"So," Merry said absently, flinging himself onto Frodo's bed and flicking disinterestedly through a tattered book of poetry, jaw moving rhythmically as he chewed his gum. The minty smell of it wasn't enough to mask the stale cigarette smell that permeated his faded black teeshirt. His jeans rode low on his ass, revealing a large expanse of carrot-patterned boxers, and frayed denim cuffs wrinkled above his worn sneakers. "Angelica's a bit of a babe."
"She's my cousin," Frodo snapped, snatching the book away and stroking it with his palm before placing it carefully back on his night stand.
"So? Doesn't mean you can't admire her womanly charms." Merry outlined her womanly charms reverently in the air, and Frodo scowled. The sound of the lawn mower grew louder and softer outside, like a bee circling the room, as Sam made the rounds of the large garden. Frodo deliberately turned his back on the floor-to-ceiling plate glass window and eyed Merry.
"Frodo, dude, where do you keep your porn?" He shifted positions, started digging around under the mattress.
"Merry!"
"What!"
"Don't you talk about anything but sex? Or think anything?"
Merry squinted a little. "Nope." Frodo scowled. "What's up, Fro bro? Not into the ladies yourself? Prefer the lads, do you?"
Frodo cursed the blood rising to his face, and cursed again the sound of the lawn mower approaching. He would not turn around. He would not.
~