Fic: ‘Tis the Season: Listening to the night.
Title: ‘Tis the Season: Listening to the night.
Fandom: the Lord of the Rings
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: After the Return of the King.
Summary: What can be heard?
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
This came to me and could fit almost anywhere.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
He circles her waist with his arms and draws her close. She snuggles into the hollow of his body where she fits perfectly and there's an almost purr of content emanating from her. He smiles and reaches forward to open the window. A blast of cool air whirls past them and the candle's flame struggles for life before it sputters out.
“Listen,” he murmurs by her ear.
There was wind. Footsteps scurrying. Quiet, especially in their room.
“It sounds … quiet,” she says, frowning slightly. “Am I supposed to hear anything?”
“No,” he answers and spins her around to face him. Before anything else can be said, his lips consume hers and she leans against him, her arms slipping around him.
Fandom: the Lord of the Rings
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: After the Return of the King.
Summary: What can be heard?
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
This came to me and could fit almost anywhere.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
He circles her waist with his arms and draws her close. She snuggles into the hollow of his body where she fits perfectly and there's an almost purr of content emanating from her. He smiles and reaches forward to open the window. A blast of cool air whirls past them and the candle's flame struggles for life before it sputters out.
“Listen,” he murmurs by her ear.
There was wind. Footsteps scurrying. Quiet, especially in their room.
“It sounds … quiet,” she says, frowning slightly. “Am I supposed to hear anything?”
“No,” he answers and spins her around to face him. Before anything else can be said, his lips consume hers and she leans against him, her arms slipping around him.