Topic 6: Virginity --
(Crossposted to theatrical_muse.)
Nothing but the touch of a wyrm burrowing its way through layers of deadened sensation to accompany his long, slow sleep, some small, flickering part of him remembers.
Lost in neverending corridors of memory, those first, vibrant fumblings stand out like a brand. The smell of freshly cut hay, the softness of leather gloves and tunic and warm skin after, that first press into a willing other, the shock of tight and warmth and oh...
A rasping, grasping voice brushes against his ear with all the smoothness of snakeskin.
Another vision brushes by, flutters against his eyelids. A woman, dressed in green and glowing, his first and last love. Waves of green sliding off pale arms, baring throat and breast, offering up what he feels unworthy to take.
"Unworthier now," a forked tongue hisses.
He remembers a king bending, bowing to another, that tight warmth finally his to give, royalty coupling with royalty, one returning from the wild as the other passes on. He remembers, wonders idly if he recalls past, present or future, and sinks further into the oblivion of poisoned earth and lies.
The wyrm feeds on thought, on memory, on sensation, begins to outgrow its skin.
Above all else, he remembers and aches for more.
Muse: Theoden
Fandom: LotR
Word Count: 206
Hail, Muses all. I am Theoden, Son of Thengel, Lord of the Riddermark. I have but lately come into your strange and varied company, and while tales of the Rohirrim echo across this land, I shall not be taken aback if you yourself have not heard of our people.
While we carry our history in song, tales and touch, not quills, ink and paper, I have agreed to my chronicler's plea to allow her to write down what is better shared by voices.
Mun Notes: *waves* Hi all. Just a little note to let you know that Theoden is available for RPing, and will post/respond to comments in character. Nice to be here, looking forward to it all. And what a topic to enter the field on!
Nothing but the touch of a wyrm burrowing its way through layers of deadened sensation to accompany his long, slow sleep, some small, flickering part of him remembers.
Lost in neverending corridors of memory, those first, vibrant fumblings stand out like a brand. The smell of freshly cut hay, the softness of leather gloves and tunic and warm skin after, that first press into a willing other, the shock of tight and warmth and oh...
A rasping, grasping voice brushes against his ear with all the smoothness of snakeskin.
Another vision brushes by, flutters against his eyelids. A woman, dressed in green and glowing, his first and last love. Waves of green sliding off pale arms, baring throat and breast, offering up what he feels unworthy to take.
"Unworthier now," a forked tongue hisses.
He remembers a king bending, bowing to another, that tight warmth finally his to give, royalty coupling with royalty, one returning from the wild as the other passes on. He remembers, wonders idly if he recalls past, present or future, and sinks further into the oblivion of poisoned earth and lies.
The wyrm feeds on thought, on memory, on sensation, begins to outgrow its skin.
Above all else, he remembers and aches for more.
Muse: Theoden
Fandom: LotR
Word Count: 206
Hail, Muses all. I am Theoden, Son of Thengel, Lord of the Riddermark. I have but lately come into your strange and varied company, and while tales of the Rohirrim echo across this land, I shall not be taken aback if you yourself have not heard of our people.
While we carry our history in song, tales and touch, not quills, ink and paper, I have agreed to my chronicler's plea to allow her to write down what is better shared by voices.
Mun Notes: *waves* Hi all. Just a little note to let you know that Theoden is available for RPing, and will post/respond to comments in character. Nice to be here, looking forward to it all. And what a topic to enter the field on!