Mean What You Say Part 3

Merry bit his lip and took the cat-o'-nine-tails gingerly. "Um, out here? I think we might be visible from the city walls above us."

"In there then," said Pippin, and went back into the house. "It's so cold this morning," Pippin remarked. "I think I'm going to pick that spot of floor over there." There was one place where the ceiling had fallen in, and there was a patch of sunlight warming the dusty stone floor. He went to stand in the sun, and looked up at the roof. At this early hour, the sun was coming in at an angle, and there was still ceiling above the sunny spot. "This will do." He peeled off his black livery, folded it carefully, and set it down some distance from the sunny patch. Then he returned and stood in the light.

Merry just looked at him for a while, lost in aesthetic appreciation of his cousin's body. The journey in the wilderness had not only made him taller and leaner, but had filled his skin with wiry, rippling muscles. Merry felt a faint and shameful stirring.

"Say the phrase, Merry."

Merry closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. When he opened them again, his expression was closed. "Lay down and stay down." It came out low and menacing, just as he had said it all those times before.

Pippin lay on his belly, arms above his head, face turned to one side. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for pain. The taught muscles in his back screamed of tension.

Merry just stood there. Pippin was right, he could still see the white lines of old scars on Pippin's back and buttocks. And what fine white globes those pretty buttocks were. He stood there so long that Pippin opened his eyes and looked up at him. Well, the one eye that Merry could see.

"How long are you going to make me lay here anticipating?" Pippin asked accusingly.

"Sorry," Merry said quietly. "It's just—the last time I did this, I was younger than you are now."

"Get on with it already."

Merry stepped close, raised the whip and brought it down. It smacked against Pippin's perfect back, leaving a few tiny scratches.

"Harder, Merry," Pippin whispered.

Abruptly, Merry started crying. He remembered the first time Pippin had whispered that to him, in the middle of the show. Merry had been trying to simulate a beating, making fast movements that cracked just an inch above the skin, but his father had not been fooled. The elder Brandybuck had been glowering and jittering, going increasingly edgy as the faux-thrashing went on. And Pippin had been so frightened at his Uncle Saradoc's growing agitation that he had whispered, "Harder, Merry." He had urged Merry to give him a real beating, so that Merry's father wouldn't take over and do unspeakable things to little Pippin. As had happened too often. Pippin had been about ten. And Merry had beaten him hard.

Pippin had either been too timid, too weak, or perhaps simply too much of a natural submissive to give Merry a return beating bad enough to satisfy Merry's father. And when that happened, Merry's father got angry—at Pippin. Merry's father went much farther than simply smacking him around, though. When he touched him, even to hit him, he got excited. That was, Merry figured, probably the reason he had started making the boys beat each other in the first place, because he was afraid of what he might end up doing to his son if he tried to whip him himself. And then Merry's father used Pippin hideously. So Merry started foolproofing the show, cutting off whatever Merry's father might do by doing a milder version of it himself first. That was when the show starting turning from simply Uncle Saradoc making the two naughty boys thrash each other, to Merry beating Pippin and then violating him. And Merry, gradually, over years of time, had learned to get hard when he had a strap in his hand. He was terribly afraid that he was going to do it again right now. Now, when nobody was making him. Now, when it wasn't part of the plan. Now, when if it happened, it would be because he was like that. Because he was a bad person. Because even after ten years, he couldn't shake what his father had made of him.

Already he could feel a bit of anticipatory excitement. A feeling of heat. It would not take much to bring him completely ready, if he chose to use his free hand. He did not.

Merry sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Through the blur of tears, he raised the cat-o'-nine-tails high and crashed it down with full force, five times in rapid succession. He moved down the body with each blow, from the upper back, to middle, to lower, to buttocks, and back up to the middle of the back, new lines crossing the first stripes. He felt spray hit his face, stopped, wiped his eyes and looked at Pippin.

The whip had broken the skin in five times nine sinuous lines. Pippin's back and ass ran with blood. Merry looked at Pippin's face. Eyes shut tight but leaking tears, mouth a horrible grimace. Not breathing. Pippin was holding his breath to keep from screaming. Pippin's hands were balled into fists, every sinew rigid with pain.

Merry felt sick. And then he felt relieved. Because this wasn't sexy at all.

Any hint of pleasant steel that had been in his loins before he looked at Pippin's face was gone now, completely squashed. He did not like the hurting, and he did not like the power. He had turned out alright after all, despite everything.

Then he felt ashamed at feeling relief, since Pippin was so obviously hurt. Merry's heart turned over inside him. Or was that his gut? Raggedly, he said, "Get up. I'm done."

Pippin let out his breath, an odd sound halfway between a scream and a whimper. He pushed himself off the stone floor, got his knees under him, and paused a moment panting. He swayed as he stood up, slightly dizzy.

Merry let the whip fall and instinctively moved to steady Pippin. Pippin flinched at his touch. "I'm so sorry Pippin," Merry sobbed. Merry lowered his head and somehow it came to rest on Pippin's shoulder.

"Hey, Merry," Pippin said softly. "I asked for this, remember?"

"I meant for everything. For all the other times. For all the times I should have protected you better. Why didn't we just go to YOUR father, for heaven's sake? He could have protected us both." Merry wanted to encircle Pippin, but knew it would hurt him to touch his back, so he held onto his upper arms instead.

"Sh, sh, we were children, we didn't know any better. Things will be different now."

"Yes, yes they will. No more show. Ever. There will never be another no that means yes between us again. I never want to have to guess where your limits are again, Pippin, from now on I want you to tell me."

"Sure." There was a long pause. "Merry, I really hate to point this out, because I can see you feel bad enough already, but I'm pretty sure I feel worse right now. I'd like to clean up out at the well. Please let go of me."

"Oh. Sorry." Merry moved back.

Just as the two of them moved away from the sunny spot, a square stone fell out of the ceiling and hit just where Pippin had been lying. Merry and Pippin gave each other a matched pair of wide-eyed looks.

Pippin walked unsteadily out of the abandoned building and came to the cistern. Merry drew up a bucket of water and dumped it over Pippin's back. Pippin gasped. "Lawks, that's cold! Oh help Merry I think I'm going to faint!"

Merry caught one of Pippin's outflung arms and pulled him back to his feet. "Over here, Pippin." Merry ducked under Pippin's arm and half carried him away from the pink mud in front of the well. "Still dizzy?"

"Yes," Pippin whispered. "I think I should go back in and lie down."

"It's not safe in there, remember the falling masonry?"

"Well, I need to lie down somewhere."

"And dry off, I know, and let your wounds scab over before you put your clothes back on, so the cloth won't stick to them. Here. It's too cold in those buildings, out of the sun, when you're all wet." Merry lay down in the dirt and pulled Pippin down on top of him. "Lay on me, Pip. I'm soft."

"You're all ribs," Pippin said, but he gave Merry a weak grin, and then rested his head over Merry's heart.

Merry sighed contentedly. "This is what my father stole from us. From me. For all those years."

"What?" asked Pippin.

"The ability to hold you naked in my arms and feel nothing but love. The cousinly kind. I was so afraid of what I might feel, trying to do the show again after all these years. But now I know. I'm not like him after all."

"All is well, then," said Pippin. "But I'm afraid I'm not quite as sweet and innocent as you seem to be."

"What?"

"I'm kind of having fun, lying naked in your arms. Except for the pain and the being wet and the getting your clothes underneath me all wet and the fly that keeps trying to land on my foot, that is."

Merry smiled and tousled Pippin's hair. "Well, the sun with cure the being wet part soon enough."

"Yes, she is a most excellent friend. And so are you, Merry."

"I love you, Pippin." Merry planted a kiss on the top of Pippin's head. Pippin settled, emitted a low whimper, and fell asleep.

End of Part Three