LOTR Fic: Sugar and Spice
Jul. 11th, 2007 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: Sugar and Spice
Summary: Hobbit erotica, pure and simple, inspired by some rather twisted comments among my betas.
Word Count: 850
Rating: Mature (explicit erotic content)
Timeline: Fourth Age (bookverse)
-------
Sancho let the door clang shut behind him and leaned against the wall, easing his weary back. The milking was done, the last of his evening chores, and he was happy for the opportunity just to rest.
The firelight danced off Violet's brown curls, matted to the back of her neck as they often were in the heat that sometimes blessed the start of autumn. He saw her plump cheek flushed, so full of colour and life, and her strong arms at work scrubbing the dishes in the sink. He almost thought she had not heard his arrival, but the slight upward turn of her lips betrayed her. After thirty long years of marriage they did not feel the need to greet each other every time one of them entered the room. Sancho smiled at the easy familiarity between them.
Crossing over to her slowly, he laid a strong hand on her waist, rubbing his thumb along her lower back. A contented sigh escaped her, barely audible even as close as they were. She turned to face him, and Sancho trailed kisses, on the tip of her ear and along her cheek, letting his chapped lips caress her weather-beaten skin. The Proudfoots worked hard and didn't hold to pampering, though they still enjoyed the simple pleasures. For that he was thankful.
He moved from her cheeks to her full lips and felt them part beneath his. His tongue flicked past her teeth: jam and shortbread, the tastes of the tea they had shared earlier. All tastes of home and hearth, a wonderful welcome to a weary hobbit. He felt the hair on his feet raise in excitement, and he noticed her breasts heaving, a sure sign that her heart was beating all the faster in hope his caresses would not be confined to lips and waist.
He kissed her again, this time allowing his tongue to delve deeper into her mouth, searching. Cinnamon, he noted, and a special tartness that he could not place. Now he was curious. What could it be? He was not sorry to have an excuse to continue his quest. His tongue danced with hers for some time. Finally he pulled back.
"Apple?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Violet nodded slowly. "I made a pie." Leaning toward him, she kissed his cheek gently. She paused less than an inch from his ear. "Would you like some?" she asked, her need clear in her voice.
Sancho took a step back, his hand still on her waist. Violet had never been the prettiest of lasses, at least according to most, but that had never mattered to him. He had loved her kind heart and her gentle humour before ever her simple beauty stole his heart. And she had chosen him, and kept him. And he would love her forever, until death parted them.
He reached out his arm and gently pushed her away. "Aye," he said, knowing his voice left little doubt of how deeply he loved her. "That would be nice." He leaned against the plate cabinet as she walked to the table, hips swaying from side to side. She returned with a pie-dish. Standing before him, she lifted the cover and laid it on the counter of the cabinet.
"Shall I -- shall I get a plate?" he stammered, his hand fumbling with the cabinet door but his eyes refusing to leave hers.
She shook her head gently. "Am I not dish enough?" The crust crumbled under her thumb. Reaching a finger into the pie, she rubbed its filling across her cheek and down her neck, smiling invitingly.
Sancho took her sticky hand and led it down to where skin met the neckline of her dress. He let it go to fumble at the bow that closed her corslet. Her hands joined his to help him. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he reached out blindly with his other hand. Finding the pie, he dipped his fingers into the soft warm filling. His other hand pushed aside the rough homespun cloth. Gently he stroked the sweet mixture across the tender skin of first one soft breast and then the other.
Violet breathed in sharply, and Sancho pulled her closer, feeling her sigh contentedly against him. He took the pie from the counter and led her toward the door. He guessed that, weary though he was from a day of hard work, exhaustion would not prove a problem tonight.
-------
Note:
This piece is dedicated to Kane, 21, whose comment in Cosmopolitan provided the inspiration for this piece. Here it is, in its entirety as printed by Cosmo:
So, yes, after I finished cracking up, it seemed too perfect a line not to use. No, I don't read Cosmo, and if I revealed who passed along that quote she would quite justifiably kill me.
Summary: Hobbit erotica, pure and simple, inspired by some rather twisted comments among my betas.
Word Count: 850
Rating: Mature (explicit erotic content)
Timeline: Fourth Age (bookverse)
-------
Sancho let the door clang shut behind him and leaned against the wall, easing his weary back. The milking was done, the last of his evening chores, and he was happy for the opportunity just to rest.
The firelight danced off Violet's brown curls, matted to the back of her neck as they often were in the heat that sometimes blessed the start of autumn. He saw her plump cheek flushed, so full of colour and life, and her strong arms at work scrubbing the dishes in the sink. He almost thought she had not heard his arrival, but the slight upward turn of her lips betrayed her. After thirty long years of marriage they did not feel the need to greet each other every time one of them entered the room. Sancho smiled at the easy familiarity between them.
Crossing over to her slowly, he laid a strong hand on her waist, rubbing his thumb along her lower back. A contented sigh escaped her, barely audible even as close as they were. She turned to face him, and Sancho trailed kisses, on the tip of her ear and along her cheek, letting his chapped lips caress her weather-beaten skin. The Proudfoots worked hard and didn't hold to pampering, though they still enjoyed the simple pleasures. For that he was thankful.
He moved from her cheeks to her full lips and felt them part beneath his. His tongue flicked past her teeth: jam and shortbread, the tastes of the tea they had shared earlier. All tastes of home and hearth, a wonderful welcome to a weary hobbit. He felt the hair on his feet raise in excitement, and he noticed her breasts heaving, a sure sign that her heart was beating all the faster in hope his caresses would not be confined to lips and waist.
He kissed her again, this time allowing his tongue to delve deeper into her mouth, searching. Cinnamon, he noted, and a special tartness that he could not place. Now he was curious. What could it be? He was not sorry to have an excuse to continue his quest. His tongue danced with hers for some time. Finally he pulled back.
"Apple?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Violet nodded slowly. "I made a pie." Leaning toward him, she kissed his cheek gently. She paused less than an inch from his ear. "Would you like some?" she asked, her need clear in her voice.
Sancho took a step back, his hand still on her waist. Violet had never been the prettiest of lasses, at least according to most, but that had never mattered to him. He had loved her kind heart and her gentle humour before ever her simple beauty stole his heart. And she had chosen him, and kept him. And he would love her forever, until death parted them.
He reached out his arm and gently pushed her away. "Aye," he said, knowing his voice left little doubt of how deeply he loved her. "That would be nice." He leaned against the plate cabinet as she walked to the table, hips swaying from side to side. She returned with a pie-dish. Standing before him, she lifted the cover and laid it on the counter of the cabinet.
"Shall I -- shall I get a plate?" he stammered, his hand fumbling with the cabinet door but his eyes refusing to leave hers.
She shook her head gently. "Am I not dish enough?" The crust crumbled under her thumb. Reaching a finger into the pie, she rubbed its filling across her cheek and down her neck, smiling invitingly.
Sancho took her sticky hand and led it down to where skin met the neckline of her dress. He let it go to fumble at the bow that closed her corslet. Her hands joined his to help him. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he reached out blindly with his other hand. Finding the pie, he dipped his fingers into the soft warm filling. His other hand pushed aside the rough homespun cloth. Gently he stroked the sweet mixture across the tender skin of first one soft breast and then the other.
Violet breathed in sharply, and Sancho pulled her closer, feeling her sigh contentedly against him. He took the pie from the counter and led her toward the door. He guessed that, weary though he was from a day of hard work, exhaustion would not prove a problem tonight.
-------
Note:
This piece is dedicated to Kane, 21, whose comment in Cosmopolitan provided the inspiration for this piece. Here it is, in its entirety as printed by Cosmo:
"Being between a woman's legs is amazing. They're wrapped tightly around me, the skin is so smooth, and her body is so responsive. And it's always really, really soft and very warm down there. It really is kind of like warm apple pie."
So, yes, after I finished cracking up, it seemed too perfect a line not to use. No, I don't read Cosmo, and if I revealed who passed along that quote she would quite justifiably kill me.