Pottymouth: 14. 14

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14. 14



Hm, this hasn't happened in quite a while. I pull into my driveway (my stupid car was finally ready – paid for it with Legolas' Visa, hope he doesn't mind) and I'm overrun with Harley-Davidsons and rental cars. Come to think of it, I don't think this has EVER happened. Carriages and horses, yes. Harleys, no. My neighbors are PISSED, I can tell; I've got one of those You're-In-Trouble letters tacked to my mailbox from the Homeowner's Association, and everyone's glaring at me when I get out of the car and start unloading bags.

Oh, well. Like I care. Not going to stay HERE very long.

I resist the impulse to give them the finger and go up to the front door. Wait – what is that? I stop on the front step, listen more closely – it's music – music being played VERY loudly, and lots of talking and laughing.

Holy shit. They're having a party. And I'm not even there yet.

Suddenly, although I've been excited about this all day, at this moment, when it's right in front of me, it seems odd, surreal. I haven't seen some of these people in hundreds of years. I used to LIVE with them, lived with them for eons. It shouldn't be strange – and yet –

I admit, I'm a little shamefaced by what Faramir and I did. Not that I did it willingly, mind you; I was just trying not to rock the boat, trying to make him happy, wanting to do ANYTHING to keep him from getting so sulky and snooty all the time – so I agreed. Cut ties, run off, pretend they don't exist.

And quite frankly, if the other Chosen had tried to find us, how would I have known? I was never allowed to write letters, send telegrams, answer the phone, collect the mail, have an email account. Faramir claimed it was because we needed the extra security; we needed to be cautious, careful. "This new modern world is a dangerous place," he'd said to me solemnly after the horrifying debacle of the First World War. "People take notice of anomalies. We need to be as unobtrusive as possible."

So, starting with the Renaissance, Éowyn of Rohan became an effective nonentity. Right on up into the twenty-first century, I might as well have not existed . . . I couldn't even have a freakin' library card, so I was forced to just sit in the libraries and read to pass the time, find out what was going on in the world – couldn't sign up for classes at the local university, couldn't even make friends without Faramir's suspicious face, peering, prying, disapproving. There were whole decades that passed when I met NO ONE, never had any acquaintances – just my lame-brained husband and me, sitting in our shabby armchairs, me reading books I'd bought with cash at bargain sales, him working our paperwork, mouth pursed, eyebrows puckered.

The unhappiness was almost palpable. Even if I had managed to meet someone they would've run screaming the moment I brought them into the living room.

Faramir had to work, of course, to keep us solvent; he kept telling me, "Don't worry about our finances. I'll handle it. I want you to be safe, so you just keep under wraps." To make him happy, I complied – it was hard doing nothing at first, but after a few hundred years the loneliness and isolation began to seem normal.

I didn't see it while it was happening, but looking back at it, seeing it from Legolas' and Gimli's and everyone else's perspectives, I was like a plant kept under a barrel – watered, but never given any sunlight.

No wonder my soul withered.

Having to go to work was actually a blessing, in a way – I guess I have Faramir to thank for that – I was able to meet new people (despite the fact one of them was Barbara) and learn new things. Not that I necessarily WANTED to know this much about auto insurance, but hey – you take what you can get. And I met Doris and Mary, of course – that was nice. And Harry McMonahan – well, they can't all be winners.

Ran into the little bald-headed dweeb when I left the office. So unctuous, so syrupy, leering at me and making all these suggestive innuendos. Squashed HIM flat – told him I couldn't go out to lunch with him because I was having lunch with my new boyfriend. Got all indignant on me after that, huffy – you know, I never noticed it before; except for the bald spot and comb-over he's a lot like Faramir – wanted to know who "this new fellow" was.

So I told him.

Told him all about the hair and the motorcycle and the leather pants and the blue eyes and the money. Told him about the incredible sex and the promise of permanence. Told him about our long friendship and sudden physical attraction.

Don't think he believed me. Oh well. Doris and Mary will fill him in. They sure got an eyeful of my Elven Ass – oh hell yeah! I came upstairs all wobbly-legged and woozy, I'm sure I had that deer-in-the-headlights look on my face, and there was Mr. Valinor holding court – he can be a charming asshole when he wants to be – swept the two of them right off their feet.

How did he KNOW, dammit? How did he know I wanted them to be happy for me, that their opinion is important to me? Hell, we just met up again yesterday – after four hundred years of silence – am I that transparent?

Obviously. Or maybe the Valar told him to do it. Or maybe he's that way normally and I just never noticed. Whatever. Either way you look at it, it was gratifying to see Doris, suspicious, narrow-eyed, take-nothing-at-face-value Doris, laughing and talking with him and Gimli, and even responding cheerfully to Gimli's blatant attempts to hit on her.

Under the table our hands were everywhere; it's very difficult to eat Moules à la Provençal with one hand but we managed it – we were a little messy, true, but it was worth it to see his face go pale when I stroked his length through the leather. Almost made up for what he did to me in the bathroom.

Gotta pay him back for THAT. That sneaky, adorable, tricky bastard, I've been aching all afternoon, wanting to get into his pants.

Damn! This is quite a switch for me. Twenty-four hours ago I was almost sexually repressed. NOW look at me!

Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

Okay. Enough waffling. Time to take the bull by the horns, cross the Rubicon, screw my courage to the sticking place – what the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway? Doesn't matter. Just open the damn door and face your destiny.


I turn half an ear to Pip's chatter, listening to the soft sounds on the front stoop. Arwen can hear them too, can hear the hesitating footsteps pause. Our eyes meet across the living room ("Pink!" Lottie had squealed, the grotty gobshite; "I LOVE pink!") and she raises one eyebrow. My acushla is nervous – knew she would be. Fucking Day of Destiny, this is, for her. Poor little bit; all gobsmacked. My fault, of course.

No, Greenleaf. This is necessary for her. The upcoming baptism of fire will serve to make her better, stronger, wiser. Do not fear for her.

Well – if you say so, my Lord. Bloody hard not to intervene, of course.

I'm holding my breath. Fuck, I'm holding my fucking BREATH, like I'm waiting for the bloody Queen of England to make her entrance.

May as well be, for how I feel.



Open the door. Open the door, dammit. It's your stupid door, open it!

Open it open it open it!


Come on, acushla, open the bloody door already. It's your fucking door, your fucking house. Come in. Rejoin us. We're all waiting for you, been waiting for centuries. Open the door.


Dammit, why can't someone ELSE open the stupid door!?


Wonder if I should open the door for her? Preclude all this hesitation . . .

No, Greenleaf. Let her test her own courage. She will not find it lacking.

Fuck. Figures opening a bloody door has turned into some sort of fucking life lesson.


It doesn't matter if they disapprove. It doesn't matter if they don't understand. Legolas does, and that's all I need.

Oh, and the Valar. I guess that counts, too.

Okay. Deep breath. Hand on door knob.


Here she comes. Arwen's looking at me, she understands. Steps closer to the door, between the entryway and Diamond, blocking that first sight from the others. Bless Arwen Undómiel, O Elbereth; bless her for her insight. No one else has heard, no one else has so much as fucking noticed. They're drinking and laughing and talking as though our last booze-up was a month ago.

Oh, wait – it was, wasn't it? Everyone met in Kauai to celebrate the publication of Frodo's latest novel. Got absofuckinglootely mullered on Mai Tais . . . Fuck, I forgot about that. It's just been such a long time since we've had a rave-up and Éowyn's been there.

Think Arwen and I are the only ones who understand.

No – Whitey does. Look into his eyes, he fucking understands.


Turn the handle. Open the door and face everyone. Just face them – how bad can it be? How pissed can they possibly be? How many bad things can they say? Especially with Legolas there. I'll be fine, just fine.

Damn. Don't believe myself.

Oh, well. I'll open the stupid door anyway.


About fucking time. I have two seconds – two seconds to just LOOK at her, look at her before anyone else notices. Two seconds to drink in the sight of that lovely face, see those beautiful legs, that mop of golden curls –


Full house. Oh, shit . . .


Look at me look at me look at me look at me


Oh, thank heaven; THERE he is.


Oh fucking A, how her eyes lit up when she saw me, thought my heart would stop


Oh my god there's ARWEN!!!


That's it. Two seconds're up. Bugger. Nice while it fucking lasted.

They run to each other, embrace. Éowyn's relieved, I can tell; Arwen always was one of her best friends. And here come Lottie – and Sam – and Stella – all wanting a fucking piece of her.

Oh bugger, I hate sharing her.

I know, I fucking know; selfish selfish selfish fucking oik I am; want her all to myself, want to take her away and nobble every second of her days forever, forever.

Patience, Greenleaf.

Oh, give over, my Lord; you're the one put this fucking compulsion into me; you'll all have to bloody well deal with it.



It's Éomer – it has to be Éomer – it IS!

My heart nearly somersaults – there he is, blond bearded face lit up, taller and broader than I remember – my brother, my family!

Sam and Merry step aside and let him through. I fling myself at him and WHOOF feels like he's about broken all my ribs; he's laughing, I can hear it in his chest, swinging me around in his arms like I was a rag doll – I can feel my feet in my heavy leather boots flying out behind me. He's kissing the crown of my head, just like he used to; oh shit I'm going to start crying – don't cry don't cry don't cry . . .

And here's Aragorn, clean-shaven, short-haired, respectable-looking, and oh my god there's Gandalf; long white hair pulled back in a ponytail, white beard trailing over his chest, dark eyes twinkling knowingly at me. And there's Diamond, hugging me, she's crying too, and Estella, and Frodo wearing a horrible shirt, and Merry, oh shit I AM going to cry –


I lean against the office door jamb, fold my arms over my chest, watch them crowd around her. They're hugging her, kissing her, welcoming her back. All of them have the same fucking looks on their faces – relief, joy, delight. And that's mirrored back in her starry silvery eyes too – especially the relief, and a sort of startled happiness.

You see, acushla? Everything's fine. Fucking Fairy-Meer was wrong – THIS is where you belong, with us, with all of us, in the thick of things.

Fuck. I was wrong too, wasn't I, for wanting to take her away from them?

It's a normal reaction, my Greenleaf. These intense feelings of jealousy typically surface at the beginning of a romantic relationship.

That's a relief – thought I was going all soppy on her.

Grim joins me, still grinning, beer in hand. Thought I'd have to pry him away from that little crumpet at lunch – Doris, that was her name – poor Grim, hasn't gotten the rumpy-pumpy in a while – but we managed to get the party started; ploughed through the market buying up every fucking chop we could find, and got a good keg of Liffey Water, and a case of plonk. While checking out the plumbing in the crawl-through he found a box of fairy lights, so they're up in the garden – looks nice, what with the tiki torches we dug up in the garage, and all the chairs, and the grill ready for the meat what's been marinating, the salads, the crisps, and the tables – Di and Stella did that for us, folded up the serviettes all fancy – looks very posh, perfect for a home-coming.

And it's for my acushla – my Éowyn – HER bloody home-coming, though it feels like mine.

"Gonna give 'em a few minutes?" asks Grim, taking a swig of his beer.

"Yeah," I say; "why the fuck not? Been a few centuries."

We're silent a moment; he takes a handful of cashews off the side table and bungs them into his mouth. I'm biting my lip – bad habit – where the hell are my lollies? Oh fuck, I remember; ate the last one while hanging the fairy lights – bugger. Don't even have any of those manky mint-flavored ones.

Don't chew your lip don't chew your lip. Bloody hard not to though.

Fucking A, I need a drink.
Whitey and Éomer are talking to her now; Éomer's got his arm round her shoulders, she's beaming, smiling brightly like she used to, wrinkling up that little conk and flashing her teeth at everyone. She glows, she fucking glows; her happiness is like heat, I can feel it on my skin.


This is WONDERFUL, why didn't I do this before?! Oh it is so GOOD to see them again, so GOOD to be with Éomer, so GOOD to hear Lothíriel squeaking and gushing, so GOOD to see the hobbits – though I guess I can't really call them hobbits now, they're so tall, almost as tall as me – I can't believe I've missed so much – can't believe Aragorn's a doctor, works in some remote hospital up north – can't believe Merry's a lawyer in Southampton – can't believe Pip and Diamond own a chocolatier in Lyons – can't believe I'm back with them, being hugged, being talked to, being loved as though nothing was ever wrong.

And even when we start to talk about Faramir, it's going to be all right, I can tell. They all know, there are no explanations needed – I can thank Legolas for that –

Legolas . . . where IS my Elven Ass, anyway?

"Elven Ass" – I've GOT to find him a better nickname.

Hmm, how about Sugar Daddy? Certainly fits – he's got a sweet enough tooth –

Oh, shit, I forgot! And oh shit, I haven't even said HELLO to him yet!


Just wait, just fucking wait, Legs. Won't take too long and it's off to beddy-bye for us both. Oh my sainted aunt, can't wait to push her down into the mattress, lay my body over hers, spread her legs with my knees –

OW! Fucking leather trousers!

I straighten up against the wall, try to ease my knacks into a more comfortable position. Bugger, why'd I wear these bloody things AGAIN?

Just a few more hours, mate, just a few more hours. Calm the fuck down . . .

Oh bugger. She's looking at me, smiling, coming up to me – can see those lovely tits jiggling under her blouse, those two-klick legs in those unbelievably sexy boots walking right up to me – everyone's looking, starting to quiet down, no one believed it when I told them but oh fucking A will I show them


Whoa, check out the bulge in those beautiful leather pants – knew he'd like the outfit. And the way those turquoise eyes light up –

Uh oh, I see the predatory curve of that sweet pink mouth, the sudden awareness in his eyes


Come here, let me claim you


Dammit, why the hell did he have to invite all these people? Suddenly all I want is to drop his pants and climb on top of him


I unfold my arms, hold them out

Got awful quiet in here all of a sudden


It's like I'm falling, I'm up and he's down and gravity takes hold, I can't stop myself


Right here, acushla


Oh that's nice, nestle right in, how I love body heat


Like a jigsaw puzzle cut in just two pieces, and we finally fit together, my acushla and me


Rosemary, silk, aquamarine


Orangy-lemony curls, press that slim strong body against mine


Oh heaven, it's heaven, never knew what it meant to feel as though your heart was full but oh do I feel it now, so full it's bursting


Welcome home, my acushla


Four feet firmly planted, both heads swimming, can feel his heartbeat against my chest


Irmoamin, alasséamin, harma'amin; ai lirimaer . . . *


Kiss me, kiss me, touch your lips to mine, better than speech


Tula sinome; miqula amin **


oh sweet, sweet; soft warm wet


Lle naa vanima, a'maelamin***


I could stay here forever, entwined in your arms


. . . or not.


Mmm . . . what?

No, no no no no don't pull away –

Oh, bugger.


Who the fuck's shaking my shoulder? Hard to focus my eyes, got a little wonky there – oh, it's Whitey.


He's grinning at me, the bally tosser, eyes twinkling. Thinks it's fucking funny, he does. Éowyn pulls back, looks a little flushed, a little embarrassed – bugger; why the fuck did I invite all these fucking people to a fucking party? Especially when all I really want is to roger her senseless.


Oh, damn. Just when we were getting warmed up, too.

I can't believe I just thought that! Shouldn't I be embarrassed? Necking in public, I can't believe it, I've never done anything like that before!

Ooooh, everyone's looking at us, I didn't notice they all stopped talking; oh shit now I AM embarrassed.

And Éomer – he's biting his lip, can't tell whether he's pissed or amused. Damn!

Come to think of it, EVERYONE looks a little amused.

Shit. Now I'm MORTALLY embarrassed. I wonder if it's possible to die of it?


"I admit, Legs, when you said you'd become intimate with Éowyn I questioned your judgment. But I see now that the Valar have truly united you both. I apologize for my doubting you."

Well, THAT'S a fucking newscast for you. Takes a bit to get Whitey to doubt me – he can Listen a little too, what with being a Maia and all – at least Manwë told him to sod off.


Gandalf – doubted Legolas? Why? I look up at him – that smooth, perfect alabaster face, those glowing blue eyes, shining hair like a sheet of molten gold – he's smiling, his arms still around me in a loose circle – loose, but unbreakable. How could anyone doubt him?

"Don't blame you, mate. Thought I'd nobbled a skint little kife, did yer? Well, I know yer all gobsmacked – " He turns to everyone else, still with his hands about my waist. Suddenly I'm not so embarrassed any more. Hard to be, when he's obviously not, and when everyone's looking at us as though we're the latest thing the Valar sent from Valinor. "Not as fucking gobsmacked as I am, mates. What's a manky greaser like me doin' with a flash little bit like the White Lady of Rohan, I ask you? No bloody idea, to tell the fucking truth."

That makes me a little indignant, to know he thinks that way. "Greaser," indeed! I pull back, my hands on my hips; he lets me go, eyes a little wary.


What's this, then? Chin up, grey eyes flashing, mouth set, jaw clenched –

Fucking A, it's the Shieldmaiden. Pukka!


The wariness changes to an awareness – not quite a sexual one, but an appreciation, I can see it – as though he's not bracing himself for whatever I'm going to say, but welcoming it. Just the look on his face – "Come on, hit me!" – reminds me of sparring with him, sword to sword, sweating and grunting, the clash and bang echoing through the clearing – millennia upon millennia ago, at one of our camps in the Black Forest – the love of the challenge, the gratification of being with an equal.

My heart starts to pound. Shieldmaiden, Bitch, or not, we'll always meet on equal footing, we two.

About time I figured this out.


Come on, acushla, hit me! That sarky, hard-as-nails face – oh my sainted aunt, you are so lovely –

She reaches forward, grabs me by the collar, pulls my face down to her. I hear Éomer chuckle and say something to Lottie – sounds like, "Atta girl!" Sam and Pip are grinning, even Aragorn is smiling – hell, SHE'S smiling, eyes sparkling, full of piss and vinegar –

Fuck, yeah! The Shieldmaiden has returned! Bloody hell, my acushla, you are fucking BRILL.

"Greaser like hell," she says, her voice husky, oh fuck how I want to bite those red red lips – "You come sauntering in here, riding your big ol' bike and wearing your nasty leather pants, cussing up a storm and playing like you're some blue-collar dirtbag. Well, if you can rub that 'White Lady of Rohan' shit in my face I can sure the hell call you the Prince of Fucking Mirkwood, and if anyone has anything to say about us screwing each other they can kiss my ass, 'cause I'm sure the hell not giving THAT up."

That's my girl!


Gimli's howling, Éomer and Merry are busting up, just about everyone's laughing at that. Lothíriel's doubled over, Rosie's got her hand over her mouth, Estella and Diamond are nearly crying they're laughing so hard – Legolas is grinning, leveling the full effect of those damn dimples on me, his fingers on my hips, just barely, barely touching. Gandalf's hand is still on his shoulder, and his arm is shaking; I look over at him, he's laughing, too. Then he pushes Legolas away and puts his arms around me.


Hold hard there, Whitey . . .


"That's the daughter of Éomund I remember of old," he chuckles into my hair. He smells like pipe smoke and chocolate – odd; I think he's always smelled like that, now that I think of it. He gives me a squeeze and releases me – reminds me of how my uncle used to hug me, back when I was little.

Nice to have a fatherly type around again. Man, I missed that.


Much better. Now give over.

Oh, fuck. Here comes Éomer. At least he's smiling. Guess he wants to have his touchy-feely time with his sister – bugger, wonder what that's like? Like Arwen, I guess – went for about a hundred years without seeing her; when we finally hooked up again Longshanks got a little stroppy with me, but I just needed her bloody ear. Hid in a tree and talked for about a week, as I recall.

His valet thought that was a little odd. Not that I can fucking blame him, I guess.


Éomer hugs me, crushes me against his big hairy chest. "Atta girl!" he bellows, pounding my back with his fist. "Shit, I missed that, Éowyn." He pulls back, smiles down at me through his fuzzy beard. "Thought you'd lost the ability to tell people off. Nice to know it was only suppressed."

"Yeah, well, it's been a while," I admit, look over at Legolas. He's still grinning, but his eyes have darkened a little. Oooohh shit, I know what he wants . . .


All right, enough of this. I need to get her alone – just fucking ALONE for five bloody minutes, that's all I ask.

Either that, or a pastille, or a lolly, or something – I fucking need SOMETHING IN MY MOUTH

Come here, come here, acushla – let me show you what happens when I look at you.


I guess teasing him in public turns him on. Odd. Always pissed Faramir off.

He reaches over, curls one long arm around my waist, pulls me close so my hip is touching him –

Touching his –

Oooooohhhh, I know what that is.

I press in, hear him draw in his breath.




Now would be a good time to give him his present.

In private. VERY good idea, Éowyn. In PRIVATE.

I look at Éomer, at Gandalf, at Gimli and everyone else. Shieldmaiden, Bitch, White Lady of Rohan, daughter of kings. I smile, my I-just-know-everyone-is-going-to-love-this smile that got more courtiers to do my bidding than all the temper tantrums Faramir ever threw in his life. He could rant and rave all he wanted – I just had to smile sweetly and boss them within an inch of their lives.

"Will you all excuse us for a moment? In all the excitement I forgot that I had bought Legolas something and I need to give it to him in private. You don't mind, do you?"


Well fuck, what's this then? Could be good …


You can hear eyebrows going up all over the room. Disappearing into bangs, wrinkling foreheads, raising eyelids. Kind of funny, really.

I take Legolas' hand and start to pull him towards the hallway. "Well, seeing as no one objects – "


Oh bloody hell, she's good. That vocal inflection – even my mum couldn’t do that.

And yes yes yes yes fucking yes, here we go – right through the lip-biting, mouth-covering, eye-crinkling crowd. THEY know. How can they NOT know? Especially Arwen and Lottie – Arwen's giving me that Look, the one she might as well have fucking patented, that says I-can't-believe-you, and Lottie's – oh fuck, she's giving me the bloody thumbs-up!

Knew I liked her. Nice little kife. Don't even bloody care if she likes fucking pink.

Scoops up her bags, starts pulling me to the hall. Éomer's laughing at me, says, "Where the hell you going, Legs? Thought you wanted to get this party off the ground."

"What, you think the Prince of Fucking Mirkwood's gonna slag off the White Lady of Fucking Rohan? Leave it out, mate."


I did it!


Everyone's laughing again, they know what's up. Don't bloody care. Gonna get my todger off, always whets my appetite, after all. I hear Longshanks say to Arwen, "Those two are worse than rabbits," and Sam says to Rosie, "Well, mought as well start the barbie, dear," and Éowyn pulls me into the bedroom and slams the door.


Don't care if they DO approve, I'm locking the fucking door!


There she is – leaning against the door, hand on the knob, turning the lock.

Oh, fuck. She's even more beautiful when she's agro. Those eyes flash silver, those perfect oval cheeks stained pink –

OW these goddam trousers!


He stands before me, tall, lean, tight as a bowstring, blue eyes deep and sparkling and alert. I can see the stiff rod outlined in black leather and it's making my mouth water.

I remember how it felt, his hot tongue and lips on me when we were in the bathroom at the restaurant, and I want to put him in my debt again – just so he'll do THAT again. But oh god I want him inside me . . .

Can't decide which I want, to go down on him or just plain jump him.


Not moving yet, seems a little undecided. Fucking A, I'll make your mind up for you, I will.


I'm crushed up against the door, damn those Elven reflexes, but I can feel his hard hard cock pressed against me, touching me oh right there, his hands on my wrists his knees between my thighs, spread-eagling me, hot breath on my face and his blue eyes pinning me down, like a moth to a board. Blue blue blue, bluer than the Caribbean, bluer than the Mediterranean, bluer than the sky.


Oh my acushla you are so lovely, so fucking lovely it hurts . . .

Now. Where were we, before Whitey so rudely interrupted us? Oh, yes . . .


Our lips touch, those blue eyes close, I open my mouth to him and he slides in.

Oh, yes . . .

Dammit, the Moaning Bitch is back. Might have something to do with that hard hot thing rubbing me in just the right places –

WHOA that was JUST the right place, saw sparks there


Ah, got you, heard that quick intake of breath, not that I'm doing much better, my plonker's so hard feels like it's about to burst, she flexes up against me, oh fuck that's VERY nice


Something between a groan and a whimper there, poor guy, he's probably worse off than I am; we'd better do something about that

OH my god that felt good, tip my hips back and let you do it again


Practically fucking dry-humping her, lip-locked, our breath whistling harshly out our noses, every time I move against her she makes that noise, that throaty moan, sexier than a scream even

Oh fuck this feels good, need to get inside her before I spunk in my trousers


His hands trail down my arms, run his fingers across my breasts, rubbing the metallic fabric against my nipples – more sparks, oh please I want to feel your hands on my skin, oh that's much much better –

Up goes the shirt, oh shit I'm moaning again, his hair like silk runs through my fingers

Wait where did his mouth go oh there it is, teeth on my jaw, yes work your way down my throat oh goosebump city, can't control my hips I'm grinding against him


Oh fuck acushla stop stop stop or I'll come too soon, no you little cow stop fucking stop

Grab those hips, wait how did the skirt get hitched up, oh who the fuck cares move those fucking pants out of the way


Here we go at last at last can't move my hands as fast as you can but I sure the hell can find your zipper

That's it, out you come, god you're hot, rub my thumb over the sticky spot




I heard THAT bet everyone else did too, his fingers are shaking, pushing my panties down, oh hurry up hurry up hurry up I'm aching, god I want this


hurry hurry hurry before you spunk all over the fucking floor


Tip my hips back, his hands are on my ass, grab his dick and guide it in


quick quick quick oh fuck I can't wait

aahhhh yesssssssss


like sitting on a goddam pole, goes up so far it practically sticks out my mouth, oh god yes


Can feel her muscles clench, her hands round my waist, fuck she's beautiful, pinned to the door

Brace yourself, let's ride


OH my god he moved in so hard my feet left the floor, my ass is sliding up the door, can feel the wood against my skin; his hands under my thighs are holding me up even when he pulls out and OH he's in again, the Moaning Bitch isn't leaving, oh shit


that's right acushla wrap those fucking two-klick legs round my waist, oh fuck yeah, oh fuck she's grinding me into her, oh fuck


oh shit

if I'd known how

OH shit

strong Elves were I would have

Oh god oh god oh god

would have screwed one before

oh oh oh

before now, oh oh shit


Fuck she's got her limbs wound so tight round me think my circulation's cut off, there's this roaring in my ears, can't hear a damn thing except for our breathing, loud and hoarse, she's pulsing, I'm pulsing, oh fuck my knacks are going to fucking explode


oh don't stop

don't stop don't stop I'm almost there oh don't stop

ooohhh shit here I come


hold back hold back hold back she's quivering I know that sign she's going to come I can hear her voice rising oh yes here she comes, wait for it wait for it wait for it oh fuck I'm not going to make it


that one point explodes, shocks run up into my stomach, up my limbs, out my mouth


she convulses oh bugger I can't wait any longer


it's running trembling through me, makes my legs shake, like an earthquake, waves of it covering me, then he jolts up into me, that gush of hot sticky wetness


oh fuck yes finally


My throat's hoarse, have I been yelling?

His face is hidden in my neck, then out it comes, I can feel his lips against my skin, his deep breath, the shudder inside me like an aftershock.

"Oh, fuck, Éowyn!"

So much for Elven eloquence. Well, that was so down-and-dirty I guess I couldn't expect romantic sentiments in an ancient language, could I? And anyway, "Oh, fuck" has a certain satisfying ring to it. After all I have a dim recollection of saying something like, "Ooohh ooooaaahh ohh," which isn't a remark known for its cogency.

His head is still pressed up against the door by my neck, his hands around my ass holding me up, pinning me; he's shaking like a leaf and breathing hard. Guess he needed this even worse than I did.


Oh, fuck. Oh, bugger. Oh, I needed that. Thank you, acushla, thank you thank you thank you.

Fuck, I'm avenged for the bathroom incident. That took what, about a minute and a half? Oh my sainted aunt, what a fucking brilliant knee-trembler that was.

She squeezes around me, like an octopus really; then she unwinds those long limbs and slides down. We’re all sticky and wet now, don't really care, oh fuck did that feel good. Looks up at me, sweet little acushla, silvery eyes cloudy, red lips smiling, smiling at me. Bugger, can't even catch my breath.


Wow. He looks absolutely whacked. Not that I'm probably a whole lot better; my knees are shaking so hard I'm surprised I can stand upright. Then as though we coordinated it our arms go around each other and we just stand there, holding each other close, our faces buried in the other's hair, just breathing, breathing. His heart is hammering against my chest, slowing a little as we recover. Breathe in, breathe out.


I could do this forever.

Oh, wait. I CAN do this forever. What a fucking brilliant plan. We'll just shag for
the next ten millennia, will that work for you, acushla? Works for me, I can bloody well tell you.


I'm so looking forward to the next few centuries. Wonder how many positions from the Kamasutra we can try? Let's see, if we attempt one a week . . .

Geez, you'd think I'd be satisfied for at least thirty seconds. It's like drugs, you get addicted. Elf Sex Addicts Anonymous, that's one group I'm not going to be joining any time soon – like I'd want to give THIS up!

He takes a deep breath, pulls back a little. His arms are still around me, his hands slid under my shirt, his sticky pubic hair rubbing against mine. The clouds are clearing from his eyes; they're bright and present again, and his pretty pink lips are smiling, flashing those dimples at me.

I surrender. I'm powerless before the dominance of the Elven Dimples. I give up; do whatever you like to me, so long as you concede to give me Happy Pelvis at least twice a day for the next ten thousand years. He reaches up one hand, long white fingers brushing the curls from my face, damp and sweaty on my skin, then rests his palm against my cheek and kisses my forehead.

"Nice present, acushla," he says. His voice is still a little trembly, but I can tell he's about completely recovered – Elven powers of recuperation, you know.

I can't help but laugh. He thinks THIS is his present?


Oh you lovely, lovely bird; I'll never tire of looking at you, seeing your starry silvery eyes, hearing your bright tinkling laugh, like bells ringing. She reaches down, pulls up her pants and tugs down her skirt. Don't want to, but time to rejoin the rave-up – be good hosts, and all that – I tuck my sticky plonker back into my trousers.

What's she doing? What's in the bag?

She turns back to me from where she was rummaging around, her face alight with mischief. She's holding a –

Oh fucking A, it's a bag of sweets! So THAT was my present – the knee-trembler was just the wrapping paper.


He gives a shout of laughter and takes them from me. Then he's kissing me, hard and insistent, his hand pressing me to him. In a flash he's got the door open and he's run out into the living room, I can hear him over the noise of the stereo and the conversations.

"Look, everyone! She bought me lollies!"

Oh, shit. I think I'm in love, dammit. In love with a sugar daddy. How pathetic is THAT?

* "My desire, my joy, my treasure; oh lovely one"
** "Come here; kiss me"
*** "You are beautiful, my beloved"

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Le Rouret

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: Other

Genre: Humor

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 09/30/04

Original Post: 04/19/04

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