(no subject)
omg, this is my first and ONLY, mind you, RPS because I wanted to jump on the wing!ficlet bandwagon. I'm sorry if I didn't do it right!!11
(*hides head in shame...kind of*)
Disclaimer: This is fiction (duh). I don’t know who either of these hot fellows are in a relationship with…and I don’t care!!
“We’ve got to run through this scene again,” Elijah said, running his hand through his hobbit curls. His hand came away damp, and he sighed in frustration. He would kill for just one day off. Keeping his secret had caused much strain lately, kept him awake when he should have been sleeping, and it was getting harder to convince Sean not to take off his shirt when they were screwing. “You’ve got to make it more convincing. Just because you’re fucking me doesn’t mean Boromir wouldn’t be willing to kill Frodo for the wing…um…Ring.”
Sean startled. “Why did you say that?”
“We are fucking, aren’t we?” Elijah asks, lifting his brows.
“I meant,” Sean said, shaken. “That I thought you said *wing*. For just a minute there, I thought…it was a dream I had last night…it was so weird.” Sean shook his head, obviously trying to rid himself of some odd memory, and he stepped toward Elijah with sudden determination and grabbed his balls.
“What are you doing?” Elijah asked indignantly.
“Come on,” Sean said with a mysterious smile. “Let’s have a go here. In costume. We’ve not done that yet.”
“Are you joking?” An insistent pulling and flapping at his shoulder blades, a direct response to his own arousal, caused Elijah immediate alarm. It was going to happen right here in front of Sean -- and he’d not be able to do anything about it. “We’ll be seen!”
He tried to will the flapping to stop, though already he smelled feather dander, and the panicked flutter grew louder. He frantically unbuttoned his weskit and linen shirt-wild to get them off before they were torn through.
“Come, little hobbit,” Sean said, tilting Elijah’s flushed face up to his. “I want more than the Ring.”
Elijah threw off his shirt and weskit just as it happened. Rising up on either side, glorious, green and brown to match the colors in his Frodo costume, fluttering until Elijah rose to Sean’s eye level for the first time.
“So it is true,” Sean whispered. “It wasn’t a dream.”
Only his hand over Elijah’s crotch kept the winged hobbit from floating.
AND here is a F/S drabble for Paula...
Wheel of fire, careening and hissing. Always burning. The goose feather pillow becomes molten rock, the blankets so lovingly tucked around his chin turn into clutching hands, always after the precious.
“Mr. Frodo,” the plaintive voice says, keeping away the shadows for only a moment.
“Where am I?” Frodo asks, his voice hoarse, lips cracked. “So thirsty.”
“You’re with your Sam and no place else.”
Frodo smiles, brief serenity crosses his face. “Sam…”
The wheel of fire cannot block the calloused hands over pale smooth skin, lips clamping with earthy good sense, setting a different kind of fire within him.
(*hides head in shame...kind of*)
Disclaimer: This is fiction (duh). I don’t know who either of these hot fellows are in a relationship with…and I don’t care!!
“We’ve got to run through this scene again,” Elijah said, running his hand through his hobbit curls. His hand came away damp, and he sighed in frustration. He would kill for just one day off. Keeping his secret had caused much strain lately, kept him awake when he should have been sleeping, and it was getting harder to convince Sean not to take off his shirt when they were screwing. “You’ve got to make it more convincing. Just because you’re fucking me doesn’t mean Boromir wouldn’t be willing to kill Frodo for the wing…um…Ring.”
Sean startled. “Why did you say that?”
“We are fucking, aren’t we?” Elijah asks, lifting his brows.
“I meant,” Sean said, shaken. “That I thought you said *wing*. For just a minute there, I thought…it was a dream I had last night…it was so weird.” Sean shook his head, obviously trying to rid himself of some odd memory, and he stepped toward Elijah with sudden determination and grabbed his balls.
“What are you doing?” Elijah asked indignantly.
“Come on,” Sean said with a mysterious smile. “Let’s have a go here. In costume. We’ve not done that yet.”
“Are you joking?” An insistent pulling and flapping at his shoulder blades, a direct response to his own arousal, caused Elijah immediate alarm. It was going to happen right here in front of Sean -- and he’d not be able to do anything about it. “We’ll be seen!”
He tried to will the flapping to stop, though already he smelled feather dander, and the panicked flutter grew louder. He frantically unbuttoned his weskit and linen shirt-wild to get them off before they were torn through.
“Come, little hobbit,” Sean said, tilting Elijah’s flushed face up to his. “I want more than the Ring.”
Elijah threw off his shirt and weskit just as it happened. Rising up on either side, glorious, green and brown to match the colors in his Frodo costume, fluttering until Elijah rose to Sean’s eye level for the first time.
“So it is true,” Sean whispered. “It wasn’t a dream.”
Only his hand over Elijah’s crotch kept the winged hobbit from floating.
AND here is a F/S drabble for Paula...
Wheel of fire, careening and hissing. Always burning. The goose feather pillow becomes molten rock, the blankets so lovingly tucked around his chin turn into clutching hands, always after the precious.
“Mr. Frodo,” the plaintive voice says, keeping away the shadows for only a moment.
“Where am I?” Frodo asks, his voice hoarse, lips cracked. “So thirsty.”
“You’re with your Sam and no place else.”
Frodo smiles, brief serenity crosses his face. “Sam…”
The wheel of fire cannot block the calloused hands over pale smooth skin, lips clamping with earthy good sense, setting a different kind of fire within him.