When Muses Attack!

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A/N:

Sandra - I would gladly turn his Haughtiness over to you. Any one of you! He is more trouble than he is worth sometimes. And for all the torturing he does of me, the least he can do is give me a bit of fun every now and then! LOL!

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“I cannot believe you!” He growls hotly as he stalks me around the kitchen.

“Deal with it!” I say flatly, slapping the mail on the table and turning toward him. I am not going to have this discussion with him. That is the end of it.

“You said no more Legolas!” He hisses thru gritted teeth, those steely eyes glittering coldly.

“There IS no more Legolas!” I inform him angrily.

I knew it! I knew it would come to this! It couldn’t last! It was too good to last! After that dream everything was peachy fine between us again. And then I had a date. Not just any date, mind you. But a date with Steve. Oh the horror!

His Wickedness does not like Steve. Not in the least. He equates Steve with Legolas. I have tried to talk him out of this notion but he will not hear of it. No, he knows that when Steve and I were together before it was his temperament and behavior that sort of gave me the idea for “The Scouting Mission” in the first place.

To him, Steve and Legolas are the same. So me being with “Stevolas” is paramount to treason! He doesn’t care about any of my other male friends. Let them come and go as they please and he won’t bat an eye at them. But let me even consider having dinner (or anything ELSE for that matter) with Steve and the shit hits the fan.

I flop down on the couch and stare moodily at the blank TV screen with my arms folded across my chest. I must be going insane. A jealous muse – whoever heard of such a fucked up thing? Am I going to have to remain celibate in my own home until this story is finished just to keep HIM happy? Fuck that noise!

He stalks into the living room and eyes me coldly, tipping his nose up at me. I grunt. Now we’ll have “the staredown”. This is his way of letting me know he is highly displeased. As if his imperious attitude and tone of voice wasn’t a big enough clue.

“I’m going to see him. I am going to sleep with him. I suggest you deal with it,” I inform him coldly.

A derisive snort is my answer.

“He is a mortal,” he sniffs sourly.

“So am I!” I shout at him and leap up on the couch so I can stare at him eye to eye. I knew I should have strangled him when I had the chance!

“And if he is mortal then he cannot be Legolas!” I hiss. There! Let him think on THAT!

He gives me a dark look but does not reply. He knows it is true.

I have grown tired of this fighting. It’s been a constant battle for me on several fronts and I’m exhausted from it. I step off the couch and head toward the bedroom turning off the lights as I go. Quietly I slip under the covers and lay there staring at the wall until my eyes grow tired and I close them. But I can’t relax. I’m so mad at him I could spit.

After about an hour he follows me. He places his open palm on my cheek, covering nearly the entire side of my face with his fingers.

“Did you not enjoy it?” He asks softly.

What the fuck? I open my eyes and look at him. What the hell kinda dumb assed question is THAT for the love of Pete?

“You’re on crack,” I mumble. “That has nothing to do with it.”

He slips into bed beside me. “Then why?” He asks urgently.

“Baby, look,” I sigh and stroke his hair. “Why does this have to be an either/or thing? Am I not writing constantly at your behest? Have I not done you right? Why do you insist that if Steve comes over suddenly Legolas is going to show up and ruin your story?”

Those dark lashes lower guiltily to rest against his alabaster cheek and he doesn’t answer me.

“It’s not gonna happen. Trust me. We’ve already discussed the end. I’m not going to change it. There is no reason to change it. It ain’t broke so I ain't gonna try and fix it. Dig?” I tell him.

He sighs heavily and turns over so his back is to me. I roll my eyes and grit my teeth. Time for some ego stroking or he’s going to pout for weeks again! It burns his ass when he knows I’m right and even more so when his ego gets bruised in the process (which usually happens when I’m right about something – rare as that is).

I slide one arm under his neck as I slip the other around his waist to rub his belly and draw closer to him, resting my cheek against his shoulder.

“You’re confusing things. Steve isn’t Legolas and I’m not Annowe. Whatever happens between Steve and me isn’t going to affect your story,” I insist.

“Promise?” He asks softly.

“Scouts Honor,” I answer and hold up the first three fingers of my right hand so he can see them.

I can tell he wants to believe me but he is hesitating for some reason. Time to give him a bit of a push.

“You know I liked it. That dream,” I whisper against his shoulder. That oughta do it.

One steely eye peers at me questioningly.

Heh. He’s easier to read than a Dr. Seuss book! The enormity of his ego never ceases to amaze me. It’s positively astounding how one creature could bear the weight of such a burden!

“I did. It was so very nice,” I purr and smile stroking his belly affectionately. And I’m not even stretching the truth one iota.

“Then why have him come over?” He pouts.

“Because you’re not in my dreams all of the time,” I answer smoothly. And thank the gods for THAT!

He sighs at this. Another truth at his expense.

“I won’t let him see you or read anything of yours. I promise. I’ll hide it all,” I soothe, squeezing him reassuringly.

“I do not like it,” he murmurs grudgingly.

“I know, cupcake,” I answer. “Believe me, I know.”

“Does he know about me?” He suddenly demands.

“Well, uh, yes,” I admit hesitantly. “And he knows you don’t like him.”

He grunts. “He does not belong here,” he informs me haughtily.

I bite my tongue. No, a young nubile male doesn’t belong here but a disembodied immortal ELF does? Yeah, right.

“He will not bother you and I expect you to leave him alone. Do I make myself clear?” I ask.

Sullen silence. I give him a poke in the belly with my thumb and he grunts.

“Don’t make me get The Book out after you,” I threaten darkly.

He sighs. “Nothing of mine. No pictures, no words, no books,” he grumbles.

“OK,” I agree.

“And none of my music,” he adds petulantly sticking his bottom lip out.

“OK. No Marvin. No Motown,” I console him.

I can tell he’s still not happy but I’m agreeing to all of his demands so he can’t argue with me about it.

“You know, you could leave,” I suggest softly. I would rather he did as a matter of fact but he is nearly ate up with needing to see Steve so I know he won’t.

He doesn’t answer.

I sigh and murmur the immortal words of Bruce Springsteen against his shoulder, “one day we’ll look back on this and it will all seem funny.”

All I can do is hope it’s true. Cause it sure as hell ain’t funny now!

~~~