When Muses Attack!

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A/N: Well, it would seem that Mr. Wicked and I have come to the end of our task. I must admit I’ve grown rather fond of him. Even if he is a horny moody bastard. LOL!

MarzBar – You think I'm a bad tease you oughta deal with HIM! LOL! Hmmm - Why don’t I have him? Several reasons. First, his ego would suffocate me. Second, I haven’t quite figured out how. Until now. ;-) I just hate it when he outsmarts me!

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“You’re going to leave me soon, aren’t you?” I ask him one morning after a particularly long writing session.

He doesn’t answer; he just stares moodily out of the window. I leave him and wander into the kitchen for some water. Pretty soon he follows me in and slides up to me.

“How do you know?” He asks quietly standing close enough to me that I can smell him.

I shrug. “I just know. I can tell. You’ve not been around as much lately and you seem more sad or something. You just don’t feel right,” I say.

He sighs but doesn’t say anything. I reach out and squeeze his arm.

“Look at it this way, sweetie, now you can go visit all of your swooning fans who are desperately in lust with you. You can have a lot of fun!” I smile encouragingly.

He turns and walks from the kitchen without a word. He’s not angry, no. It would seem that he’s slipped into that melancholy his kind are subject to and there’s nothing I can do to snap him out of it.

“Are you going to tell me about it or do you want me to guess?” I ask as I follow him.

He flops down on the couch and stretches full out, crossing his arms casually behind his head. It is an impressive display and I try not to stare.

“No,” he murmurs. His eyes are distant and he doesn’t look at me.

“OK then,” I say and move to do the laundry or clean or something productive.

Before I have the opportunity to even walk down the hall he holds one hand out to me. I look at it. Why can’t I have hands like that? Long delicate fingers, the perfect skin hard enough to be masculine yet gentle enough to give me the chill bumps when he touches me. I put my hand in his and he pulls me closer to him.

He tries to pull me down on top of him, but I refuse, afraid I might hurt him with my clumsiness. Instead, I sit in the floor leaning against the couch, my arm thrown over his chest. He doesn’t speak or look at me; he merely strokes my arm and gazes wistfully at the computer screen.

“You want to write some more?” I ask softly.

“No,” he sighs dramatically. Those dark eyes bore into mine and one perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. I’m now supposed to guess what it is he wants. Why he cannot just come out and tell me I’ll never know. It’s some game of his that only HE understands.

“I thought you weren’t going to make me guess,” I frown in exasperation.

He gives me the dog’s “you’ve stepped on me, meanie” look. I groan inwardly.

“OK – either I’ve not done something you wanted me to or I’ve done something that I wasn’t supposed to – which one is it?” I demand.

He sniffs haughtily and turns his head away from me. I dig my fingernails into his chest in frustration until he growls. I hate his infernal games!

“What is it, then?” I sigh. He enjoys tormenting me because he knows he can. He gets some twisted kick out of driving me insane with his guessing games. It's not a far drive for me, either!

Very quietly, almost too quiet for me to hear he finally answers me. “I want more sex,” he whispers.

I relax. “Is that all?” I chide him gently. “We can have as much sex as you want, hon, it’s your story.”

“No, I want just sex,” he murmurs, one corner of his mouth turning up in something resembling a smirk.

“OK, we can do that, too,” I agree. It’s been a while since I’ve written any PWP but if he’s in the mood to tell me, then I can write it. “What sort of sex do you want? You and Legolas? You and Legolas and some unnamed individual or what?”

Those pink pouty lips curve up into a grin. “Three of us again,” he says eagerly. “Like the last time.”

“That works,” I agree and stand up to get a glass of water. He follows me, hovering close.

“This will be the first time for just me and you,” he purrs, stroking my back.

“What do you mean?” I ask warily. “I’ve written plenty of sex scenes for you.”

He grins wickedly and leans down to whisper against my neck, “Yes, but the last time you wrote any pure sex was when Legolas was here as well.”

I blink thoughtfully as I consider his words. That shouldn’t bother me but oddly it does. I shiver. He chuckles nefariously and caresses my ponytail, his breath warm on my neck. It shouldn’t be any different than before, should it? I bite my lip anxiously. No, logically it should not be any different. So why is he acting like the cat that just ate the canary? Maybe he’s just trying to jerk my chain again. Jerking my chain always seems to put him in a better mood for some reason.

“And this should concern me how?” I try to puff up and appear unfazed by this disturbing observation.

He smiles enigmatically then shrugs indifferently and saunters from the room. I follow him, admiring the view of his backside. He pulls up a chair and sits next to the computer. I take my place behind the keyboard and put my fingers on the keys.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I say.

He leans back in the chair, crossing his ankles and stretching those long legs out under me. Softly he begins the tale in his low throaty voice and I start to type. Periodically I’ll ask questions or need clarification and he obliges me. It’s our normal ritual with the only exception that both of us are more aroused than usual by his lurid imagination. His arousal is quite obvious whereas mine is mercifully not.

I find myself giggling shamelessly as I continue to type in an effort to deal with my increasing hormonal rage. It is much different than when Legolas was near to act as a buffer. He could always put me at ease so I could write without becoming too involved in the story. Now with just Mr. Wicked there is no buffer and I’m doing my best to not get caught up in his sordid little imagination. But I get the impression that all of my giggling is getting on his nerves and he’s about to let me know it.

“Perhaps you would like to try it for yourself,” he purrs threateningly, squeezing my thigh.

Well, two can play at that game. “Yeah, sure,” I say agreeably. “Me and you, going at it like a couple of rabid rabbits. Sounds like a plan.”

“Rabid rabbits?” He frowns.

“It means like crazy – mad,” I explain. “So, are we going to do it or not?”

He eyes me suspiciously. I give him my innocent look. “What?” I ask. “Don’t you want me?”

No answer. He merely squints evilly at me and squeezes my thigh harder. It takes every ounce of my feeble self-control not to bust into laughter or look away guiltily. He thinks I’m teasing him but he’s not sure. For the first time in a very long time I have the upper hand but I know it won’t last. He cannot allow it.

“Perhaps I should just leave,” he growls abruptly and stands up.

“Why? Isn’t that what you wanted?” I ask and stand up next to him. Now that I’ve called his bluff he wants to get pissy! He’s got some nerve!

“Isn’t it, your most serene haughtiness?” I murmur in my best seductive voice as I reach out and pet his chest, gazing up at him in what I hope appears to be innocence.

“You are teasing me, I think!” He grumbles arrogantly still unsure of my motivation.

“Maybe and maybe not,” I agree and twist my finger around a strand of his hair as he continues to eye me doubtfully.

Now he’s stuck and he doesn’t know what to do. I fervently hope that my amusement isn’t apparent in my face. I could let him off the hook but I don’t think I will. Not yet. I want to watch him squirm a bit. And he does squirm! He cannot leave me since I’ve said the magic words yet he is wary to take me up on the offer since he doesn’t know if I’m serious or not.

We eye each other like two prizefighters. Why doesn’t he call my bluff? I wonder. It seems so simple. That should be his first inclination, right?

“You can’t,” I say as the realization slowly dawns on me. “You can’t completely bridge that gap between my reality and yours.”

He turns away with a derisive snort but doesn’t answer. Yes, it makes sense! There is only so much he can do in my reality. He cannot carry out his boasts and was hoping I wouldn’t figure it out (or be bold enough to call his bluff).

“So why in the hell did you torment the shit outta me when you knew – you bastard, you KNEW the whole time that you couldn’t do anything about it?” I hiss angrily and slap his arm. Now I’m getting pissed. He’s played me for a fool and I don’t take too kindly to that nonsense!

“I was not certain,” he admitted disdainfully, folding his arms across his chest and staring down his nose at me imperiously.

I grunt in disgust at him. “But you just couldn’t resist tormenting me just the same,” I hiss.

He shrugs indifferently. He’s not going to concede one inch to me. OOOO! I just want to smack him into next week!

“Why?” I demand. “Why tease me and everyone else when you can’t follow through on your threats? You hateful old thing!”

“I cannot have you in your world but that does not mean I cannot have you at all,” he sniffs.

“Oh, really, Einstein? Then tell me just where in the hell CAN you do anything?” I ask sarcastically. I just can’t get over his audacity. All this time he knew and still insisted on teasing me banking on the fact that I’d be too interested in the facts and his story to call him on it. Oh, I just hate it when he outsmarts me!

Those steely eyes narrow at me. He’s still pissed because I’ve finally caught him but not pissed enough to leave.

“Go to sleep,” he commands softly.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” I scowl at him. WTF is he thinking? "Go to sleep" my ass!

Suddenly he grabs me and hauls me unceremoniously into the bedroom as I sputter and call him every vile name I can think of. He tosses me on the bed and I bristle angrily.

“Go to sleep,” he repeats and starts removing his clothes.

“No,” I say petulantly. “Not until you explain to me what you’re talking about.”

He sighs patiently. “You think too much, Mel,” he says softly and crawls into bed next to me. “Go to sleep and you will see what I mean.”

But I must think this through. I have to and he knows this. I frown and think, my mind a whirl of questions and theories. After a while it finally hits me. I’m such a dimwit!

“Ah!” I say excitedly in understanding. “You really mean that, don’t you? That I think too much. You can’t bridge that gap because of it. The only time you can is when I’m more or less unconscious. That’s why you keep saying that!” I feel like a complete idiot. This whole time he had been telling me the truth but I was reading too much into it instead of just taking his words at face value!

He chuckles. “That is what I have been trying to tell you,” he agrees. “Now will you go to sleep?”

I laugh in relief. “Gives whole new meaning to ‘in your dreams’, don’t it?” I giggle under my breath and slide under the covers.

As I get comfortable, he slides up next to me and wraps his arms around me. I snuggle up to him enjoying the feel of him now.

“What about everyone else?” I ask. “Will this work for them, too?”

The grin in his voice is unmistakable. “Yes, if they think too much,” he answers smugly. “Now go to sleep.”

I smile and close my eyes.

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