I Watched Him
By Celtic Hobbit
A/N: This is just a short fluffy story that I wrote one night. I am trying to decide whether I should go on. Please let me know your opinion. Also, this takes place pre-quest. Pippin is about 20, and his little cousin is 18 or so.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything mentioned in here, really, they all belong to the genius that is J.R.R Tolkien. Except I do wish that you ask if you ever use any of my characters in a story, especially this little lad whom Pippin is quite fond of.
I watch him. He doesn't seem to care. Or notice. We've done this hundreds of times...since we were children...we were practically raised together...
We are cousins, after all...and quite alike by means of looks. His beautiful, soft curls are the color of mud...or chocolate... just like mine... and his face structure, most people say, is almost exactly the same. Tho' I do fear that his luscious emerald eyes pierce harder then my own. And they should. His life has been much harder then mine. I remember the night he ran away from his foster parents house...they were roughing him up... I took him under my wing after that, making sure he was all right. Making sure he never cried again. He was only about 7 at the time. I felt so horrible for him... he lost his parents right before that.
That was when my father adopted him. Permanently. He wanted to make sure no one else could have him, 'He was born a Took, and he ought to be raised one as well!' I remember my father shouting with defiance. My father had never agreed with his father, I remember. His family lived in Buckland before they died... my father said that wasn't right. That he should be raised 'like a proper Took'. And so now he is with us.
He is my favorite of the younger cousins.
He is my cousin...should I be thinking this? Should I be feeling this way? We're both lads... is this even right?
I think back to another time a few years ago. He never felt comfortable around other hobbits, usually, so he spent most of his time either out in the woods by himself, or in the stables, with the ponies. He really liked my pony, whose name is Oak. Me and some of the other lads had caught him in there, brushing her. I think he likes to think shes his... father never let him have a pony. He always says, 'Well, he can walk damn good enough, can't he?!' and then laughs.
Anyway, I remember the other lads asked him what he was doing, and he replied something like, 'Brushing her.'
And then they asked, 'Why? Don't you know whose pony she is?'
And then he nodded.
And then they asked, 'So... then why are you brushing Pips pony?'
And then he replied, ''Cause I love ponies...'. I remember how flat and slightly confused the tone of his voice was.
The lads started laughing, but I didn't. I heard the mean jokes they started making towards him about marrying her, but I didn't try to stop them. I was watching him, as he bit his lip to stop the tears from coming. But his face got sort of pinkish, and he started shoving past us, trying to get to the doorway, to probably run off and go sulk somewhere. He pushed me hard as he walked by, and I fell backwards into the rest of my cousins, who had to stop laughing to try and re-assert themselves. I heard him growl under his breath as he left, 'Love knows no boundaries!'
Does it?
My father says that it is wrong for a lad to kiss another lad, and also for a lass to kiss another lass. Is it?
If it is wrong for me to kiss him, then why do his lips look so damn perfect to me? Why are his scrumptious locks begging me to run my fingers through them? Why do his stunning eyes tell me he needs me?
Why does my beating heart tell me I need him?
He turns around, buttoning his nightshirt up. It is only up to his naval, as of yet. I notice, for the millionth time, that his body frame is smaller then mine. He struggles, trying to get the big shirt (one of my old ones) over his shoulders. I blink, the pull it up for him. He will not look into my eyes.
"Thank you...cousin..." he says, quietly, his hands having more trouble again with the buttons.
He never calls me 'Pippin'.
I don't move my hands from his shoulders.
He blinks, leaving the top button open, then explaining, as he does every night, "It...It chafes my neck."
I nod, understanding.
Yes, maybe it was wrong.
He was so young, so innocent.
I quickly place a light peck on the tip of his nose, as I do every night before bed. He blinks, watching me fall back on to my side, the pull the covers over myself. He seems...different tonight. I smile up at him, and say,
"G'night."
"G'night...Pippin..." is his only reply, as he climbs over his side, closest to the wall. He turns towards it, and drifts off. I watch him.
----See that button?
Press it. Write something. Make me feel good.
~Celtic Hobbit
By Celtic Hobbit
A/N: This is just a short fluffy story that I wrote one night. I am trying to decide whether I should go on. Please let me know your opinion. Also, this takes place pre-quest. Pippin is about 20, and his little cousin is 18 or so.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything mentioned in here, really, they all belong to the genius that is J.R.R Tolkien. Except I do wish that you ask if you ever use any of my characters in a story, especially this little lad whom Pippin is quite fond of.
I watch him. He doesn't seem to care. Or notice. We've done this hundreds of times...since we were children...we were practically raised together...
We are cousins, after all...and quite alike by means of looks. His beautiful, soft curls are the color of mud...or chocolate... just like mine... and his face structure, most people say, is almost exactly the same. Tho' I do fear that his luscious emerald eyes pierce harder then my own. And they should. His life has been much harder then mine. I remember the night he ran away from his foster parents house...they were roughing him up... I took him under my wing after that, making sure he was all right. Making sure he never cried again. He was only about 7 at the time. I felt so horrible for him... he lost his parents right before that.
That was when my father adopted him. Permanently. He wanted to make sure no one else could have him, 'He was born a Took, and he ought to be raised one as well!' I remember my father shouting with defiance. My father had never agreed with his father, I remember. His family lived in Buckland before they died... my father said that wasn't right. That he should be raised 'like a proper Took'. And so now he is with us.
He is my favorite of the younger cousins.
He is my cousin...should I be thinking this? Should I be feeling this way? We're both lads... is this even right?
I think back to another time a few years ago. He never felt comfortable around other hobbits, usually, so he spent most of his time either out in the woods by himself, or in the stables, with the ponies. He really liked my pony, whose name is Oak. Me and some of the other lads had caught him in there, brushing her. I think he likes to think shes his... father never let him have a pony. He always says, 'Well, he can walk damn good enough, can't he?!' and then laughs.
Anyway, I remember the other lads asked him what he was doing, and he replied something like, 'Brushing her.'
And then they asked, 'Why? Don't you know whose pony she is?'
And then he nodded.
And then they asked, 'So... then why are you brushing Pips pony?'
And then he replied, ''Cause I love ponies...'. I remember how flat and slightly confused the tone of his voice was.
The lads started laughing, but I didn't. I heard the mean jokes they started making towards him about marrying her, but I didn't try to stop them. I was watching him, as he bit his lip to stop the tears from coming. But his face got sort of pinkish, and he started shoving past us, trying to get to the doorway, to probably run off and go sulk somewhere. He pushed me hard as he walked by, and I fell backwards into the rest of my cousins, who had to stop laughing to try and re-assert themselves. I heard him growl under his breath as he left, 'Love knows no boundaries!'
Does it?
My father says that it is wrong for a lad to kiss another lad, and also for a lass to kiss another lass. Is it?
If it is wrong for me to kiss him, then why do his lips look so damn perfect to me? Why are his scrumptious locks begging me to run my fingers through them? Why do his stunning eyes tell me he needs me?
Why does my beating heart tell me I need him?
He turns around, buttoning his nightshirt up. It is only up to his naval, as of yet. I notice, for the millionth time, that his body frame is smaller then mine. He struggles, trying to get the big shirt (one of my old ones) over his shoulders. I blink, the pull it up for him. He will not look into my eyes.
"Thank you...cousin..." he says, quietly, his hands having more trouble again with the buttons.
He never calls me 'Pippin'.
I don't move my hands from his shoulders.
He blinks, leaving the top button open, then explaining, as he does every night, "It...It chafes my neck."
I nod, understanding.
Yes, maybe it was wrong.
He was so young, so innocent.
I quickly place a light peck on the tip of his nose, as I do every night before bed. He blinks, watching me fall back on to my side, the pull the covers over myself. He seems...different tonight. I smile up at him, and say,
"G'night."
"G'night...Pippin..." is his only reply, as he climbs over his side, closest to the wall. He turns towards it, and drifts off. I watch him.
----See that button?
Press it. Write something. Make me feel good.
~Celtic Hobbit