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Mar. 24th, 2006 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Note: I would like to thank Khalil for this, without whom studying wings would be difficult. Especially because I just woke him up to look at his wings and he was not amused.
This is purely crack!fic, written on the spur of the moment, just now, on LJ...:-)
With a rustle and crackle, Frodo stretched first one wing and then the other, yawning as his muscles stretched with delicious gentleness. The stretching felt wonderful indeed, but he itched all over. A blizzard of pale blue feathers fluttered to the bed. Frodo frowned, brushing feathers off the bed and picking them out of the hair of his feet. He had lost far more feathers than usual this morning. His skin crawled with the misery of itching. He longed for somebody to splash water over his wings.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Faramir said, rolling over in bed and opening his eyes.
As Frodo's heart caught and soared at the sound of Faramir's voice, as it did even after months of living together in Emyn Arnen, his wings lifted, forming rather unintentionally but dear to Faramir, the shape of a heart. "Good morning."
"My word, you're dropping feathers like never before," Faramir said, sneezing as several fluffs of blue swirled in the air just in front of him.
"I know that." Silly man always stating what should be plain before his nose.
"You seem ill-tempered this morning," Faramir said.
"Well, I itch all over my back and wings, and every time I move, I lose more feathers."
"I see." Faramir rubbed his chin. "I once had a pet bird, a novelty that the Captain of the Guard brought back from Umbar. He was a colorful thing, with a large beak. He could imitate Father's voice perfectly well, which did not endear him to him as you might imagine. A few times a year this bird would get ill-tempered and drop many of his feathers. The nurse maid called it "molting." It happens to all birds, she told me. It's when your new feathers are growing in and you're losing the old. She said to treat that bird in a special manner at that time."
"Molting?" Frodo snorted. "I'm molting?" He giggled. "I'm the only hobbit in all the Shire who has ever molted." He found it terribly funny for some reason, and he could not stop giggling.
"Come, Frodo. I shall draw a bath."
Frodo settled in the large bath, settling between Faramir's legs, breathing in the steam. He had folded his wings and they hunched around his itchy shoulders. He slowly immersed them under the hot water, which gave immediate relief to the itching. Faramir dug his strong fingers into Frodo's back, massaging around the soaked wings, over them, careful not to press too hard, but just hard enough to relieve the itching. Blue feathers floated around them in the water. Frodo groaned and leaned back against Faramir. He spread his wings just a little so that Faramir could get to every inch of them.
"Do you still itch?" Faramir asked.
"It is much better," Frodo whispered. "Thank you."
He lifted his wings again into that shape that Faramir found so dear.
This is purely crack!fic, written on the spur of the moment, just now, on LJ...:-)
With a rustle and crackle, Frodo stretched first one wing and then the other, yawning as his muscles stretched with delicious gentleness. The stretching felt wonderful indeed, but he itched all over. A blizzard of pale blue feathers fluttered to the bed. Frodo frowned, brushing feathers off the bed and picking them out of the hair of his feet. He had lost far more feathers than usual this morning. His skin crawled with the misery of itching. He longed for somebody to splash water over his wings.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Faramir said, rolling over in bed and opening his eyes.
As Frodo's heart caught and soared at the sound of Faramir's voice, as it did even after months of living together in Emyn Arnen, his wings lifted, forming rather unintentionally but dear to Faramir, the shape of a heart. "Good morning."
"My word, you're dropping feathers like never before," Faramir said, sneezing as several fluffs of blue swirled in the air just in front of him.
"I know that." Silly man always stating what should be plain before his nose.
"You seem ill-tempered this morning," Faramir said.
"Well, I itch all over my back and wings, and every time I move, I lose more feathers."
"I see." Faramir rubbed his chin. "I once had a pet bird, a novelty that the Captain of the Guard brought back from Umbar. He was a colorful thing, with a large beak. He could imitate Father's voice perfectly well, which did not endear him to him as you might imagine. A few times a year this bird would get ill-tempered and drop many of his feathers. The nurse maid called it "molting." It happens to all birds, she told me. It's when your new feathers are growing in and you're losing the old. She said to treat that bird in a special manner at that time."
"Molting?" Frodo snorted. "I'm molting?" He giggled. "I'm the only hobbit in all the Shire who has ever molted." He found it terribly funny for some reason, and he could not stop giggling.
"Come, Frodo. I shall draw a bath."
Frodo settled in the large bath, settling between Faramir's legs, breathing in the steam. He had folded his wings and they hunched around his itchy shoulders. He slowly immersed them under the hot water, which gave immediate relief to the itching. Faramir dug his strong fingers into Frodo's back, massaging around the soaked wings, over them, careful not to press too hard, but just hard enough to relieve the itching. Blue feathers floated around them in the water. Frodo groaned and leaned back against Faramir. He spread his wings just a little so that Faramir could get to every inch of them.
"Do you still itch?" Faramir asked.
"It is much better," Frodo whispered. "Thank you."
He lifted his wings again into that shape that Faramir found so dear.