Merry couldn't move. Pippin's lips were cool and soft upon his, his kiss inexpert, but earnest and insistent. Merry had no thought to resist. In truth, he had no thoughts at all. The tip of Pippin's tongue touched his lips tentatively, and Merry parted for him, allowing him entrance. Like everything else about him, Pippin's tongue was quick, darting from tooth to tongue to the roof of Merry's mouth like a hummingbird feeding on flowers, tasting everywhere, alighting nowhere. In a moment, Pippin would be gone, and Merry didn't want that; oh no, not at all.