Home | Literature Index | Movies & Broadway Index | Television Index | Music Index | Miscellaneous Index | Submit Your Own
In the evening, shadows fell around the two beautiful boys as they made their way across the fetid marsh. Mordor. Frodo, whose eyes were a bright clear blue and ringed round in smudged black eyeliner, suddenly stopped. The cool wind tousled his thick dark locks, the sandy brown roots under the cheap black dye barely visible in this light. He could see Gollum far ahead, nearly out of sight.
"I'm hungry, Sam," he whispered when his companion noticed that he was no longer walking with him.
Sam's full mouth looked red, wet in this light, smeared with crimson lipstick, and Frodo wondered what it would look like sliding over his dick, slick with spit. He would be able to taste ale on him, and pipeweed, like a beautiful Shire day. Sam shook his head, golden curls catching the faint light like a gleaming veil. "There's nothing but lembas left."
Frodo shuddered, his eyes burning with intense darkness. "We have to..." He moved closer, hands beginning to fumble with Sam's breeches, catching on the strings holding them together. "I need this. I need this. Sam."
A small spark of fear for his master struck in Sam's heart, and he stood still, allowing Frodo's fingers to slip over him. He had seen Frodo becoming weaker by the day, had seen the heavy burden weighing him down. His master was right: he did need this.
There was a sound in the darkness above them. Frodo looked up, up into that darkness, and saw the massive shape moving towards them. From under a bush...as it passed...he could make out the distorted sound of Bauhaus, Peter Murphy's low voice singing of kindoms coming.