy, both of us, and we were trying to count fireflies but we kept losing count and arguing over whether we'd counted one twice." Oh, I love you, Merry thought, resting his arms on his knees and smiling as he watched Pippin's face glow with remembered happiness. "And then I was teasing you about the time you tried to walk across the bridge on the railing and fell into the river, and you…" "I what?" Merry asked after Pippin had been silent for a moment. Pippin turned back to him and smiled a little sadly, and the starlight shone from the traces of tears on his cheeks. "You're going to catch cold, is what. Here, off with your shirt and put mine on." He slid his shirt off and tossed it to Merry, then caught up Merry's damp cloak and wrapped it around himself. Merry sighed and exchanged his wet shirt for Pippin's dry one. "We should try to get back." Pippin yawned. "It's too late. Let's sleep here and we'll go back in the morning when we can see where we're going. We'll be safe, we're deep enough in the forest." Merry plucked at his wet pants with a grimace. "I suppose you're right. If we try to go back now we'll just get more lost than we are. Be just our luck to walk right into a band of orcs." "I'd rather not, thank you," Pippin said in a small voice, and crawled over to sit closer to Merry. "Oh, Pip, I didn't mean to scare you," Merry said penitently, sliding an arm around Pippin's shoulders. "You don't have your sword, do you? Because I forgot mine." "No, and fat lot of good they'd do us anyway, really. We'll find somewhere out of sight to sleep, and be safe enough." He reached around to brush soft tendrils of hair out of Pippin's eyes, and the temptation to lean in just a little and kiss him set Merry's heart pounding. "How about that tree over there, the one that looks like a willow with the branches all hanging down to the ground? It still has thick leaves on it, we'd be out of sight there." "Let's see, then." Merry rose and went to the tree, pushing back branches and peering through them. "Good eye, Pip, it looks like there's nice soft grass in there and the leaves are too thick to see through." Pippin followed him through the trailing, ropelike branches, peering apprehensively up into the boughs. "Do you suppose there are spiders in here?" "What, big ones, like in Bilbo's stories?" "Merry!" "All right, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Merry laughed, pulling off his cloak to fold it into a pillow. "No, I don't think there are spiders, even small ones. I haven't even seen any since we've been here. Here, you can share my cloak for a pillow, don't take yours off or you'll be cold." "You'll be cold too, you're all wet still." Pippin wriggled close into Merry's side, jostling both of them mercilessly until his cloak was wrapped around both of them, the upper half of his body was pressed securely into Merry's warmth, and the lower half of his body was carefully out of contact with Merry's wet pants. "There. Comfortable?" "Mm-hmm," Merry answered, rather distractedly. An oddly crowded silence fell; Merry could feel every inch of contact as if it burned him, and Pippin's heart beat against his arm like the fluttering of a small caged bird. "Are you going to tell me the rest of it?" Merry whispered finally. "No," Pippin answered, rubbing his cheek lightly against Merry's shoulder. "Not unless you tell me yours." "I…" Merry sighed and shook his head. "It was like yours, that's all. We were back in the Shire, and you were wanting breakfast…" "That's all? That seems like a strange thing to offer you; I can want breakfast right here." Merry laughed. "No, it wasn't… it was a lot of things, I just can't really explain them." "I wish we could go back," Pippin said softly. "I wish someone else would come along and take the Ring to Mordor for us, and we could all go home and never leave the Shire again." Merry turned a little to him, lifting a hand to stroke Pippin's hair. "You could stay here, you know. I'd come back for you when –" "No. You need someone to stop you doing things like standing under waterfalls for half the night." "It's going to be a long time before you let me live this down, isn't it?" Pippin snickered, light breath blowing against Merry's shoulder like a horse whickering. "I may never let you." "Pippin," Merry exclaimed in exasperation. "Go to sleep." "I don't think I can," Pippin answered, sounding so woeful suddenly that Merry frowned down at him. Dim striations of moonlight filtered through the branches, not enough to see more than the occasional glint of hair or soft glow of skin. Merry began to speak, then laughed softly. "Listen to us. You won't tell me what's wrong and I won't tell you. This means you can't be angry with me about it anymore, you know." "No. But I can be angry with you for avoiding me, and for running off in the middle of the night. We're so far from home, and everyone's so tall… I can't sleep unless you're with me." "But Frodo and Sam were –" "Frodo and Sam aren't you. It's you I need." "Oh, Pip," Merry whispered, turning his head to kiss Pippin's dark hair, and squeezed his eyes shut hard to keep back tears. "Merry…" "What, love?" "If you really want to know the rest of what I saw, then I'll tell you. But you have to promise to tell me the rest of yours. And you have to promise that you won't be upset, or… or…" "Or?" "Or stop loving me." Merry shifted and caught Pippin to him, holding him so tightly that his arms shook. "Pippin, I could never stop loving you. Ever." "You say that now, but…" Pippin trailed off with a sniffle, wrapping his arm around Merry. "What could you possibly have seen that was so awful, Pip? Did she promise you that you could brain me with a rock and salt me away for stew for the winter?" Pippin laughed. "No. That wasn't it." "Then what?" "Promise first." "All right, all right. I'll tell you the rest of mine, and I won't be upset, and I won't ever stop loving you. I pr –" Pippin's hand covered his mouth, cutting him off. "No, don't," he said sadly. "That isn't the sort of thing you can really promise, is it?" If things had been different, Merry would have caught Pippin's hand and placed a gentle kiss into his palm. He nearly did anyway. "Don't tell me if you don't want to." "I don't want to. But I think I need to." Pippin sighed and turned his face back toward Merry's shoulder. "I wasn't going to, you know. I used to think about it sometimes. But I wasn't going to say anything, not ever." "Pip, you're starting to scare me a little. Please, just tell me." Pippin moved his hand hesitantly to rest on Merry's shoulder, fingertips pressing very lightly into Merry's skin. "I will. But I'm afraid, Merry, this is hard." Merry took a deep breath. "I'll tell you mine first, then, shall I? And then maybe you won't love me anymore, but at least it'll show you that yours isn't so bad after all." And if it's the same as mine… oh, the debt I'll owe Galadriel. "All right," Pippin agreed, sounding relieved. Merry reached up to toy with Pippin's soft curls, closing his eyes and trying to memorize the feel of Pippin's hair between his fingers. "We were back in the Shire, like I said before. Not at Brandy Hall, though, or Great Smials; somewhere of our own. I was just waking up, and the sun was in my eyes and it smelled like there were roses blooming right outside the window, and…" "And?" "And…" Merry swallowed hard. "And you rolled over and kissed me, and I held you and remembered that we'd made love the night before and I don't think I've ever been so happy in my mmph!" Merry found himself on his back, an abrupt armful of Pippin nearly knocking his breath out; and Pippin was trying to laugh and cry and kiss him all at the same time, and Merry was holding tight to him and making sounds that were part soothing and part desire and part Pippin-I-can't-breathe, and between all the confusion and the sudden necessity of pinning down exactly what Pippin's mouth tasted like, it was a minute or two before Merry could gather his wits about him and push Pippin far enough away that he could draw air to speak. "You tell me yours now," he said breathlessly. Pippin laughed and began unbuttoning Merry's shirt. "You threatened to roll me right into the river, and you grabbed hold of me and we started rolling down the hill, but we only got a few feet before we stopped. And you were on top of me, and you leaned down and kissed me, just as if it were something you always did, like this… mmm … and – well, there wasn't really anything more after that. It was just knowing, in a way, knowing that we were going to go home and eat dinner and share a bottle of wine and make love all night if we wanted." Merry smiled and tipped Pippin's chin up, wishing that there were more light. "Pip… what did you mean, what you said before? That you used to think about…?" Pippin's smile faded and he looked down, toying absently with one of Merry's buttons. "Think about telling you that I love you," he said quietly. "Telling you I wanted you, asking if you wanted me." "That… then this isn't something you just learned from Galadriel." Pippin shook his head, and his hands were a little unsteady now. "No," he whispered. "I've known for… I don't know. Years. Years of – of wanting you, and not being able to…" "Oh, Pip," Merry whispered, cupping Pippin's face in his hand. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" Pippin covered Merry's hand with his, trembling lightly against Merry's skin. "At first I didn't say anything because I wasn't old enough to understand. Then I didn't say anything because I was." "Oh, Pippin, I've been an idiot. You can't possibly love me, I'm too dense." "Yes, you are," Pippin said rather severely. "I can't believe you never noticed, I did everything but leave love notes on your pillow. Didn't you ever wonder why I was so upset when I walked in on you kissing Lily Bracegirdle at Vinca's party the year before last?" "I thought…" Then Merry remembered what he'd thought, and what he'd done, and groaned. "I thought you liked her." "And you offered to fix me up with her," Pippin said accusingly, poking Merry's chest. "And you wouldn't talk to me for a week, and I didn't understand why. I think it was one of the worst weeks of my life. I thought you were going to hate me forever." Merry sighed and brushed Pippin's hair out of his face. "I'm sorry. For that and for everything. I don't deserve you." "No, you don't. But… but I'm yours anyway, if you want me." "If I – come here, Pip." Merry wondered sometimes if he would ever get used to Pippin's lightning changes of mood, and always decided that life would not be half as entertaining if he did; and especially not now, when Pippin's mouth dipped slowly down to brush lightly, almost shyly, over Merry's. He whispered Pippin's name and cradled the back of his head with one hand, running the other down Pippin's back in a long, aimless stroke. Pippin made a soft sound and touched his mouth more firmly to Merry's; and a sigh and a tiny tilt of the head was all it took to seal their mouths together so perfectly that Merry wondered for a dizzying moment how he could ever have even considered kissing anyone else. He ran his fingers slowly into Pippin's down-soft hair and opened his mouth, licking gently at Pippin's upper lip; and Pippin's mouth opened on his, tongue tentatively exploring, and the sensation was so absorbing that it was a while before Merry realized that Pippin's whole body was trembling. "What is it, Pip?" he whispered, pulling back. Pippin shook his head, not quite meeting Merry's eyes. "It's just… this is all real now. It isn't just something I keep to myself. It's a little scary, you know, wanting something so much and then getting it all of a sudden before you've had a chance to prepare…" Merry shifted, rolling Pippin onto his back and bending to kiss him on the forehead. "Pip, take as long as you need. If you aren't ready, we'll wait –" "No," Pippin said quite definitely, fist clenching on the front of Merry's shirt and eyes flashing in a way that promised a storm of considerable severity if Merry should try to argue. "No. I don't want to wait anymore. I want you, and you finally want me, and… and make love to me, now, before it starts to get light and we don't have time. Why are you smiling like that?" Merry stroked Pippin's forehead delicately with his fingertips, smoothing out the frown. "Because I love you, that's why. And I want to count fireflies with you and roll you down hills and make love to you for hours and wake up in the morning with you nestled against me and wanting breakfast before you're even really awake." And that seemed to be the right thing to say, because all of the nervousness and uncertainty melted away from Pippin's face in the warmth of his smile. Oh, he'd been so much more than blind. He'd touched Pippin a thousand times and never let himself notice how soft and warm Pippin's skin was, how good he smelled, how even soft touches made his breath quicken. The last of his shivers were soothed away in the heat of Pippin's body, warm as a hearth-fire; and Pippin's hands were exploring him restlessly, fingertips stroking over Merry's face as if to memorize his features, and his mouth was as sweet as Eastfarthing ale against Merry's. Merry found his own hands wandering, stroking down the hard, wiry muscle of Pippin's arms, winding into his hair, stroking down the plane of his chest and over the upsweep of his ear, and oh, being wrapped in Pippin's arms was like coming home after too long away. Except, of course, that home was unlikely to mewl in annoyance and wriggle away from him. "Your pants are still all wet," Pippin informed him in an aggrieved whisper. "And now you're getting mine wet too." Merry stopped himself from laughing just in time. "Sorry, Pip. I should… take them off, I suppose…" "Yes," Pippin said firmly, and there was a small tremor in his voice. "Yes, you should. Or rather, no, you shouldn't. I should." Merry drew his fingertips along Pippin's jaw as Pippin's hands fell to struggle with damp buttons. "And then maybe I should take yours off," he said quietly. Pippin took a deep breath. "Yes. You should do that." And it turned out that he didn't have the patience to tease after all, that it was much more important to push Pippin's trousers down and away and pull him close again, swallowing a soft whimper in a kiss that broke into shivering gasps; more important to return to his intent exploration of Pippin's body, to run light fingertips up his side and make him squirm and laugh breathlessly, to discover that the birthmark did not in fact taste different from the skin around it, and that a slow, thorough mouth on his nipples made Pippin arch and purr. The inside of his wrist tasted a little different from his fingers, though, and a little different from the inside of his elbow, and in the salt taste of his own tears Merry saw Pippin laughing in the hot Shire sun at midsummer. Pippin caught Merry's chin and tilted it up, peering closely at him. "Merry, what's the matter?" Nothing, everything; the fear that the chance to touch Pippin like this might not come again, the knowledge that it would not have come at all had Pippin not been braver than Merry himself, the sheer overwhelming suddenness of this change, and Merry didn't want to discuss any of those things so he only shook his head and caught Pippin's mouth with his. "Merry," Pippin whispered again, against Merry's lips, placing a palm flat on Merry's shoulder but not quite pushing him away. "Lie back." Merry smiled and did as he was told, threading his fingers into Pippin's hair as Pippin's mouth brushed along his throat with an increasing urgency that found a ready answer in Merry's body. "Pip… I –" he began to whisper, then cut off with a gasp as Pippin's legs wound around his own. "Mmm," Pippin said absently, nibbling at Merry's ear. "So do I." And then Merry had no more breath for words at all, because Pippin's hand was on him, squeezing and stroking, and suddenly it was very important that Merry's hand slip downward and close over heat and velvet-soft hardness, and the soft cry that Pippin muffled against Merry's shoulder was unbearably exciting. He found that Pippin's hand on him was good, Pippin squirming restlessly against him was even better, and best of all was when Pippin caught Merry's hand away and pushed against him in slow rhythmic movements like the slow, thorough sweep of his tongue in Merry's mouth. And Pippin seemed to agree, because he made a soft sound into Merry's mouth and moved against him as if he never wanted to stop; and the sweetness of Pippin's body against his filled Merry like the taste of summer berries on his tongue, soft words crooned into his ear in a Tuckborough lilt that wrapped the Shire around them like the scent of new-mown hay. Merry gasped and turned his face into Pippin's hair, stretching upward, reaching – - and oh, there, feeling light bursting through his whole body, meeting Pippin's sharp cry with his own, clinging, falling, and for a moment he thought too much, too much, I can't - And then it was past and Pippin was trembling in his arms, sliding off to wind tightly around him, whispering Merry, Merry as if he knew no other word for this release. When he could finally bring himself to pry an eye open, Merry found that the leaves above them were clearer than they had been. "Pip," he whispered. "It's getting light." Pippin wriggled closer, tucking his head against Merry's chest. "Is not," he argued drowsily. "Plenty of time yet." Merry looked at the leaves, looked at Pippin, decided that he liked Pippin's view of things better, and coccooned them both securely in their cloaks as he drew Pippin closer into the shelter of his arms. "Go to sleep," he whispered into Pippin's hair, stroking it gently. Oh, Pip. How did I never let myself see how beautiful you are? "You too," Pippin answered, pressing a soft kiss against Merry's chest. "Mm," Merry answered, gathered Pippin's warmth as close as he could, and slept.   Back to the fanfics page Back to the home page