Bathhouse
By Tione
A/N: … 0o Just… accommodate me on some of the things in this. Like the bathhouse. And the scenario. And the entire thing… ;
Warning: Slash, my friends. Implied slash. Merry/Pippin
The door to the bathhouse was decrepit. It was large – a man-sized door as well as a man's bathhouse – and made of old wood that splintered under the lightest of touches.
There was a hole, just the right height for a hobbit as tall (or short, depending on just who was measuring) as Pippin.
But Pip shouldn't have known that. Why? Because it wasn't his bathhouse. Therefore the hobbit shouldn't have known that the hole was just the right size for him or just the right angle for peeking or even that the hole existed in the first place. But he did.
Because Pip always has to look.
So now, he's standing and peering through the golf ball sized gap in the decrepit door. Briefly, he toys with the idea of what had caused it.
Was it a lovers spat? He could imagine it. A woman – hobbit, of course – cowering against the door with but a towel wrapped tightly around her. She would have sopping golden hair, natural ringlets tamed. Her eyes would be fearful but still a beautiful sparkling green, almost like emeralds.
Her husband – no, the married man she was having an affair with would advance upon the delicate creature. He would be bulky, slightly overweight but not enough to be worrisome. And he would be drunk; an angry blush would stain his cheeks, both from the alcohol and the dispute.
The married man would swing his fist blindly, too drunk to really realize that he was swinging at the wrong side of the door. But no matter because the swing had made Pip's beloved hole (which he had named George) that he used to feast upon the sight of Merry bathing.
Pip discarded the scenario, deciding it was where the doorknob used to be, seeing as it lacked one.
He sighed, growing almost… bored. Which was a preposterous idea but Merry was still in the changing room. He had been for quite a while.
It was then, legs aching, that he remembered that no one ever used the front door per chance they walk in on someone bathing. There was another door that led to the changing rooms, that was more frequently used. In fact, he was about ready to go back and spy from that door. It never closed all the way, after all.
That was a very good idea, he confirmed. He would get his eyeful and be off so he could sate his growling stomach.
He turned, feet weary from standing in one place for too long, and came face to face with a very agitated, towel-clad hobbit.
"Why do you always have to look?" he asked, exasperated.
hides head in shame I know it's grossly unbelievable as well as twisted beyond belief. Just… uh, put the knife down? Please?