Three Coins for the Ferryman - Horror fics for Halloween
Title: Bloodlust
Word Count: a double drabble. Sorry, it needed the space.
Author: Kortirion
Characters: A companion of Finrod, and Draugluin the werewolf
Warning: for violence and NC17.
Source: The Silmarillion
Disclaimers: Tolkien fecit - and I added a few twiddly bits
He lay there naked, a veritable feast. I like to look; it whets the appetite. Pale skin bloomed purple with bruises. I licked a leisurely path up his inner thighs. With a languorous tongue I explored him, tasting musk, feeling powerful muscles bunch underneath me. Lingering to nuzzle that tender sac, my breath ghosted hot against his soft cock, he inhaled sharply.
‘Not yet my lovely - soon’.
His belly trembled, doubtless afraid of the penetration to come. He knows I am wild and wanton in my passion. I traced every muscle with my swirling tongue. He gasped and shook as my teeth grazed the tightened nub of his nipple. I bit, hard, almost breaking the skin. He swallowed a cry.
‘Soon you will scream for me, pretty elf.’
His body thrummed like a bow-string. I sat back on my haunches, relishing the sight. Again, I laved his belly; slowly lapping cool flesh. His breath came in ragged gasps; the faintest moan escaped him when I nudged his flaccid cock. He trembled and my own member stirred in response.
Enough - I must have him!
I tore, ripped, savaged sweet flesh. And his screams became a counter-point to my howling blood-lust.
Title: The Dead
Character: The Dead of Dunharrow
Source: LotR
Rating: PG13
The very dust oppresses us. Ancient as the bones of the Earth this place is carved from. Evil was done here; grievous things by wicked men best forgotten. We linger, forced to wait. It should be a tomb, for we crave oblivion, but die not. He bound us until we are called and our hate is palpable.
I thought it was him, he bears the wyrd, but how could it be? Thirty generations have passed, pitifully slow. I loathed him; I feared he’d not offer absolution, - but he did.
Then we harried death to oblivion. And it was sweet.
Title: I Have No Voice, But I Must Scream.
Character: Frodo
Source: AU - if the Dark Lord had triumphed...
Warning: Angst - lots of it!
Within each is that space of deepest dread, a void of pain. There Frodo dwelt, a permanent agony of body and soul held him fast. If he had been stronger, if Sam had survived… all for naught.
Everything ground into dust. All he specially loved held in a thrall of torment. All memories snatched away, to be paraded before him in their present miseries. He tried hard not to remember anymore.
The Dark Lord’s fingertip rested momentarily on his spine, another burning scar added. He screamed, voiceless.
“Sing Slave!”
Frodo howled his anguished loss to the wild skies above Barad-dur.
Word Count: a double drabble. Sorry, it needed the space.
Author: Kortirion
Characters: A companion of Finrod, and Draugluin the werewolf
Warning: for violence and NC17.
Source: The Silmarillion
Disclaimers: Tolkien fecit - and I added a few twiddly bits
He lay there naked, a veritable feast. I like to look; it whets the appetite. Pale skin bloomed purple with bruises. I licked a leisurely path up his inner thighs. With a languorous tongue I explored him, tasting musk, feeling powerful muscles bunch underneath me. Lingering to nuzzle that tender sac, my breath ghosted hot against his soft cock, he inhaled sharply.
‘Not yet my lovely - soon’.
His belly trembled, doubtless afraid of the penetration to come. He knows I am wild and wanton in my passion. I traced every muscle with my swirling tongue. He gasped and shook as my teeth grazed the tightened nub of his nipple. I bit, hard, almost breaking the skin. He swallowed a cry.
‘Soon you will scream for me, pretty elf.’
His body thrummed like a bow-string. I sat back on my haunches, relishing the sight. Again, I laved his belly; slowly lapping cool flesh. His breath came in ragged gasps; the faintest moan escaped him when I nudged his flaccid cock. He trembled and my own member stirred in response.
Enough - I must have him!
I tore, ripped, savaged sweet flesh. And his screams became a counter-point to my howling blood-lust.
Title: The Dead
Character: The Dead of Dunharrow
Source: LotR
Rating: PG13
The very dust oppresses us. Ancient as the bones of the Earth this place is carved from. Evil was done here; grievous things by wicked men best forgotten. We linger, forced to wait. It should be a tomb, for we crave oblivion, but die not. He bound us until we are called and our hate is palpable.
I thought it was him, he bears the wyrd, but how could it be? Thirty generations have passed, pitifully slow. I loathed him; I feared he’d not offer absolution, - but he did.
Then we harried death to oblivion. And it was sweet.
Title: I Have No Voice, But I Must Scream.
Character: Frodo
Source: AU - if the Dark Lord had triumphed...
Warning: Angst - lots of it!
Within each is that space of deepest dread, a void of pain. There Frodo dwelt, a permanent agony of body and soul held him fast. If he had been stronger, if Sam had survived… all for naught.
Everything ground into dust. All he specially loved held in a thrall of torment. All memories snatched away, to be paraded before him in their present miseries. He tried hard not to remember anymore.
The Dark Lord’s fingertip rested momentarily on his spine, another burning scar added. He screamed, voiceless.
“Sing Slave!”
Frodo howled his anguished loss to the wild skies above Barad-dur.