Merry barely registered the sound. All Merry could think of was jumping up from the chair, shoving Frodo up against the nearest wall, and sinking into him -- road dust and all -- tasting the sweet heat of the caramel in his mouth and the salty spice of the pickle juice on his hands -- sucking those sticky fingers and licking those luscious lips and grinding those limber hips into the wall until Frodo screamed for release.

"Whatever you see or hear -- don't move out of that chair," Frodo said quickly, thrusting the platter into Merry's hands and kissing him quite soundly on the mouth.

With that, Frodo was up and across the room and Merry was left quivering on the chair.

"Are you quite all right, Mister Bunce?" Frodo asked anxiously.

Merry licked at the warm caramel on his lips, shuddered at the sensation, and looked blearily down at the sweet creamy sauce on the tray. He would take it with him when they escaped from here -- along with one of the toff's brushes. And he would paint Frodo with it, then nibble every bit of it off -- slowly -- with lots of teeth involved -- lots of teeth.

"You took quite a tumble," Frodo exclaimed.

Merry put the tray carefully aside for later and leaned over quite far to his right, trying to see what was going on. Apparently the toff had fallen over back there. Merry hoped, briefly, that he had broken his arrogant neck.

"Yes, I -- I tripped over this horrid rug. Ghastly thing. Threadbare, really."

Merry frowned. It was one thing for his mother to complain that her own rugs were threadbare and in need of replacing, but for some poncy, high-handed--

"Let me help you up."

Merry could see Frodo assisting the artist to his feet and brushing at his clothes helpfully -- brushing a bit too slowly in places that didn't need brushing, and taking a tad too long about the whole thing.

"Are you-- Oh! My! It is finished, isn't it? What a marvellous-- Oh, it is just-- You have captured him. It is sublime. Just perfect!" Frodo exclaimed.

Frowning, Merry leaned far over to his left. Frodo was standing back there staring at the portrait. No one had seen the blasted thing yet. The toff wouldn't let anyone near it. Locked it up every night -- something about ruining the process or some nonsense. And now Frodo was standing there gazing at it. But finished? How could it be--

"Well, I--"

"And you just finished it. Just now, didn't you? I had the feeling that you were just putting on the final touches when I saw it earlier. Of course, you are a perfectionist."

"Well, I--"

"Does this mean you might be available?" Frodo asked in a strange breathy voice.

"Available?"

"Yes, of course."

Todo sounded as if he was strangling, but Merry could hear him clearly. "You want me--"

"To paint me."

At that moment Merry had a distinct image of a naked Frodo covered, quite artistically, in paint. And the parts that weren't painted-- He heard a whimper from Todo and had to agree.

"My portrait I mean. I would like to-- pose for you." Frodo simpered.

The image of naked, paint-covered Frodo vanished and Merry thought briefly that he might be ill. He didn't know that Frodo could simper! It was  . . . well, disturbing, and decidedly unnatural.

"Oh. Well, I--" the toff responded. "You would?"

"Absolutely. Do you think I would be a good subject for one of your portraits?"

Merry found himself pondering that idea for a moment. Come to think of it, a portrait of Frodo would be splendid, but not one painted by the toff!

"Of course. Certainly. You-- you do have such a perfect ivory complexion. And your hair is so-- dark and silky, with those hints of chestnut. And your eyes--"

Merry stood up. Bugger all! Was the poncy twit going to start talking smarmy love talk to Frodo as if he were some lass? Merry had to see this. Perhaps Frodo would knock his head clean into the Old Forest.

"You flatter me!"

Merry sat down again and looked desperately around for the wine. There was some left somewhere and he needed a glass-- or two or three. He spotted Frodo's glass on the floor and lunged for it. Then he saw the second bottle sticking out of Frodo's pack next to it and grabbed the pack as well. Frodo wouldn't need many clothes over the next few days, if Merry had his way, but there was undoubtedly a nice bottle of juniper scented oil tucked away in there somewhere.

"Not at all. You are quite the lovely fellow." Todo responded. "Are you certain that I haven't painted you?"

"No, never. But it would be marvellous." Frodo exclaimed. "Of course, I assume we should wait until this commission is complete."

"Yes-- Well-- Yes, certainly. I mean-- well, it is complete. No reason to wait. I was just about to tell you both. I will need to see to the framing in the morning and finalize things with Rorimac. I should be available tomorrow afternoon, if you would like to start then."

"Really? That is just lovely! But, I don't want to rush you--"

"It would be my pleasure to-- to paint you."

Now the painter was simpering. Merry gagged and gulped down a substantial amount of the wine, looking about for the opened bottle. He found it on the table and poured the rest into his glass -- actually Frodo's glass -- taking another long swig as he watched Frodo make a mincing little bow. It was a wonder that Frodo didn't hold out his hand to be kissed by the toff. And he was likely batting his eyelashes again.

"And my pleasure to sit for you," Frodo responded.

Merry was just glad that Todo couldn't see his face. He was torn between horrified fascination with at Frodo's performance, ecstatic joy that he was about to escape this musty prison, and total disgust that Frodo had to fawn over the poncy git to win his freedom.

"Then I will get my dear cousin and myself out of your way. Until tomorrow then," Frodo said. "Merry?"

Merry obediently pulled the pack over his shoulder, picked up the tray and his wine glass and headed for the door at a fast clip, head down, trying desperately not to laugh or gag or snort or anything else until he was out in the sun, in the fresh air, far away from this room and the overwhelming smell of paint.

He felt Frodo's hand on his elbow and then they were out into the hallway and Frodo was shutting the door firmly behind them. For one brief moment they stood there, then Frodo grabbed the wine glass and the tray, drank down the rest of the wine in one long gulp, set it down on the carpet next to the door, and tugged Merry toward the back stairs. They moved rapidly and silently as if escaping from some monstrous troll out of one of Bilbo's stories.

It took a while to sink in completely, but Merry realized, by about the second landing, that he didn't have to go back into that wretched parlour with that wretched twit ever again and that Frodo had somehow managed this marvel single-handedly and that his cousin was, indeed, the most kissable creature in the four Farthings -- likely in the world. Merry skidded to a stop and Frodo nearly up-ended the tray, caramel sauce and all.

"What're you--"

Merry grabbed Frodo's face in his hands and leaned in to kiss him hard and thoroughly. The hall's best red, a sweet touch of caramel, just a hint of spice from the pickle, and -- under all of that -- that hot, rich taste that was Frodo. Merry buried himself in that taste and Frodo responded with enthusiasm -- or as much enthusiasm as a tray pressed into your stomach would allow. Merry's mission was to get every part of Frodo pressed up against every part of him and the tray was a mere minor impediment -- until Frodo pushed it gently against his stomach.

"I am quite interested in that proposal, but I would like to be somewhere besides the back stairs if you don't mind. Preferably somewhere with some hot water in large quantities."

Frodo leaned forward to flick his tongue against Merry's lips, a promise of things to come, Merry hoped.

"And I think you could do with just a bit of fresh air first. Yes?"

Merry licked his lips and nodded.

Frodo peered at him, those two little wrinkles appearing between his eyebrows again. But he didn't say anything, he just took Merry's elbow and turned him down the stairs.

Finally Frodo stopped at the bottom of the stairwell and pulled the pack off of Merry's back, setting it on the stairs. "I hate to keep ordering you about, love, but until you get your bearings back." His fingers brushed Merry's temple lightly. "Just stand here for a moment."

Merry nodded, mystified, as Frodo took the tray and slipped through the door into the noisy kitchens beyond.

Mouth-watering scents wafted out that door and Merry was pleased to find that he could really smell something besides that cloying smell of paint -- the stuff just must have coated the inside of his nose.

Then he wondered what Frodo meant about him 'getting his bearings back.' Was he really acting that addled? He rubbed at his eyes wearily. Well, perhaps he was. Frodo couldn't know how difficult things had become around the Hall of late, even before this ridiculous situation over the portrait.

"Yes, absolutely. A full report." Frodo said over his shoulder as he came through the kitchen door. He was smiling as he grabbed his pack and took Merry's arm.

"Feel like a bit of sun then?"

Merry nodded and allowed himself to be led down the kitchen corridor. They emerged into the great hall, mostly deserted and quiet at this time of day with only a few staff about, cleaning the dining tables and preparing for tea. No one took note of the two of them as they moved quietly between the tables and out the doors into the yard beyond.

Then there was grass beneath his feet -- brown and crunching and cold, but grass and not musty-smelling carpet. And sun on his face -- not hot, not even really warm, but sun unfiltered by glass, unhazed by paint fumes. It was glorious. He stumbled to a halt and took a deep cleansing breath. Wonderful. He was smiling stupidly into the sun when he realized that Frodo was standing there looking at him somewhat anxiously.

"Want to sit for a while?" Frodo gestured toward one of the benches scattered around the yard.

"I really am fine." Merry protested. "It has been -- " he suddenly found all the emotions that had been building and boiling for the last few months a bit too close to the surface for comfort. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Come on then and sit down." Frodo was guiding him toward the nearest bench and Merry followed, sinking down gratefully in the sunlight.

For a while they just sat there on the bench in the sun, breathing quietly, their breath fogging the air -- in and out, in and out. There was very little sound in the winter landscape -- workers in the vineyard, a pony's soft whinny from the barn, and a dead fall in the distant forest

"You know, your portrait is quite lovely -- truth be told." Frodo said softly after a while. "But that Todo is unbearable. Always has been."

"Thank you for rescuing me."

"I suspect rather that I rescued him." Frodo responded. "Although I am at a bit of a loss as to how he survived you for so long, cousin. Are you quite well?"

Merry felt something tighten behind his eyes and reached up to rub them.

But Frodo's fingers were there before his, gently massaging Merry's forehead, rubbing carefully at his temples, digging into his nape. "Relax, love. What has gotten you so wound up?"

The fingers slid down Merry's neck to knead at his shoulders.

"It's a long story," Merry responded, turning his back to oblige as Frodo's fingers dug into his neck. He was practically purring like one of the barn cats, but it felt so wonderful he was beyond caring.

"Yes, well." Frodo said softly next to his ear. "Perhaps you can be persuaded to share it."

Merry shivered as Frodo's lips touched his ear and then just below it.

"Depends on the p-- persuasion," Merry managed, losing track when Frodo's lips touched the nape of his neck.

"Is a long hot bath in your room sufficient?" Frodo asked softly.

"If the tub is big enough for two."

There was a long silence before Frodo responded.

"Good answer."

***

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