When Pippin least wants company, it is almost assured to seek him out. His cousin's voice is the very worst sound he can imagine at the moment, the more so because he knows he's wrong. Frodo stands behind him, arms crossed and blue eyes angry. "Pippin, what did we agree about the Men?"
Boromir lay behind Pippin, his trousers undone and tugged aside to allow access to his thigh. Blood scent is heavy on the air, and Sam, flanking Frodo, licks his lips. Frodo rolls his eyes and nods to Merry and Sam, who move over to Boromir's insensible body. Pippin crosses his arms as well and attempts to match Frodo's stare. "But there's so much blood. And I was hungry."
"If we eat our companions, who will help us if the wraiths appear again?"
Pippin feels his face slipping into a pout. "Don't see how that's fair. Gimli gets to feed from Legolas whenever he wants. He told me Elf blood is fizzy."
Frodo squeezes the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Boromir is not an Elf."
"Oh, I know. His blood isn't fizzy at all."
"That isn't the point, Pippin!"
Merry wipes his mouth as he stands up and slings an arm around Pippin's shoulders. "Come on, Frodo. Pippin's younger than we are. He gets hungry sooner. And it's not like we've taken enough to hurt him." Sam stands as well, and Pippin glances back at the Man. Two glistening bites on his inner thighs, but they're starting to clot and close. Soon there won't be an evidence of his mistake.
Frodo sighs again. "Very well, but not again. Not for a while. Or you might kill him." Boromir stirs a little, and the Hobbits exchange glances.
"We should go, right? Leave it to Pippin to explain." Sam claps him on the shoulder and starts back toward camp. Frodo frowns again, then follows. Merry licks a bit of blood from the corner of Pippin's mouth, then turns him to face Boromir again.
"We've got ourselves a half-naked Man in the middle of the woods. What should we do with him?"
Pippin grins, and moves forward. "Whatever we want, I suppose."
~