50 Shades of Gandalf the Grey
- Chapter 5 from 50 Shades of Grey, with a Middle Earth twist...
My heart leaps into my mouth, and I can’t seem to find my voice. He opens the door anyway and strolls in. Holy hell, he’s been working out. He’s in a grey cloak that hangs, in that way, off his hips and a gray singlet, which is dark with sweat, like his hair. Gandalf’s sweat, the notion does odd things to me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel like a two-year old, if I close my eyes then I’m not really here.
“Good morning Frodo. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I deserve,” I mumble.
I peek up at him. He places a large staff on a chair and grasps each end of the towel that he has around his neck. He’s staring at me, grey eyes dark, and as usual, I have no idea what he’s thinking. He hides his thoughts and feelings so well.
“How did I get here?” My voice is small, contrite.
He comes and sits down on the edge of the bed. He’s close enough for me to touch, for me to smell. Oh my… sweat and body wash and Gandalf, it’s a heady cocktail - so much better than a margarita, and now I can speak from experience.
“After you passed out, I didn’t want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to the Shire. So I brought you here,” he says phlegmatically.
“Did you put me to bed?”
“Yes.” His face is impassive.
“Did I throw up again?” My voice is quieter.
“Did you undress me?” I whisper.
“Yes.” He quirks an eyebrow at me as I blush furiously.
“We didn’t,” I whisper, my mouth drying in mortified horror as I can’t complete the question. I stare at my hands.
“Frodo, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my Hobbits sentient and receptive,” he says dryly.
“I’m so sorry.”
His mouth lifts slightly in a wry smile.
“It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I’ll forget in a while.”
Me neither – oh he’s laughing at me, the bastard. I didn’t ask him to come and get me. Somehow I’ve been made to feel like the villain of the piece.
“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you’re developing for the highest bidder,” I snap at him. He stares at me, surprised, and if I’m not mistaken, a little wounded.
“Firstly, the technology to track Hobbits is available over the Internet. Secondly, my kind do not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in an Orc's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his armour,” he says acidly.
Pressing his armour! I glance up at Gandalf, he’s glaring at me, his grey eyes blazing, aggrieved.
...I scramble out of his bed frantically searching for my jeans. He emerges from the bathroom wet and glistening from the shower, still unshaven, with just a towel around his waist, holding his staff, and there am I – all bare legs and awkward gawkiness. He’s surprised to see me out of bed.
“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” His gaze is a dark obsidian. “They were spattered with your vomit.”
“Oh.” I flush scarlet. Why oh why does he always catch me on the back foot?
“I sent Bilbo out for another pair and some shoes. They’re in the bag on the chair.”
Clean clothes. What an unexpected bonus.
“Um… I’ll have a shower,” I mutter. “Thanks.” What else can I say? I grab the bag and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Gandalf.
In the bathroom, it’s all hot and steamy from where he’s been showering. I strip off my clothes and quickly clamber into the shower anxious to be under the cleansing stream of water. It cascades over me, and I hold up my face into the welcoming torrent. I want Gandalf. I want him badly. Simple fact. For the first time in my life, I want to go to bed with a man. I want to feel his hands and his mouth on me. He said he likes his women sentient. He’s probably not celibate then. But he’s not made a pass at me, unlike Aragorn or Gimlee. I don’t understand. Does he want me? He wouldn’t kiss me last week. Am I repellent to him? And yet, I’m here and he brought me here. I just don’t know what his game is? What he’s thinking? You’ve slept in his bed all night, and he’s not touched you. You do the math. My subconscious has reared her ugly, snide head. I ignore her.
The water is warm and soothing. Hmm… I could stay under this shower, in his bathroom, forever. I reach for the body-wash and it smells of Gandalf. It’s a delicious smell. I rub it all over myself, fantasizing that it’s him - him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with his long fingered hands. Oh my. My heartbeat picks up again, this feels so… so good.