When Muses Attack!

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A/N:
Naira – oh, indeed! He is so full of himself it IS oddly charming. And, let’s face it, it’s that selfishness and arrogance that is part of his sex appeal. Strange as that sounds! Lol!

~~~

“Where have you been?” Mr. Wicked demands hotly as I crawl home early one morning.

“Shhhh!” I say, placing a trembling finger against my lips and quietly locking the door behind me. “Be vewy, vewy quiet!”

He follows me into the kitchen but only gets about an arms length away from me before he recoils in disgust.

“You smell terrible!” He grimaces, taking a step back and wrinkling his nose.

“I feel just as bad as I smell. Now hush,” I mumble, digging in the ‘fridge for the Gatorade. My hands shake as I fumble with the bottle and I silently curse the agave plant.

Slowly, I make my way down the hall toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in my wake as I eagerly suck down the precious Gatorade - Mr. Wicked hot on my heels, determined not to let me get a moment’s peace until he’s had his say.

“I want you to bathe and make it quick! We have some writing to do!” He huffs. “I waited for you to come home last night to write but you did not!”

I sigh heavily, stopping outside the bathroom door. “Would you please be quiet?” I beg. “I have a hang ovah!”

He scowls darkly. He doesn’t quite know what a “hang ovah” is but it must be bad if it interferes with his story. And it is today.

“Where have you been, why do you smell so horribly and what is a ‘hang ovah’?” He hisses irritably.

I answer his questions in order they are received. “At a party. Cigar smoke and various other things I don’t care to recall. And the result of too much tequila. Is this interrogation finished?” I step into the bathroom, shutting the door in his face.

He’s not going to let me rest until I give him what he wants. I glance at my self in the mirror and cringe. I am looking rather ‘rough’. Ah, well. It was worth it. Even if I still can’t feel my face or my extremities!

After a shower and brushing my teeth, I feel almost human again. He’s waiting outside the door, arms folded across his chest, scowling impatiently as I exit the bathroom.

He unceremoniously grabs my arm and hauls me in front of the computer not even giving me the opportunity to put on my clothes. I clutch my robe to me and give him the evil eye as he sits me down in the chair, pointing to the keyboard.

“Write,” he demands and begins pouring out everything to me - my shaking fingers moving as rapidly as possible over the keys. Slowly, my brain kicks in and I begin to smile and nod as he continues to speak. It’s becoming clearer to me what he has in mind and I must grudgingly admit that it is very appropriate and very subtle. Closing the circle as it were – letting things end as they began and tying it all off in a nice little bow.

“That is quite impressive,” I mumble as he finally gives me a break. “I wondered how you were going to manage that.”

He gives me his imperious yet hurt look. “You doubted me?” He sniffs haughtily.

“Uhm, yeah,” I admit, ambling into the kitchen for more hangover killer. “It seemed you just kept drawing everything out with no point to it but now I see where you’re going.”

“Why do you doubt me?” he sighs dejectedly, shaking his head in disgust.

“Oh, dry up!” I snort and sit on the couch lovingly cradling my Gatorade. I’m getting tired and I’m going to need some rest. I have a feeling that this is going to be another one of his marathon sessions and I’m in no state to deal with it.

He smiles and sits next to me. “You will rest now,” it’s a statement and not a question.

“More writing later, I’ll bet,” I answer.

The smile increases and he shows his perfect teeth. “And more ‘hawt’ sex,” he purrs delightedly.

“Mmmm, of course,” I reply. “Just how many times and how many different ways are you going to have ‘hawt’ sex?” I ask.

He chuckles evilly, those dark eyes glittering.

“I was speaking rhetorically,” I cut him off before he can answer.

“I don’t care,” he says smoothly. “We are going to have all sorts of ‘hawt’ sex. Once she realizes that she wants me.”

“And of course she will realize this,” I agree softly. Poor Legolas! I feel sorry for The Sweet One and remain determined to keep him as emotionally safe as possible, despite The Wicked One’s best efforts to the contrary.

A huge grin of triumph spreads over his face and he eagerly slithers closer to me so that his muscular thigh is resting against mine. “Of course! It could not be otherwise. You know this now and you understand why this must be.”

I grunt and take another long draught from the Gatorade. Yes, I understand what he’s up to now and I can only imagine what he has in store. Perhaps I should try and talk him into a bit more PWP – I have a feeling that he’s going to have more ‘hawt’ sex ideas than he will know what to do with and I might as well take full advantage of him. For once.

Slowly, he pulls the towel off of my head, letting my wet hair fall out so he can entwine his fingers in it. I should probably move but I’m just too tired and his fingers are quite soothing.

“You’re trembling,” he purrs softly, his breath warm on my skin. “You like it when I touch you.”

“Nothing personal, cupcake,” I assure him. “Tequila always makes me shake.”

He murmurs noncommittally but I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t believe me. He prefers to believe that I’m shaking because of his proximity and I’m in no state of mind to argue with him. Let him believe whatever he wants.

I yawn and lean closer to him as he continues to comb my damp hair with his fingers. He is very warm and smells quite pleasant. Gently, he wraps one arm around me and I lay my head against his solid chest, his scent and body heat enveloping me like a warm blanket. I sigh.

“Sleep now,” he says, still tenderly finger combing my hair as he strokes my back. “We have much writing to do when you awake.”

~~~