LOTR Ficlet: Voyeurism
Jul. 14th, 2008 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: Voyeurism
Summary: Grima observes Eowyn as she prepares Theoden's medicine.
Word Count: 200
Characters: Grima Wormtongue, Eowyn
Timeline: ~3016 T.A. (1416 S.R.), bookverse
Rating: Teen
Warnings: general ickiness, implied (nonconsensual) eroticism (m/f)
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
just_ann_now
Notes: Written forgrey_wonderer, who requested Grima's thoughts as Eowyn carries out some task.
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Gríma watchs as Éowyn prepares her uncle's sleeping draught. She stands before the cabinet, holds up first this vial and then that one so she can read the label in the low lamp-light.
Éowyn pays little heed to Gríma, never so much as acknowledges his presence. She holds her back straight and strong, does not glance back at him. It is a common enough task, this nightly ritual, yet it still thrills him to watch her.
For Éowyn is a woman, and she cannot wholly hide her feminine graces behind her brusque demeanor. Gríma is captivated by the gentle curves beneath her gown, sees himself tracing hip and breast with finger and lips. He wonders how smooth and pale, how unblemished her skin must be under that heavy wool. His heart races at the thought of what he could do. The king is, after all, a dotard; Gríma could snake his hand 'round her waist, pull her back against him.
Éowyn knows he will be there, and still she comes. She has a rare courage about her, and Gríma loves her all the more for it. He will possess her some day, claim her, but never shall he break her.
Summary: Grima observes Eowyn as she prepares Theoden's medicine.
Word Count: 200
Characters: Grima Wormtongue, Eowyn
Timeline: ~3016 T.A. (1416 S.R.), bookverse
Rating: Teen
Warnings: general ickiness, implied (nonconsensual) eroticism (m/f)
Beta:
just_ann_nowNotes: Written for
grey_wonderer, who requested Grima's thoughts as Eowyn carries out some task.************************
Gríma watchs as Éowyn prepares her uncle's sleeping draught. She stands before the cabinet, holds up first this vial and then that one so she can read the label in the low lamp-light.
Éowyn pays little heed to Gríma, never so much as acknowledges his presence. She holds her back straight and strong, does not glance back at him. It is a common enough task, this nightly ritual, yet it still thrills him to watch her.
For Éowyn is a woman, and she cannot wholly hide her feminine graces behind her brusque demeanor. Gríma is captivated by the gentle curves beneath her gown, sees himself tracing hip and breast with finger and lips. He wonders how smooth and pale, how unblemished her skin must be under that heavy wool. His heart races at the thought of what he could do. The king is, after all, a dotard; Gríma could snake his hand 'round her waist, pull her back against him.
Éowyn knows he will be there, and still she comes. She has a rare courage about her, and Gríma loves her all the more for it. He will possess her some day, claim her, but never shall he break her.