Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2009-07-14 08:58 am
sophinisba) wrote2009-07-14 08:58 am
Entry tags:
LotR double drabble: A Game of Chance
Title: A Game of Chance
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (AU)
Characters: Frodo/Men
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Oldschool trashfic: Implied prostitution, sexual violence and dubious consent, but nothing explicit.
>Words: 200
Notes: For the prompt "The Die Is Cast" at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writing_game week 61 and for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
claudia603.
The dice roll in the cups and spill out on the table, and though Frodo still doesn't understand the rules of the game, he knows from the looks on the men's faces that the newcomer has won.
He smiles tentatively at the man, unsure whether to be frightened or relieved. Some of the others around the table can get rough sometimes, but he's had them all before so he knows what to expect. He might be sore tomorrow but they won't break any bones, won't do anything that might keep them out of next week's game.
But with this one, who knows? He's barely spoken two words all night. No one even knows his real name! He could be some outlaw on the run, planning to take his pleasure and then slit Frodo's throat, and be off away south before daybreak.
Then again, Frodo's noticed how careful he is in his movements. He might be as gentle a lover as any Frodo's known. Certainly he's the most handsome. And who knows? Perhaps he's the kind of outlaw to take Frodo with him when he runs.
Butterbur says, "Congratulations, Strider," and Frodo dares to hope as he takes the stranger's hand.
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (AU)
Characters: Frodo/Men
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Oldschool trashfic: Implied prostitution, sexual violence and dubious consent, but nothing explicit.
>Words: 200
Notes: For the prompt "The Die Is Cast" at
writing_game week 61 and for claudia603.The dice roll in the cups and spill out on the table, and though Frodo still doesn't understand the rules of the game, he knows from the looks on the men's faces that the newcomer has won.
He smiles tentatively at the man, unsure whether to be frightened or relieved. Some of the others around the table can get rough sometimes, but he's had them all before so he knows what to expect. He might be sore tomorrow but they won't break any bones, won't do anything that might keep them out of next week's game.
But with this one, who knows? He's barely spoken two words all night. No one even knows his real name! He could be some outlaw on the run, planning to take his pleasure and then slit Frodo's throat, and be off away south before daybreak.
Then again, Frodo's noticed how careful he is in his movements. He might be as gentle a lover as any Frodo's known. Certainly he's the most handsome. And who knows? Perhaps he's the kind of outlaw to take Frodo with him when he runs.
Butterbur says, "Congratulations, Strider," and Frodo dares to hope as he takes the stranger's hand.