Morning After
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,508
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,508
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is work of fiction! I do not know the celebrity(ies) I am writing about, and I do not profit from these writings.
Morning After
Yeah, it all happened. I’ve got it on film. Wanna buy the Tower Bridge while you’re at it?
Morning After.
By Sonja (limey_sugar@yahoo.co.uOrlaOrlando Bloom/Dominic Monaghan
R.
So feckin’ sweet, you’ll need a dentist.
__________
Stuff happens when you’ve been drinking. Stuff that normally wouldn’t happen if, say, you hadn’t just polished off a case of Guinness with your best mate. Okay, a case of Guinness and half a 750mL bottle of Absolut Kurant. Not exactly the best combination.
You’ve always thought the boy was sexy, but on a yeah-he’s-a-good-looking-guy-but-I’m-straight sort of level. Most certainly *not* on a yeah-he’s-hot-I-wanna-fuck-him sort of of level. At least not until yesterday, and at least not sober. Or, at least that you’d admit to another living soul.
So you lie there, in his bed, with him sleeping peacefully beside you. Of course neither of you has on a stitch of clothing. Nope, *that* would be too much to ask of the God of Drunken-Sex-With-Your-Best-Guy-Mate. It only takes you a second, even in your hungover daze, to realise why your arse hurts like a bastard. You start to laugh. And that hurts. Hangover headaches are the worst.
When he wakes up, you half expect him to start laughing too, since, well, it *is* funny. But no, he doesn’t laugh. He looks at you and smiles. Smiles that stupid crooked smile of his and reaches up to touch your face with his hand. He’s tracing your cheekbones with his thumb, and no- that can’t be right- he’s kissing you.
But it’s *morning*. And you’re not drunk anymore.
You want to push him away, really, but you don’t. You put your hand on the back of his head and pull him in closer. You nibble at his bottom lip and slip your tongue in his mouth.
You want to move his hand away when he reaches down and starts stroking you, but it feels much too good, ou lou let him. You even reach below the duvet and touch *him*. He’s hard and warm in your hand, and now a little sticky.
When you’ve both caught your breath, you look at each other. He’s got a little glint of something in his eyes and he tells you that he’s wanted you for so long it hurts. That he knows you don’t feel the same, but one night was all he needed to have memories to last a lifetime.
You realise that the little glint is sunlight reflected off tears he doesn’t want to cry but is, and you bring your hand up to wipe them away. You tell him it’s alright, and yeah, you *do* feel the same, and to not cry because then *you* will. And crying’s for girls, you say. And if anyone should be crying, it’s you, since he’s not the one who’ll be sitting on a pillow for a week.
So you pull the covers over your head and his, and thank the God of The-Morning-After for not having an off day before falling back to sleep.
~end
Morning After.
By Sonja (limey_sugar@yahoo.co.uOrlaOrlando Bloom/Dominic Monaghan
R.
So feckin’ sweet, you’ll need a dentist.
__________
Stuff happens when you’ve been drinking. Stuff that normally wouldn’t happen if, say, you hadn’t just polished off a case of Guinness with your best mate. Okay, a case of Guinness and half a 750mL bottle of Absolut Kurant. Not exactly the best combination.
You’ve always thought the boy was sexy, but on a yeah-he’s-a-good-looking-guy-but-I’m-straight sort of level. Most certainly *not* on a yeah-he’s-hot-I-wanna-fuck-him sort of of level. At least not until yesterday, and at least not sober. Or, at least that you’d admit to another living soul.
So you lie there, in his bed, with him sleeping peacefully beside you. Of course neither of you has on a stitch of clothing. Nope, *that* would be too much to ask of the God of Drunken-Sex-With-Your-Best-Guy-Mate. It only takes you a second, even in your hungover daze, to realise why your arse hurts like a bastard. You start to laugh. And that hurts. Hangover headaches are the worst.
When he wakes up, you half expect him to start laughing too, since, well, it *is* funny. But no, he doesn’t laugh. He looks at you and smiles. Smiles that stupid crooked smile of his and reaches up to touch your face with his hand. He’s tracing your cheekbones with his thumb, and no- that can’t be right- he’s kissing you.
But it’s *morning*. And you’re not drunk anymore.
You want to push him away, really, but you don’t. You put your hand on the back of his head and pull him in closer. You nibble at his bottom lip and slip your tongue in his mouth.
You want to move his hand away when he reaches down and starts stroking you, but it feels much too good, ou lou let him. You even reach below the duvet and touch *him*. He’s hard and warm in your hand, and now a little sticky.
When you’ve both caught your breath, you look at each other. He’s got a little glint of something in his eyes and he tells you that he’s wanted you for so long it hurts. That he knows you don’t feel the same, but one night was all he needed to have memories to last a lifetime.
You realise that the little glint is sunlight reflected off tears he doesn’t want to cry but is, and you bring your hand up to wipe them away. You tell him it’s alright, and yeah, you *do* feel the same, and to not cry because then *you* will. And crying’s for girls, you say. And if anyone should be crying, it’s you, since he’s not the one who’ll be sitting on a pillow for a week.
So you pull the covers over your head and his, and thank the God of The-Morning-After for not having an off day before falling back to sleep.
~end