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fellowshippers2006-02-15 08:49 am
geniusartist.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-02-15 08:49 am
Poindexter
Title: Poindexter
Pairing: Various. Erm, it's a surprise.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Humor. Inspired by “The Vagina Monologues”, an interviewer asks the LOTR men several questions.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alchemilla_
Dark eyes, square jaw. The signature mohawk he was pre-informed about. An immediate grin and an extended hand.
“Hullo, hullo,” he shook Coffer’s similarly offered hand vigorously. “A pleasure.” Bright grin, 560 wattage if he could measure it, never relenting.
“Ah, Mr. --”
“Orlando.” Coffer glanced up from his clipboard. The young man with the dancing brown eyes and infectious smile nodded. “Call me Orlando.”
“Ok, Orlando. Thank you for agreeing to participate in this.”
“This is fantastic!”
“Er, yes. You know what we’re doing?”
“Well, no. But...” Orlando waved his hand. “I’m here! You’re here! We’re in New Zealand! I’m filming what’s going to be the most amazing movie of all time! Does it matter what we’re doing now?” Orlando stood suddenly and lurched towards Coffer, causing the other to jump back in surprise. He stiffened instinctively as he was engulfed wholeheartedly and unreservedly in a breath crushing hug. Not a man used to being touched without foreknowledge, and not liking it much if he were asked, he nonetheless felt moved and cordially patted the other’s shoulder in return. When Orlando settled back into his seat, Coffer bent his head down again towards the clipboard in his lap, hoping that his longish bangs would hide the flush that he felt creeping upwards from his neck to his face.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions --”
“Go on then.”
“Right. Well, the questions are --”
“Oh, go on, just ask.” Orlando nodded encouragingly.
“What do you call your penis?”
The grin vanished and was replaced with a hanging jaw. Which just as quickly shut. Orlando threw his head back and laughed. He was wiping tears from his eyes and hiccoughing before Coffer attempted further speech.
“Mr. Bloom --”
”Orlando.”
“Right, Orlando. I know that was a bit, er, forward, but as I was attempting to explain --”
“The King of England.”
Coffer blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I call my penis the King of England.” There was that grin again.
“Oh, right. Ok.” Coffer scribbled furiously on to the clipboard, head hanging low so that his bangs fell obligingly to cover the upper part of his face.
“Next.”
“Next?”
“Yes, next question, please.” He had nice teeth.
“If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Duct tape.”
“Oh.”
“It was the first thing that came to mind.” Orlando winked.
“Right. Ok, then. Next question?” He waited for the perfunctory nod. “It’s the last.”
“Oh?” Orlando sighed, shoulders slumped a bit. “Done so soon?”
“Yes, well...”
“Ok.” He quickly brightened again.
“If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
“Ahoy, mate!”
*****
The next interviewee glided into the room, an older gentleman with an air of one accustomed to the finer things in life, like properly aged wine and silk handkerchiefs. He eased himself into the chair across from Coffer and with the grace of a swan crossed one leg over the other. He extended a nod and a faint smile towards the bespectacled man.
Coffer nodded back and peered at his clipboard. “Mr. --”
“Sir.”
“Mr. --”
“Sir.”
Coffer looked up, finally. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Sir Ian McKellan.”
“Oh.” Coffer blushed furiously, but he held Sir McKellan’s stare, fearful that a bowed head would be misinterpreted as disdain or some other manifestation of disrespect. “Sir McKellan. Apologies, sir.”
“Quite alright.” Sir McKellan favored him another nod and, this time, a more generous smile. “So, Mr...”
“Coffer.”
“Mr. Coffer, you’ve questions to ask I’ve been told.”
”A few, yes. Pardon me. I’d like to explain first. If you don’t mind?” At the slight nod, Coffer continued. “Mr. Jackson had a brilliant idea... He thought, well, of putting together something, sort of like a collection of mock interviews, although they’re real interviews.” Coffer shifted nervously. He sat on his left hand and gripped a pen tightly with the other. “You’ve heard of The Vagina Monologues?” At another nod, Coffer went on. “Mr. Jackson thought it’d be amusing, for everyone that is, if members of the Fellowship, and perhaps other cast members and crew, although we haven’t thought that far ahead...”
“The Vagina Monologues, Mr. Coffer?”
“Oh, right. Well, he thought we’d do a satire of Ms. Ensler’s work, featuring men and their, er, penises.”
Sir McKellan elegantly raised an eyebrow.
“I’m to ask you a few of the questions she asked the women she interviewed for her book. Except instead of asking about vaginas, I’ll be asking about your penises. Your penis. Sir.”
Sir McKellan nodded slowly. He inhaled with his eyes closed and for a twenty second count kept his lids shut. Coffer was unsure as to whether he should excuse himself for the moment or else just remain completely still until told otherwise. He opted for the latter. When Sir McKellan finally opened his eyes, Coffer thought he saw a faint twinkle in them.
“Go on then.”
“Oh. Alright.” Coffer stared at the older gentleman. When he was gifted another nod, he fidgeted in his chair and fumbled for the pen that nearly fell from his fingers. “What, um, what do you call your vagina? No! Sorry. I mean...”
Sir McKellan chuckled. “No need to apologize. It’s been called worse.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, your penis. Sir. What do you call your penis?”
“Pussycat.”
“Ah. Ahem.” Coffer scribbled furiously on the clipboard and bowed his head almost to his knees. When he finished writing, a pregnant silence cloaked the room. “Next question, then?” He didn’t wait for the nod this time before continuing. “If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Red strappy heels and matching lipstick.”
Oh dear. Coffer’s head was slipping lower and lower and he cursed silently to himself at the ache in his neck he expected to suffer later that night. He had to repeat the next question twice, the first time said in an almost hoarse whisper to the inanimate clipboard on his lap. “If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
“Right now.”
*****
Whereas the older gentleman entered the room in a manner almost like Jesus walking on water, the next man strode in briskly and unceremoniously seated himself across from Coffer before the other had barely whipped his head around in acknowledgement.
“Mr. --”
”Mortensen. Viggo. And I call my penis 'Poindexter'.”
Coffer blanched. “Uh.”
”Orlando apprised me of the situation. My answers are ready and I don’t need any prompting.”
“Oh.”
“Cowboy boots and a sword.” Mortensen nodded.
Coffer gulped.
“Two words: Ride Me.” Mortensen wanted to add, “Orlando”, but he was a man devoted to fulfilling promises and meeting expectations where necessary. Or else requested. He was asked for only two words, and two words he delivered. He rose quickly and exited without another utterance.
****
“I’m telling you, I have a bigger penis than Billy.”
Coffer rubbed at his eyes. The monologue concerning the size of one Mr. Dominic Monaghan’s penis had been ongoing for almost ten minutes. And they had yet to get to the first question.
“Mr. Monaghan, we should...”
“It’s true. We’ve compared it. More than once. Limp, we’re head to head, so to speak. But who cares, really, what the size of the thing is when it’s limp? It’s like an air mattress without air or...or...like a balloon without air. Shit. You know what I mean? You want poetry, talk to Viggo. I mean, when the thing’s not erect, it’s just useful for the daily expunction of human waste. Sorry to be so graphic, buddy.” A quick slap to Coffer’s biceps. “But you know what I mean, don’t you? And when my thing is erect, it’s HUGE! I mean, for me being a little guy generally, I’ve got a big penis. I’ve got a bigger penis than Billy. And he loves it, my little Scottish slut, begs me for it sometimes...”
“Mr. Monaghan!!” Coffer roared.
“Eh, mate?”
“I’ve. Questions. To. Ask. You.”
Dominic Monaghan reclined in his chair. “Well, why didn’t you just say so. Go on then.”
“What do you call your penis?”
“The Thing. You know, like that character from the Fantastic Four?”
“Yes, I’m familiar. May I continue?”
“Please.” Dominic nodded.
“If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely.”
Coffer sighed. “Final question. If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
”I’m bigger.”
*****
Dominic Monaghan returned with the next interviewee, who Mr. Monaghan loudly introduced as “Billy boy, here!”
“Dominic says you think he’s got a bigger willy than I do,” Billy nudged his chin towards Dominic who was sitting on one arm of the chair Billy was occupying.
Coffer shook his head. “I just have to ask you three questions, Mr. Boyd? Mind if I just go right ahead?”
“No, Dommie here’s filled me in. Go on then.”
“What do you call your penis?”
“Bigger Than Dominic’s.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“You wish, you wanker.”
”Wishes are for fairies. Be a man, Monaghan, admit the truth.”
”And the truth is that I’ve got a bigger cock than you, Boyd.”
“Ha! If you mean a cock as in a rooster, and incidentally, I didn’t know you owned any members of the pheasant or fowl family.”
“You’re really not as funny as you think you’ve got a bigger dick than mine.”
“Shall I prove it to you?”
“You couldn’t. But if you’d like to try...” Billy suddenly stood. As did Dominic. And both began to fumble with their belt buckles.
“SIRS! MONSIEURS!! GENTLEMEN!!”
Scrambling hands abruptly froze.
Coffer stood, hands twisting and pulling at his hair. He stalked around his stool and then stood in front of it, arms folded over his chest. “Two questions, Mr. Boyd. I’ve only two questions left to ask you. If I may?”
Billy reclaimed his seat and Dominic perched himself on the arm. “Why didn’t you just say so, mate? Go on then.”
“If. Your. Penis.” Coffer took a deep breath. “If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“A studded collar.”
Coffer closed his eyes. Opened them. And continued. “If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
“Leather strap.”
Dominic smirked. He mouthed silently, I told you so.
*****
”What do you call your penis?!!” Coffer barked at the next interviewee before the other had scarcely sat down. He glanced up from his clipboard and into a pair of huge, startled blue eyes.
“Do you wear contacts?” Coffer blurted before he could stop himself. A shaking head answered his question. Before he continued, Coffer observed the small frame, pale skin, dark hair. The slightly slumped shoulders and fingers twisting in and around themselves. Nail-bitten fingers.
“Sorry, ah, Mr. --”
“Elijah Wood.”
“Oh, Mr. Wood. My nieces adore you!” The frown that clouded Coffer’s face for the last hour and a half lifted and was replaced with a beaming smile. “Mind if I get your autograph after this?”
“No,” Elijah Wood answered. Soft-spoken. “I don’t mind.”
“So, as I was saying... Should I give you an explanation?”
Elijah Wood hesitated. “Um, you asked me about my penis?” And then Elijah Wood flushed. Very attractively, Coffer appraised, and then told himself that the young man was ten years his junior. And that his nieces had pictures of him hanging on their walls. His eight and nine years old nieces, respectively.
“Right.”
“Yes, I think I’d appreciate an explanation.” Coffer was charmed by the shy smile that graced Elijah Wood’s small, pinkish lips.
“Basically, I’ve been interviewing everyone a la The Vagina Monologues. You’re familiar with it? Right. So, I’m the gay man version of Eve Ensler,” Coffer thought he’d lay his cards out on the table just in case, “and I’m asking three questions that Eve asked the women she interviewed. Except I’m replacing the vaginas with penises.”
“Oh.” Elijah Wood had turned a lovely scarlet red. Coffer wondered whether he likewise achieved that shade while in orgasm.
“Shall we begin?”
“Um...”
“What do you call your penis?”
Elijah Wood blanched. Collected himself. Whispered an answer.
“I’m sorry, Mr. --”
“He-man.” Elijah Wood cleared his throat. He took a sudden interest to a loose thread on the right leg of his jeans and was idly twisting it around.
“Next?”
“Um...”
”If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Red sneakers.”
Oh.
“Ok. Last question. If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
Elijah Wood glanced up. “Two words?”
“Yes, two words.”
“Oh.”
Five minutes passed.
“Mr. --”
“I’m still thinking.”
Seven minutes. Eight seconds. Now ten. Now thirteen.
“I’m sorry.”
“Your penis would say ‘I’m sorry.’”
“NO! I mean, I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”
“It’s ok, Mr. --”
“Just give me a minute.”
Coffer did and when a minute passed he sighed audibly.
“Really, it’s nothing to take so seriously. Mr. --”
“I’m flexible.”
*****
Epilogue
In 2006, Elijah Wood was rummaging through a box of sentimentalities, as he named them, when he came across the video marked “Poindexter”. He settled comfortably on his couch, next to his fellow Fellowship lover, and they both chuckled, snorted, sniggered their way through the viewing.
Amidst the hour or so long monologue by Dominic Monaghan regarding the enormity of his penis and the bickering with Billy Boyd that followed, Elijah Wood remarked, “You do have a bigger penis!”, eyes round and convinced. He turned and planted a kiss upon the smirk on his lover's lips.
“’s why it’s called Bigger Than Dominic’s,” he answered in his Scottish lilt.
Pairing: Various. Erm, it's a surprise.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Humor. Inspired by “The Vagina Monologues”, an interviewer asks the LOTR men several questions.
For
alchemilla_Dark eyes, square jaw. The signature mohawk he was pre-informed about. An immediate grin and an extended hand.
“Hullo, hullo,” he shook Coffer’s similarly offered hand vigorously. “A pleasure.” Bright grin, 560 wattage if he could measure it, never relenting.
“Ah, Mr. --”
“Orlando.” Coffer glanced up from his clipboard. The young man with the dancing brown eyes and infectious smile nodded. “Call me Orlando.”
“Ok, Orlando. Thank you for agreeing to participate in this.”
“This is fantastic!”
“Er, yes. You know what we’re doing?”
“Well, no. But...” Orlando waved his hand. “I’m here! You’re here! We’re in New Zealand! I’m filming what’s going to be the most amazing movie of all time! Does it matter what we’re doing now?” Orlando stood suddenly and lurched towards Coffer, causing the other to jump back in surprise. He stiffened instinctively as he was engulfed wholeheartedly and unreservedly in a breath crushing hug. Not a man used to being touched without foreknowledge, and not liking it much if he were asked, he nonetheless felt moved and cordially patted the other’s shoulder in return. When Orlando settled back into his seat, Coffer bent his head down again towards the clipboard in his lap, hoping that his longish bangs would hide the flush that he felt creeping upwards from his neck to his face.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions --”
“Go on then.”
“Right. Well, the questions are --”
“Oh, go on, just ask.” Orlando nodded encouragingly.
“What do you call your penis?”
The grin vanished and was replaced with a hanging jaw. Which just as quickly shut. Orlando threw his head back and laughed. He was wiping tears from his eyes and hiccoughing before Coffer attempted further speech.
“Mr. Bloom --”
”Orlando.”
“Right, Orlando. I know that was a bit, er, forward, but as I was attempting to explain --”
“The King of England.”
Coffer blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I call my penis the King of England.” There was that grin again.
“Oh, right. Ok.” Coffer scribbled furiously on to the clipboard, head hanging low so that his bangs fell obligingly to cover the upper part of his face.
“Next.”
“Next?”
“Yes, next question, please.” He had nice teeth.
“If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Duct tape.”
“Oh.”
“It was the first thing that came to mind.” Orlando winked.
“Right. Ok, then. Next question?” He waited for the perfunctory nod. “It’s the last.”
“Oh?” Orlando sighed, shoulders slumped a bit. “Done so soon?”
“Yes, well...”
“Ok.” He quickly brightened again.
“If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
“Ahoy, mate!”
*****
The next interviewee glided into the room, an older gentleman with an air of one accustomed to the finer things in life, like properly aged wine and silk handkerchiefs. He eased himself into the chair across from Coffer and with the grace of a swan crossed one leg over the other. He extended a nod and a faint smile towards the bespectacled man.
Coffer nodded back and peered at his clipboard. “Mr. --”
“Sir.”
“Mr. --”
“Sir.”
Coffer looked up, finally. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Sir Ian McKellan.”
“Oh.” Coffer blushed furiously, but he held Sir McKellan’s stare, fearful that a bowed head would be misinterpreted as disdain or some other manifestation of disrespect. “Sir McKellan. Apologies, sir.”
“Quite alright.” Sir McKellan favored him another nod and, this time, a more generous smile. “So, Mr...”
“Coffer.”
“Mr. Coffer, you’ve questions to ask I’ve been told.”
”A few, yes. Pardon me. I’d like to explain first. If you don’t mind?” At the slight nod, Coffer continued. “Mr. Jackson had a brilliant idea... He thought, well, of putting together something, sort of like a collection of mock interviews, although they’re real interviews.” Coffer shifted nervously. He sat on his left hand and gripped a pen tightly with the other. “You’ve heard of The Vagina Monologues?” At another nod, Coffer went on. “Mr. Jackson thought it’d be amusing, for everyone that is, if members of the Fellowship, and perhaps other cast members and crew, although we haven’t thought that far ahead...”
“The Vagina Monologues, Mr. Coffer?”
“Oh, right. Well, he thought we’d do a satire of Ms. Ensler’s work, featuring men and their, er, penises.”
Sir McKellan elegantly raised an eyebrow.
“I’m to ask you a few of the questions she asked the women she interviewed for her book. Except instead of asking about vaginas, I’ll be asking about your penises. Your penis. Sir.”
Sir McKellan nodded slowly. He inhaled with his eyes closed and for a twenty second count kept his lids shut. Coffer was unsure as to whether he should excuse himself for the moment or else just remain completely still until told otherwise. He opted for the latter. When Sir McKellan finally opened his eyes, Coffer thought he saw a faint twinkle in them.
“Go on then.”
“Oh. Alright.” Coffer stared at the older gentleman. When he was gifted another nod, he fidgeted in his chair and fumbled for the pen that nearly fell from his fingers. “What, um, what do you call your vagina? No! Sorry. I mean...”
Sir McKellan chuckled. “No need to apologize. It’s been called worse.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, your penis. Sir. What do you call your penis?”
“Pussycat.”
“Ah. Ahem.” Coffer scribbled furiously on the clipboard and bowed his head almost to his knees. When he finished writing, a pregnant silence cloaked the room. “Next question, then?” He didn’t wait for the nod this time before continuing. “If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Red strappy heels and matching lipstick.”
Oh dear. Coffer’s head was slipping lower and lower and he cursed silently to himself at the ache in his neck he expected to suffer later that night. He had to repeat the next question twice, the first time said in an almost hoarse whisper to the inanimate clipboard on his lap. “If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
“Right now.”
*****
Whereas the older gentleman entered the room in a manner almost like Jesus walking on water, the next man strode in briskly and unceremoniously seated himself across from Coffer before the other had barely whipped his head around in acknowledgement.
“Mr. --”
”Mortensen. Viggo. And I call my penis 'Poindexter'.”
Coffer blanched. “Uh.”
”Orlando apprised me of the situation. My answers are ready and I don’t need any prompting.”
“Oh.”
“Cowboy boots and a sword.” Mortensen nodded.
Coffer gulped.
“Two words: Ride Me.” Mortensen wanted to add, “Orlando”, but he was a man devoted to fulfilling promises and meeting expectations where necessary. Or else requested. He was asked for only two words, and two words he delivered. He rose quickly and exited without another utterance.
****
“I’m telling you, I have a bigger penis than Billy.”
Coffer rubbed at his eyes. The monologue concerning the size of one Mr. Dominic Monaghan’s penis had been ongoing for almost ten minutes. And they had yet to get to the first question.
“Mr. Monaghan, we should...”
“It’s true. We’ve compared it. More than once. Limp, we’re head to head, so to speak. But who cares, really, what the size of the thing is when it’s limp? It’s like an air mattress without air or...or...like a balloon without air. Shit. You know what I mean? You want poetry, talk to Viggo. I mean, when the thing’s not erect, it’s just useful for the daily expunction of human waste. Sorry to be so graphic, buddy.” A quick slap to Coffer’s biceps. “But you know what I mean, don’t you? And when my thing is erect, it’s HUGE! I mean, for me being a little guy generally, I’ve got a big penis. I’ve got a bigger penis than Billy. And he loves it, my little Scottish slut, begs me for it sometimes...”
“Mr. Monaghan!!” Coffer roared.
“Eh, mate?”
“I’ve. Questions. To. Ask. You.”
Dominic Monaghan reclined in his chair. “Well, why didn’t you just say so. Go on then.”
“What do you call your penis?”
“The Thing. You know, like that character from the Fantastic Four?”
“Yes, I’m familiar. May I continue?”
“Please.” Dominic nodded.
“If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely.”
Coffer sighed. “Final question. If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
”I’m bigger.”
*****
Dominic Monaghan returned with the next interviewee, who Mr. Monaghan loudly introduced as “Billy boy, here!”
“Dominic says you think he’s got a bigger willy than I do,” Billy nudged his chin towards Dominic who was sitting on one arm of the chair Billy was occupying.
Coffer shook his head. “I just have to ask you three questions, Mr. Boyd? Mind if I just go right ahead?”
“No, Dommie here’s filled me in. Go on then.”
“What do you call your penis?”
“Bigger Than Dominic’s.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“You wish, you wanker.”
”Wishes are for fairies. Be a man, Monaghan, admit the truth.”
”And the truth is that I’ve got a bigger cock than you, Boyd.”
“Ha! If you mean a cock as in a rooster, and incidentally, I didn’t know you owned any members of the pheasant or fowl family.”
“You’re really not as funny as you think you’ve got a bigger dick than mine.”
“Shall I prove it to you?”
“You couldn’t. But if you’d like to try...” Billy suddenly stood. As did Dominic. And both began to fumble with their belt buckles.
“SIRS! MONSIEURS!! GENTLEMEN!!”
Scrambling hands abruptly froze.
Coffer stood, hands twisting and pulling at his hair. He stalked around his stool and then stood in front of it, arms folded over his chest. “Two questions, Mr. Boyd. I’ve only two questions left to ask you. If I may?”
Billy reclaimed his seat and Dominic perched himself on the arm. “Why didn’t you just say so, mate? Go on then.”
“If. Your. Penis.” Coffer took a deep breath. “If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“A studded collar.”
Coffer closed his eyes. Opened them. And continued. “If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
“Leather strap.”
Dominic smirked. He mouthed silently, I told you so.
*****
”What do you call your penis?!!” Coffer barked at the next interviewee before the other had scarcely sat down. He glanced up from his clipboard and into a pair of huge, startled blue eyes.
“Do you wear contacts?” Coffer blurted before he could stop himself. A shaking head answered his question. Before he continued, Coffer observed the small frame, pale skin, dark hair. The slightly slumped shoulders and fingers twisting in and around themselves. Nail-bitten fingers.
“Sorry, ah, Mr. --”
“Elijah Wood.”
“Oh, Mr. Wood. My nieces adore you!” The frown that clouded Coffer’s face for the last hour and a half lifted and was replaced with a beaming smile. “Mind if I get your autograph after this?”
“No,” Elijah Wood answered. Soft-spoken. “I don’t mind.”
“So, as I was saying... Should I give you an explanation?”
Elijah Wood hesitated. “Um, you asked me about my penis?” And then Elijah Wood flushed. Very attractively, Coffer appraised, and then told himself that the young man was ten years his junior. And that his nieces had pictures of him hanging on their walls. His eight and nine years old nieces, respectively.
“Right.”
“Yes, I think I’d appreciate an explanation.” Coffer was charmed by the shy smile that graced Elijah Wood’s small, pinkish lips.
“Basically, I’ve been interviewing everyone a la The Vagina Monologues. You’re familiar with it? Right. So, I’m the gay man version of Eve Ensler,” Coffer thought he’d lay his cards out on the table just in case, “and I’m asking three questions that Eve asked the women she interviewed. Except I’m replacing the vaginas with penises.”
“Oh.” Elijah Wood had turned a lovely scarlet red. Coffer wondered whether he likewise achieved that shade while in orgasm.
“Shall we begin?”
“Um...”
“What do you call your penis?”
Elijah Wood blanched. Collected himself. Whispered an answer.
“I’m sorry, Mr. --”
“He-man.” Elijah Wood cleared his throat. He took a sudden interest to a loose thread on the right leg of his jeans and was idly twisting it around.
“Next?”
“Um...”
”If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?”
“Red sneakers.”
Oh.
“Ok. Last question. If your penis could talk, what would it say, in two words?”
Elijah Wood glanced up. “Two words?”
“Yes, two words.”
“Oh.”
Five minutes passed.
“Mr. --”
“I’m still thinking.”
Seven minutes. Eight seconds. Now ten. Now thirteen.
“I’m sorry.”
“Your penis would say ‘I’m sorry.’”
“NO! I mean, I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”
“It’s ok, Mr. --”
“Just give me a minute.”
Coffer did and when a minute passed he sighed audibly.
“Really, it’s nothing to take so seriously. Mr. --”
“I’m flexible.”
*****
Epilogue
In 2006, Elijah Wood was rummaging through a box of sentimentalities, as he named them, when he came across the video marked “Poindexter”. He settled comfortably on his couch, next to his fellow Fellowship lover, and they both chuckled, snorted, sniggered their way through the viewing.
Amidst the hour or so long monologue by Dominic Monaghan regarding the enormity of his penis and the bickering with Billy Boyd that followed, Elijah Wood remarked, “You do have a bigger penis!”, eyes round and convinced. He turned and planted a kiss upon the smirk on his lover's lips.
“’s why it’s called Bigger Than Dominic’s,” he answered in his Scottish lilt.
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Glad you enjoyed it!
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threetwo words ;)this was really brilliant :)
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Thanks!
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Poor Elijah! :P
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*pets*
:) Glad you enjoyed it!
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The names are perfect. The wardrobes are even better, and the two words....
Price Less.
Thank You.
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Glad you enjoyed this!
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Too funny! LOL
*sigh* Dammit they need to be interviewed like that for the twentieth Aniversary of Rings or something. LOL
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I'd pay good money to hear the real answers.
Thank you for reading!
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I'm dieing here of laugh. I. God!!!! My side hurts!!!!! hahahahaha!
How much I needed this, you can't imagine it girl. Even if BillyLijah is not really my paring, I just have to say that the end is PERFECT! Just so so cool!!!
♥
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So glad you enjoyed this!
♥
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