When Muses Attack!

~~~

For the next few days he hangs around but doesn’t bother me. No, I can tell he’s biding his time. He can wait forever. I cannot.

After a particularly difficult day at work, I come home a bit early, exhausted and in a foul mood. He is waiting for me. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of silk boxer shorts. I’m about to die of frostbite just looking at him.

“Put some clothes on,” I sigh irritably. “You’re making me cold.”

He ignores me and hovers close as I take off my coat, glasses, backpack and glance through the mail. He wants something.

He follows me to the bedroom where I flip on my electric blanket. He flips it off.

“Don’t start with me,” I warn him. I am exhausted, mentally and physically and need a nap. I’m not in the mood to deal with his demands. Everyone else has been demanding my attention all day and there’s nothing left.

No answer. Instead, he crawls into bed. This could be good or bad depending on what he is doing there. If he is merely heating it up, that is fine. If he thinks for one minute I’m going to give into him, he’s sadly mistaken.

I slip into my pj’s. I pull out the elastic holding my ponytail in place and rub my head. He watches all this impassively.

“Incense,” he suggests softly.

Without a word, I light the incense stick then climb into bed. Surprisingly he allows me to situate myself comfortably before he wraps his arms around me, his warm body pressing into my back. He strokes my hair and wraps it around my neck to keep me warm. I can’t relax. If he’s up to no good, he’ll make his move.

“Sleep now,” he says soothingly. “We will write later.”

I let out a relieved sigh and snuggle up to him. He is very warm and his skin is surprisingly soft. I’m almost asleep when I hear him murmuring to me. It’s his language and sounds like utter gibberish to me. I mumble a reply in Latin just to piss him off.

“Will you send me away when you are finished with me?” He asks softly.

“What brought this on?” I murmur. He’s slipping into that melancholy that all of them are prone to.

“You sent Steve away. He was your Legolas,” comes his answer.

What the fuck? I sigh. Why does he drag this stuff up, anyway? He’s probably been reading the stories again and thinking about it all day, conjuring up all sorts of melodrama between those pointed ears of his.

“That was different,” I mumble. “Steve was real, incarnate. You’re, well, not.” I shrug.

“But he was your Legolas and you sent him away,” he presses.

“Look,” I groan. He’s not going to let this rest. “Steve was my muse for Legolas, it is true. Emotionally, mentally he was my Legolas, yes. But Steve wanted more than I could give him.”

This appeases him for a bit and I start to slip back into sleep when he speaks again.

“But you could have kept him around. He would have stayed,” he reminds me.

“Yes, but eventually he would have realized that I couldn’t give him what he wanted and things would have gotten ugly. And even more painful in the end. It was better this way,” I explain.

“You are a strange creature,” he observes. “You sent away your muse because he loved you.”

I snort. “See? Then you have nothing to worry about. If I only send away those who love me.”

He chuckles warmly at this. “Hmmm. Indeed,” he says and finally lets me go to sleep.

After I wake from my nap, he doesn’t bother me to write. Instead, he watches me as I do the laundry and some housecleaning. He seems to realize that our conversation has brought up some old memories that I would rather let go of.

He even allows me to sleep that night. He is patient. He can wait for me to settle down.

And I do, eventually.

~~~~

“What do they say about me now?” He murmurs one afternoon.

Fortunately for him, I’m in a mood to indulge him. I call up the reviews and he reads them, his smile growing. “They find me desirable,” he smiles. “They want me.”

I giggle, reminded of Sally Fields Oscar acceptance speech of many years ago “you like me, you really, really like me.” Instead I nod and continue to smile broadly at him.

“What is a ‘peacock’?” He asks suspiciously.

I find a suitable picture of one on the web and show him. He is very impressed.

“It is beautiful,” he murmurs, pleased.

“Yes, it is,” I agree. I’m not about to tell him what it means, tho! Let him have his compliment. And I’ll have my stealthy giggle.

He walks over to the door again and looks out. He’s thinking. I’m almost afraid to ask so I don’t. I surf for a bit and he returns to me.

“You made that up,” he says softly.

“What’d I make up?” I ask. My mind is still on the peacock.

“I would not have done that,” he murmurs to me.

“What the hell are you talking about? What wouldn’t you have done?” I groan. He can be as freaking hard to figure out as my mother. Why can’t he just spit it out?

“I would not have done THAT,” he says and slides his hand to his crotch momentarily.

“It’s called masturbating and yes, you would. If there’s an ounce of testosterone in your veins then you’d do it. And probably often,” I grunt. “Especially as horny as you are!”

He comes closer and leans down to put his lips next to my ear. “And how would you know?” He whispers suggestively.

“I have two brothers,” I snort. “How could I not?” This seems to satisfy him for a moment.

“I want to read it,” he demands. “The whole thing. Not just what they are saying.”

“OK,” I agree and call it up then retreat to the couch so he can have his privacy.

He reads it, periodically glancing curiously at me. When he’s finished he joins me on the couch.

“How did you know?” He asks.

“How’d I know what?” I wonder. He’s told me on numerous occasions that he wants them both so his sordid little fantasy wasn’t too hard to figure out. I’m not entirely oblivious, just a little at times.

“What it’s like to do that,” he amends.

I start giggling hysterically then blush, much to my chagrin. “Did you not read the part where SHE does it, too? Geez, dude, are you that dim? It’s all experience.”

He grins wickedly at me. “Do you think of me?” He asks, trying to move closer.

“Oh, no!” I immediately stop giggling and become defensive. “Do not even go there.”

“Why not?” He purrs.

I get up and leave the room. A few minutes later he follows me into the kitchen. I’m standing in front of the sink eating a pint of ice cream when he slides up next to me.

“Well, do you?” He just isn’t going to let this drop.

Turning to him, I scoop up a spoonful of ice cream and deliberately slide my tongue over it, giving him a nice slow view of me completely enjoying my ice cream.

“Think of you? No,” I answer him simply. “I think of Legolas.”

With a scowl he disappears. I can’t help but giggle. He is so vile and hateful sometimes.

~~~~