ext_29511 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2006-04-05 11:49 pm
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-04-05 11:49 pm
The thing what snuck up on me....
Good evening my various and sundry Sisters and Brothers! I hope you are all well and happy, if not exquisite and giddy. For no discernable reason a tiny little story snuck up on me while I was busy tending to matters of Real Life. I tried to knock it down and chase it away, but it followed me home. So now I offer it to anyone who’ll give it a bowl of milk and a place to sleep:
TITLE: Curiosity, Thy Name is Hobbit
AUTHOR: Pecos
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
RATING: PG –13, innuendo, inter-species gayness
DISCLAIMER: I don’t make the toys, I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
WHAT IS IT?: A very small FPS
WHO’S IN IT: Members of The Fellowship
FEEDBACK: remember the golden rule, (please!)
NOTE: lack of beta reading is not due to
inconsideration for my fair readers, but rather
a constraint of time and place
Curiosity, Thy Name is Hobbit
Shifting his pack, Sam glanced back at Gandalf, envying those long, easy strides as the Wizard and Aragorn covered the uneven ground effortlessly, talking in murmuring voices of doubtless important matters. Billy the Pony followed the Wizard easily, carrying the bulky packs without complaint. Sam looked to the side, finding Pippin and Merry arguing surreptitiously over some remembered misdeed as they hastily scurried along behind Gimli’s plodding form. Boromir was pacing further afield, alert to any game that their passing might flush. He had already brought down two pheasants, a welcome bounty in this uncertain land. Mister Frodo was keeping up with Sam, as usual, but he stared into the distance, barely aware of the path taken, let alone trying to follow the course of his companion’s thoughts.
That was fine with Sam. Preoccupied with his own meditations, he pressed on at top speed, eyes returning guiltily to the form of the Elf who was picking out their trail from the rude countryside. Legolas moved over the land like a phantom, seeming to not even touch the dirt or stir the grasses. His elegant hands strayed to touch the bark of every tree they passed, and Sam could easily imagine the trees bending toward the fey spirit as he moved by, like flowers seeking sunlight. Three days out from Rivendell, and Sam still thought that he was going to burst with curiosity about his new companions, especially the Elf.
Ahh…the Elf. No wonder he was a Prince. More like a sprightly King of the Woods, a magical being, a graceful dream….
“Just ask him, already,” Frodo sighed.
“What?” Sam sputtered.
“Ask him, before he starts thinking that you might jump him in the dark – not that you likely could.”
“I never…” Sam gasped, unable to defend himself under the scrutiny of Frodo’s familiar gaze.
“He’s not going to mind, Sam. Really. They’re much more easy-going about that sort of thing than you think. Open-minded, and all.”
Sam harrumphed indignantly, but there was nothing else to say. He’d been well and truly rumbled.
The stoic gardener was seated against a large root at the mid-day break, doggedly eating his meager cold rations while he rummaged around in the bulging pack, trying to figure out which item had been digging into his ribs for the last league. A faint aroma of tender spring grass and cool, healthy earth touched his nose just before the shadow coalesced into a tall figure leaning around the bole of the tree.
“Good afternoon, Master Gamgee,” Legolas said with a smile.
Sam was so enchanted by the sound of the Elf’s voice that he was rendered utterly unable to answer the pleasantry for a moment. Then he blurted a hasty, “Prince Legolas! Yes, uhm, it is afternoon, ain’t it?” He immediately wanted to stab himself in the eye with the nearest sharp stick.
“Very much so, Master Hobbit. The glory of Arnor is shining down.” He tipped his head, the golden strands of the Elf’s hair swaying hypnotically before Sam’s widened eyes. “Frodo informs me that you are wrought with curiosity about my ancient race, and specifically our bodies. He mentioned….”
“Yes, uhm, er…right. I…uh….” Sam was positive he would now to die of embarrassment, likely within the next two heartbeats. His face burned like a fire-heated pan, and his extremities had gone numb. And yet, the sun remained in the sky, and Legolas had not drawn his knives to defend his besmirched honor. “I was sorta wondering, as it were. After all, I ‘spect everyone knows what Hobbits’ look like. We’re sorta big, for our size, you know, and thick, and with the hair and all….”
“You’ve not had a chance to espy Aragorn unclothed in your travels so far?”
“No, your highness, not as such. There hasn’t been time….”
“Not a loss,” Legolas grinned, dimpling in a way that would turn bad milk into smoothest butter at the blink of an eye. His voice dropped conspiratorially. “It’s nasty in the extreme. Like an Orc’s! Scaly and smelly and vile.” Blue eyes were dancing. “We’ll be stopping beside a stream tonight, Master Gamgee, and if there is no threat present I intend to bathe. You are welcome to satisfy your curiosity then, if that would be convenient.”
“Yes, I…certainly, Prince….”
“Just call me Legolas, please,” the stunning Elf chided. And then he was gone again, like an unexpected breeze riffling through a field of grain. Needless to say, the rest of the day passed in a haze of expectation.
All too soon, Sam found himself finished with his chores and repacking unneeded supplies in Bill the Pony’s panniers. It was shortly after the evening meal, and the two swarthy Men were in deep conversation with Gandalf about possible routes into the dangerous country ahead, while Gimli and Frodo played a game of cards. Sam gave Bill the cores he’d saved from some apples and looked up to see Legolas heading through the trees at the bank of the stream. The Elf turned and caught Sam’s eye, then smiled, inclining his head before continuing.
Heart in his throat, the gardener rubbed his hands together and hurried to follow. A small break in the brush led to a flat bit of grass at the water’s edge, and this was where Legolas was disrobing. He’d placed his slim white knives within easy reach, but the surrounding area had already proven secure or they would have posted patrols. Legolas had unbraided his hair, and it hung like a ribbon of gold in the fading light, fanning lightly in the soft breeze.
“Good evening, Master Gamgee,” the Elven Prince called as Sam moved cautiously through the screen of reeds. Legolas bent to slide his leggings down slender thighs. Sam’s throat constricted around a hard lump, and he couldn’t decide how near to the ethereal one he dared to stop. “Come on over here to the water’s edge, Sam,” Legolas instructed gently, bending down to free one leg of his clothing. “You can see more clearly up close.”
The Elf’s chest was smooth and pale, the skin unblemished and stretching over a corded abdomen. Sam was near enough now that he could see the faint dusting of hair on Legolas’ forearms, and when his stood back up and stretched there was also a bit of soft hair in the hollows of his armpits, a light dusting also descending from his hollow navel. Eyeing the water, Legolas reached down and started unfastening the silken loincloth wrapped around his slender hips. “Are you ready?” he asked the gob-smacked Hobbit.
“Wait for us!” cried Merry, bumbling through the underbrush like a herd of Oliphants.
“Oi! Hold the show!” Pippin seconded, tripping over this cousin’s heels as he also crowded in behind Sam. “We want to see too!”
Sam Gamgee had never wanted to murder his kinsman so much as that moment. If he’d had one of Legolas’ knives in his hand there would have been Hobbitcide committed right there on the banks of the little river. The Elf smiled indulgently down at the little interlopers as he finished unwinding his loincloth and laid it on the grass next to his boots and other clothes. “Are you all ready?” he inquired.
Three pairs of eyes were utterly glued on the Elf’s serene face. Legolas shifted his weight slightly and lifted one foot up to mid-thigh, holding it still before them.
“Oooooo!” Merry cooed, enchanted. “So pretty!”
“It’s so smooth!” Pippin marveled. “Not a single hair!”
Merry’s mouth was agape. “Soft and pale, like a new-born baby’s!”
Sam was beyond words. The long, graceful bones, the high, perfect arch, the long, curved, but independent toes with their neat little nails, each hosting a crescent of purest white. It was the most beautiful foot he’d ever seen – the utter antithesis of a Hobbit foot.
Toes wiggled mischievously, and then the Elf withdrew his blessed appendage and turned to wade into the river. Sam stood there, slack-jawed, staring after him for many long minutes.
It was even more glorious than he’d imagined! He could hardly wait to go tell Mister Frodo….
TITLE: Curiosity, Thy Name is Hobbit
AUTHOR: Pecos
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
RATING: PG –13, innuendo, inter-species gayness
DISCLAIMER: I don’t make the toys, I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
WHAT IS IT?: A very small FPS
WHO’S IN IT: Members of The Fellowship
FEEDBACK: remember the golden rule, (please!)
NOTE: lack of beta reading is not due to
inconsideration for my fair readers, but rather
a constraint of time and place
Curiosity, Thy Name is Hobbit
Shifting his pack, Sam glanced back at Gandalf, envying those long, easy strides as the Wizard and Aragorn covered the uneven ground effortlessly, talking in murmuring voices of doubtless important matters. Billy the Pony followed the Wizard easily, carrying the bulky packs without complaint. Sam looked to the side, finding Pippin and Merry arguing surreptitiously over some remembered misdeed as they hastily scurried along behind Gimli’s plodding form. Boromir was pacing further afield, alert to any game that their passing might flush. He had already brought down two pheasants, a welcome bounty in this uncertain land. Mister Frodo was keeping up with Sam, as usual, but he stared into the distance, barely aware of the path taken, let alone trying to follow the course of his companion’s thoughts.
That was fine with Sam. Preoccupied with his own meditations, he pressed on at top speed, eyes returning guiltily to the form of the Elf who was picking out their trail from the rude countryside. Legolas moved over the land like a phantom, seeming to not even touch the dirt or stir the grasses. His elegant hands strayed to touch the bark of every tree they passed, and Sam could easily imagine the trees bending toward the fey spirit as he moved by, like flowers seeking sunlight. Three days out from Rivendell, and Sam still thought that he was going to burst with curiosity about his new companions, especially the Elf.
Ahh…the Elf. No wonder he was a Prince. More like a sprightly King of the Woods, a magical being, a graceful dream….
“Just ask him, already,” Frodo sighed.
“What?” Sam sputtered.
“Ask him, before he starts thinking that you might jump him in the dark – not that you likely could.”
“I never…” Sam gasped, unable to defend himself under the scrutiny of Frodo’s familiar gaze.
“He’s not going to mind, Sam. Really. They’re much more easy-going about that sort of thing than you think. Open-minded, and all.”
Sam harrumphed indignantly, but there was nothing else to say. He’d been well and truly rumbled.
The stoic gardener was seated against a large root at the mid-day break, doggedly eating his meager cold rations while he rummaged around in the bulging pack, trying to figure out which item had been digging into his ribs for the last league. A faint aroma of tender spring grass and cool, healthy earth touched his nose just before the shadow coalesced into a tall figure leaning around the bole of the tree.
“Good afternoon, Master Gamgee,” Legolas said with a smile.
Sam was so enchanted by the sound of the Elf’s voice that he was rendered utterly unable to answer the pleasantry for a moment. Then he blurted a hasty, “Prince Legolas! Yes, uhm, it is afternoon, ain’t it?” He immediately wanted to stab himself in the eye with the nearest sharp stick.
“Very much so, Master Hobbit. The glory of Arnor is shining down.” He tipped his head, the golden strands of the Elf’s hair swaying hypnotically before Sam’s widened eyes. “Frodo informs me that you are wrought with curiosity about my ancient race, and specifically our bodies. He mentioned….”
“Yes, uhm, er…right. I…uh….” Sam was positive he would now to die of embarrassment, likely within the next two heartbeats. His face burned like a fire-heated pan, and his extremities had gone numb. And yet, the sun remained in the sky, and Legolas had not drawn his knives to defend his besmirched honor. “I was sorta wondering, as it were. After all, I ‘spect everyone knows what Hobbits’ look like. We’re sorta big, for our size, you know, and thick, and with the hair and all….”
“You’ve not had a chance to espy Aragorn unclothed in your travels so far?”
“No, your highness, not as such. There hasn’t been time….”
“Not a loss,” Legolas grinned, dimpling in a way that would turn bad milk into smoothest butter at the blink of an eye. His voice dropped conspiratorially. “It’s nasty in the extreme. Like an Orc’s! Scaly and smelly and vile.” Blue eyes were dancing. “We’ll be stopping beside a stream tonight, Master Gamgee, and if there is no threat present I intend to bathe. You are welcome to satisfy your curiosity then, if that would be convenient.”
“Yes, I…certainly, Prince….”
“Just call me Legolas, please,” the stunning Elf chided. And then he was gone again, like an unexpected breeze riffling through a field of grain. Needless to say, the rest of the day passed in a haze of expectation.
All too soon, Sam found himself finished with his chores and repacking unneeded supplies in Bill the Pony’s panniers. It was shortly after the evening meal, and the two swarthy Men were in deep conversation with Gandalf about possible routes into the dangerous country ahead, while Gimli and Frodo played a game of cards. Sam gave Bill the cores he’d saved from some apples and looked up to see Legolas heading through the trees at the bank of the stream. The Elf turned and caught Sam’s eye, then smiled, inclining his head before continuing.
Heart in his throat, the gardener rubbed his hands together and hurried to follow. A small break in the brush led to a flat bit of grass at the water’s edge, and this was where Legolas was disrobing. He’d placed his slim white knives within easy reach, but the surrounding area had already proven secure or they would have posted patrols. Legolas had unbraided his hair, and it hung like a ribbon of gold in the fading light, fanning lightly in the soft breeze.
“Good evening, Master Gamgee,” the Elven Prince called as Sam moved cautiously through the screen of reeds. Legolas bent to slide his leggings down slender thighs. Sam’s throat constricted around a hard lump, and he couldn’t decide how near to the ethereal one he dared to stop. “Come on over here to the water’s edge, Sam,” Legolas instructed gently, bending down to free one leg of his clothing. “You can see more clearly up close.”
The Elf’s chest was smooth and pale, the skin unblemished and stretching over a corded abdomen. Sam was near enough now that he could see the faint dusting of hair on Legolas’ forearms, and when his stood back up and stretched there was also a bit of soft hair in the hollows of his armpits, a light dusting also descending from his hollow navel. Eyeing the water, Legolas reached down and started unfastening the silken loincloth wrapped around his slender hips. “Are you ready?” he asked the gob-smacked Hobbit.
“Wait for us!” cried Merry, bumbling through the underbrush like a herd of Oliphants.
“Oi! Hold the show!” Pippin seconded, tripping over this cousin’s heels as he also crowded in behind Sam. “We want to see too!”
Sam Gamgee had never wanted to murder his kinsman so much as that moment. If he’d had one of Legolas’ knives in his hand there would have been Hobbitcide committed right there on the banks of the little river. The Elf smiled indulgently down at the little interlopers as he finished unwinding his loincloth and laid it on the grass next to his boots and other clothes. “Are you all ready?” he inquired.
Three pairs of eyes were utterly glued on the Elf’s serene face. Legolas shifted his weight slightly and lifted one foot up to mid-thigh, holding it still before them.
“Oooooo!” Merry cooed, enchanted. “So pretty!”
“It’s so smooth!” Pippin marveled. “Not a single hair!”
Merry’s mouth was agape. “Soft and pale, like a new-born baby’s!”
Sam was beyond words. The long, graceful bones, the high, perfect arch, the long, curved, but independent toes with their neat little nails, each hosting a crescent of purest white. It was the most beautiful foot he’d ever seen – the utter antithesis of a Hobbit foot.
Toes wiggled mischievously, and then the Elf withdrew his blessed appendage and turned to wade into the river. Sam stood there, slack-jawed, staring after him for many long minutes.
It was even more glorious than he’d imagined! He could hardly wait to go tell Mister Frodo….
no subject
:)
Thank you.
no subject
no subject
The way Legs is just so feckin' CASUAL about it...
And does the ending imply that Frodo... already knows?? ;)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject