#occasional scuffle for who gets to sit on my hip or be under the blanket

[galaxywarp]

I got mad last night when Khaleesi threw up on my bed right before I was about to fall asleep and I had to get up and strip everything and I ended up closing my bedroom door cuz I was cranky and decided no more kitties allowed

But then when I woke up today I felt kinda bad about it so for the last hour or so I’ve just been lying underneath all 5 of them while they take turns reclaiming the cuddles I denied them last night.

[writings-of-hazel]

Forgotten Gospel: Smutt Scene

(i’m going through writer’s block rn, and it’s really bad lol. anywho here is this spicy asf smutt from the chapter. idek what warnings to put so- yeah)

“Wake up.”

“Mickey, Mallory, Rise n shine”

“Hey, hey wake up.”

Diane’s eyes flickered open and a small gasp escaped her lips. Catching her breath she looked around her blurred surroundings. She felt Sam’s heavy arm still wrapped around her, his rumbling chest pressed against her back. She made eye contact with the older Winchester, kneeling beside the bed, inches away from her face.

“Jesus Dean,” Diane whispered, reaching out and pushing her palm against Dean’s chest “Why the hell are you up in my face like that it’s creepy.”

Dean stumbled back a bit, narrowing his eyes at her.

The rumbling in Sam’s chest came to a pause, stirring in his sleep as a long yawn escaped his lips. Still asleep he buried his face into the dark mess of curls at the back of Diane’s head.

Dean reached over to the bedside table, turning on the table lamp and pulling himself up. Light flooded across the room causing Diane to squint and Sam to burrow his face deeper, shielding his eyes with her dark hair.

“I was checking dad’s police scanner.” Dean grunted, sitting down on the bed across from them.

This peaked Sam’s interest, his eyes fluttering open as he pulled his face out from its nest, watching his brother over Diane’s shoulder.

“And...it looks like there’s a case here.” Dean continued, his features hardening.

Sam pulled away from Diane, sitting up straight “How so?” He asked, running his hand along his face, rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes.

“They found two bodies near town, brains entirely cut out.” Dean continued, reaching underneath the motel bed and pulling out his steel toed boots, pulling them on his feet and lacing them.

Diane’s eyes widened as she sat up in the bed, her back falling against the headboard with a thud. The three had rarely, if ever, where caught in a case without John. Thinking of his absence made chills run up her spine, though she swallowed the new bubbling fear.

Sam pursed his lips, springing himself off the bed and onto his feet. He began to pace back and forth, running his hand through his shaggy hair “What are we gonna do?” Sam asked, glancing from Dean to Diane.

“Call dad, it’s what we should of done in the first place.” Dean muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone.

“Yeah that’ll work,” Said Sam, his voice dripping with sarcasm “He’s miles away Dean-“

“He can get here in less than seventy hours Sam don’t fight me on this.” Dean snapped, sending his brother a glare. He flipped open his phone and began searching through his contacts. As he was about to press call, Sam’s large hand swiftly snatched the phone from his hands.

“Dude!” Dean barked, flinging to his feet. Sam took a step back, holding Dean’s phone high above his head.

“We are more than capable of handling this Dean,” Sam said through pursed lips, holding his arm out to keep space “Whatever this is we can deal with it, ourselves. Before more bodies drop.”

“Give me the phone Sammy, I’m not asking again.” Dean warned, his eyes narrowing dangerously at his brother.

Sam shook his head stubbornly, taking another step back as Dean began walking towards him. Dean’s hand shot upwards to grab the phone out of Sam’s hands; Sam having a height advantage, easily dodged him.

“Give me the phone Sam.” Dean warned again as his face grew bright red, his teeth clenching together as he tried again, and again. Sam cracked a small smile at his older brother and Dean’s eyes flared. Before Sam could react, Dean flung himself to his brothers torso, tackling him to the ground. The brothers began to scuffle over the phone like two children fighting over a toy.

Diane shot up from the bed, running over to the Winchester’s.

“You fucking idiots!” Diane snapped, flinging herself onto Dean and knocking him off of Sam. Dean tried to push her off of him but she pulled him up by his collar, slamming him down against the floor with a hard thud. Diane has sparred with those boys her whole life, this was nothing particularly new for her. She straddled his torso, fumbling with his hands as she pinned them under her knees. “Dean stop it goddamn it!” She barked into his face. If Dean really wanted, he could overpower her, but eventually he let the young girl overpower him.

Dean let out a defeated sigh, letting his head fall back. He gave Diane an annoyed look, sweat drops rolling down his face. Sam pulled himself quickly to his feet and fumbled to Diane’s side.

When Diane was satisfied with Dean’s defeat she rolled off of him, Sam grabbing her arm and helping her to her feet. Dean flung himself off of the ground, brushing off his clothes.

“Dean, I really think we can handle this one.” Diane said softly.

“No, you know what screw you two, alright? I’m not gonna call Dad, but if something happens it’s on the both of you.” Dean spat angrily, his voice booming. Before they could say anything in response Dean stomped his way towards the door, snatching his leather jacket with him.

“I’m going out, I’ll be back by morning.” Dean muttered without looking at them, flinging his jacket over his shoulders. “Can I have my phone?” He asked, holding his hand out. Sam paused in hesitation, looking down at the silver device in his hands. Diane rolled her eyes, snatching it out of his hands with an annoyed huff.

She walked over to the older Winchester carefully “Yeah, here-“ Diane said, cut off by Dean aggressively swiping it out of her hands. Without another word Dean opened the door, walking out and slamming it behind him in Diane’s face. Diane flinched at the noise and let out a small sigh.

“He’ll be fine.” Came Sam’s voice from behind her.

Diane let out a small chuckle, turning around and looking at him “Yeah no thanks to you. You know, I’m sick and goddamn tired of all this shit” Diane shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

Sam’s face fell at her words, his lips pulling into a tight line as he crossed his arms over his chest “And what’s that?” He asked calmly.

“Why couldn’t we just call John?” Diane asked “He could deal with this quick and I know you hate this kinda shit.” She let out a harsh sigh, reaching her hand up and pinching the bridge of her brow.

“Yeah and have him drill my ass for the next two weeks?” Sam retorted, tilting his head to the side “No thanks.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna drill your ass already for not calling him when there’s a case?” Diane asked sarcastically, raising her eyebrows at him.

Sam let out a scoff, folding his arms in front of him “Not if we deal with it.” He replied. Diane responded with a critical look, resting her hands on her hips.

Sam blinked and his head fell back, “I mean damn Diane, there’s three of us.” He let out an empty chuckle, raising a hand to his face and brushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Yeah and we don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet Sam! It’s not like we have John’s journal or any real equipment to deal with anything bigger than a pissed off ghost or two!” Diane exclaimed, throwing her arms up in frustration, she took a step towards Sam “Oh and let’s not forget! What about the body honey? How are we supposed to get in the morgue anyway? FBI agents? You look a stone away from seventeen and I stopped looking fourteen like a year ago.”

“Break in?” Sam replied with a shrug, who’s frustration was anything but dwindling.

The corner’s of Diane’s lips twitched a moment, her nose and her ears turning scarlet pink as gaze on the Winchester hardened. A moment of silence fell between the two before Diane let out a cold laugh.

“Okay,” She said in a mock tone, clapping her hands together. “Perfect. Sounds like a plan.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at the ground for a moment. Why couldn’t she support him on this? Trusting someone other than Dean or John for once. “Diane I’m-“

“Save it.” She interrupted, holding out her hand gesturing for him to shut up, “It’s four o’clock, if we’re gonna check out our vic’s tomorrow, I at least wanna have four hours in.” Diane didn’t make eye contact with the Winchester as she pulled past him towards the bed, yanking back the bed covers and easing herself back into the mattress .

Sam pursed his lips, he felt bad for causing a fight, despite the occasional brawl being anything but abnormal.

“I’m sorry baby.” Sam mumbled, shuffling over to his side of the bed. Carefully, as if not to reignite the anger that was bubbling within his girlfriend, he went under the covers, giving her a foot of space.

Diane responded by flicking off the light and pulling the blankets over her head. She felt so, enraged, so absolutely pissed off. It was like a white hot iron burning in her stomach. She clenched her teeth, bundling her blankets into her hands and squeezing. It felt unexplainable, unreasonable. Sam didn’t even do anything that bad, neither did Dean. Then why was she so angry.

Sam let out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. He was just as pissed as she was. But some how he was better at covering it up.

Diane was sure sleep wouldn’t visit her tonight, her mind was racing. The boys being well, themselves, didn’t help either. Dean just needed to blow off some steam, she thought, curling her arms into her chest. She was pissed at Sam’s stubbornness, but deep down she understood what he was doing. John had been grilling him for everything short of brushing his teeth lately, and with what little they did see of him only made it more frustrating for Sam. Her anger began to softly simmer down from its high, the heavy heat leaving her core and dispersed along her body. Diane heaved out a tired sigh, feeling the dip in the bed behind her shift. Sam’s long arm appeared from behind her as it wrapped around her waist.

“If what just happened wasn’t enough of a cue, I’m not in the mood for cuddling tonight.” Diane muttered in a venomous tone.

Sam’s arm didn’t budge, she felt his face nuzzle into her hair, his hot breath fanning her ear “Do you know what you do to me Diane.” He growled. Diane felt chills run up long her spine at his voice. She dug her teeth in her cheek to stop from smiling.

“Yeah well too bad dude- try another night when I don’t want to rip your face offwoOA-“ Diane let out a quick yelp as Sam swiftly yanked her onto her back, ripping the blankets away from her face.

Diane looked up at Sam in the darkened room with wide eyes. Sam’s hair fell into his face as he glared down at the woman beneath him. Sam looked primal, animalistic, his eyes held no gentleness, only dark hunger and his lips quivered with every sharp intake of breath that flared through his nostrils.

“Sam,” Diane’s voice quivered “What-What are you doing?” She asked weakly all power leaving her voice.

When Sam said nothing Diane felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart thudding against her eardrums in the dead quiet. Her anger quickly went to the back burner as she watched this mammoth of a man completely towering over her. The red in her cheeks rose as the intensity of his eyes grew. Despite the fight or flight that was kicking into overdrive in her brain, she couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of arousal pooling inside her core. Silence, save for both their panting, remained amongst them a moment more.

“Sam?” Diane whispered finally, reaching her hand out to his face “Sam it’s me.” She coed softly, despite the obvious tremor in her voice. Gingerly she pressed her hand against the side of his face, feeling his hot skin against her fingertips. Sam’s lips twitched at the contact, parting open exposing his white teeth.

It was as if all form of logical thought and reasoning suddenly didn’t matter. The room disappeared and it was just Sam. He wasn’t looking at her with malice or aggression, it was pure lust. Her body reacted before her mind as she tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling him down. Sam immediately followed, crashing his mouth against hers with a frenzied passion. The kiss was all lips and teeth, open mouthed as Sam immediately yanked away the rest of the blankets off the bed. He slid his rough hands up along her arms and fastened them around her wrists, pulling them up and pinning them above her head. Diane’s lips parted against his mouth and a soft moan escaped her lips, allowing Sam to catch her lower lip between his teeth. He released his grip on her wrists and her hands immediately tangled within his hair, smashing her lips back against his with a passionate vigor. Sam let his hands wander down her body, greedily caressing every curve of her form. His hands locked around her hips with a vice grip, pinning her body completely to the bed. After a minute or so Sam pulled away, sitting on the back of his legs. He grabbed the sides of his shirt and swiftly pulled it off and over the top of his mess of brown locks. Diane sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she ran her eyes along his tan, sculpted torso, his giant chest heaving as he breathed. Her hungry gaze caught Sam’s primal stare, he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her whole and it honestly turned her on more than she could fathom. Without hesitation she shot her hand out, running her fingers down along his skin. His body practically began vibrating against her touch and she wasn’t sure Sam could take much longer. Diane felt a smile pull on the corners of her lips, she couldn’t fight the urge to push him to his limit. It was like it was calling to her. Softly, she ran her fingertips along his abs, trailing to his sharp v line causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. Sam clenched his teeth tightly as her soft touch slid towards the hem of his jeans. She eyed his rock hard bulge completely trapped beneath the blue denim and licked her lips. She reached and began to undo his belt buckle, sliding it out of its loops and discarding it on the floor. While she worked on his zipper, Diane felt Sam tug at the bottom of her undershirt, but before she could move for him to pull it off her, his strong hands yanked at the fabric and it gave away with a satisfying rip.

Diane gasped, the cool air hitting her newly exposed skin. Unable to suppress himself any longer, Sam lunged at her like an animal pouncing on its prey. Diane let out a squeal as his commanding hand wrapped around her jaw, pulling her torso upwards. His other hand swiftly shot behind her back, yanking off her now ruined yellow undershirt and quickly unhinging her bra. Diane helped him pull the useless clothing off of her before crashing back down onto the sheets. Sam’s hand roughly pulled her face to the side, exposing her throat as his warm lips crashed against the skin of her neck, leaving wet and sloppy kisses against the sensitive flesh. When he reached the nape of her neck he let out a deep growl, sinking his teeth into the soft skin. Diane let out a trembling moan. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but she knew there would be a mark there the next morning. Good thing she couldn’t care less. As Sam’s lips trailed from her neck towards her chest his hand shifted to around her neck, his fingers and his thumbs tightening against her pulse points. Diane felt her eyes roll into the back of her head as he cut the oxygen supply to her brain, a shallow breath escaping her lips instead of a moan. His lips left a messy trail of marks along her trembling skin until they reached the dip of her cleavage. Sam paused, lips parted, his hot breath fanning her body. Slowly his hand released her throat, sliding down to catch her right breast within his hand, the other hand trailing up her stomach to wrap around the other. Sam could feel her heart racing through her skin causing his lips to curl into a toothy grin. He slowly curled his fingers around the right breast, giving it a squeeze while his lips hungrily wrapped around the the other. Diane felt the electric like waves of pleasure run up her spine as Sam ran his teeth against her nipple, his eyes watching every expression on her face. Sam worked his mouth on the left breast for a moment before switching to the other, going at a painfully slow pace. Diane writhed under Sam’s body, soft mewls and cry’s escaping her plush lips. Sam dug his teeth into the side of her breast. Diane let out a whimper, looking down as Sam pulled away with a grin. Diane smiled, grabbing each side of his face and pulling him into another kiss. She could feel his pulsating member inside his jeans against her hip. She wondered how he could handle being trapped for so long. At the thought, Diane swung her legs up to Sam’s hips, using her feet to shuffle down the loose denim. Sam pulled his body back, springing off the bed. His pants where completely discarded within a matter of seconds and he was back. Sam wasted no time unbuttoning Diane’s jeans, sliding them off as she lifted her legs over her head. When her pants where off Sam fell back on the mattress, his boxers barley containing his hard member. Diane immediately sprung forward, her fingers hooking on the sides of his underpants. Sam lifted his hips as she slid the clothing down his legs, exposing his long, thick member. Diane licked her lips, eyeing his shaft. Slowly she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, making hard long strokes all the way to the top. Sam’s head flew back, a soft growl escaping his lips. Diane smiled at his reaction, slowly bringing her soft lips against his throbbing tip. Slowly she opened her lips, circling her tongue against his head, pumping her hand as she went.

“Fuck Diane.” Sam growled, his hand grabbing the back of her hair into a tight hold.

Diane moaned deliciously against his cock, opening her mouth more as she began to take him in. Sam brushed away all the hair out of her face, adding it to his handful. Sam was big, but she accommodated his size as much as she could. She met her stopping point more than halfway down his shaft before pulling back up. She began a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down as she took him down her throat. Sam began to set the pace as he yanked her hair, causing her to moan on his cock. His breathing became labored, his hips beginning to buck into her mouth as her pace grew faster and faster. Switching her hair into his other hand, his right trailed down her spine towards her ass. He took one of her cheeks into his hand, roughly curling his fingers into the skin. Diane knew she would find purple fingerprints there in the morning. Suddenly his hand crashed into the fleshy skin with a satisfying smack. The surface of her skin stung, sending waves of pleasure up Diane’s body. She pulled back from his cock, a breathy moan escaping her lips. Sam sent another smack to her ass, harder than the last time. Diane jolted on impact, a whimper escaping her lips which only edged him on. Diane laid across his stomach, her hand still working his shaft as Sam sent another merciless slap against her reddening skin. His rough fingers tenderly brushed against the now warm and swollen flesh, sending cool waves along Diane’s spine.

Sam pulled Diane up by her hips, digging his fingers into the skin. She straddled his pelvis, his cock rubbing against her drenched panties. Looking at the forgotten garment, Sam reached forward, hooking his fingers into the lace sides. In the same fashion as before, he tore the fabrics off with ease, discarding the scrap off the bed. Sam sat up, resting his back against the headboard and Diane immediately connected her lips to his, capturing him in yet another hungry kiss, devouring each other’s lips. Her dripping wet folds pressed along Sam’s shaft.

“Fuck me Sam.” Diane moaned against Sam’s frenzied lips, shifting her hips to get more friction.

Needing no more instruction he reached down and adjusted his tip against her entrance. She was already dripping against his cock. Diane braced herself, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. Slowly, Sam began to slide into her tight core with ease, giving her a couple seconds to adjust to his length. Diane whimpered against his skin, digging her nails into his back. Sam’s arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her as close as possible to him as he pushed himself the rest of the way into her, filling her to the brim.

“Fuck Sam.” Diane whimpered, her body squirming in his arms.

“Yeah you feel that baby?” Sam growled into her ear softly, beginning to set a slow and steady pace. As soon as she was fully adjusted, Sam began to go quicker and quicker, until he began slamming his hips into her pelvis with the same wildness that he had moments before. Diane jolted with each thrust, new waves of pain and ecstasy filling her body, bringing her closer and closer to pure euphoria. Time seemed to still, only Sam and their bodies working aggressively towards completion. She left sloppy kisses against Sam’s neck, polluting his perfect skin with little marks of her own. Sam shifted his hips from under her and began hitting a new spot, sending spasms up along her body. Diane and Sam had had sex plenty of times before, rough, soft, passionate, drunk, but never quite like this. How wound up he made her with every move, she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. This passion was unbreakable.

Diane felt her climax beginning to draw nearer, the spring in her stomach being wound so tight she thought she would burst.

“Sam I’m,” Diane panted against his neck “I’m about to cum.”

“Damnit me too” Sam growled in response, his voice alone almost sending her over.

Sam picked up the pace, his hips slapping against hers with an audible noise. Diane tightened her eyes, colors forming behind her lids as she drew nearer. A few more thrusts and she was sent over, a long loud moan escaped her lips as her body unraveled. Waves of pure euphoria flooded her body, like warm, molten gold flowing through her veins. Diane flung her head back with one last delicious moan. Sam secured her wiggling and writhing body within his arms, holding her to him as he caught up, her release triggering his own. Waves of warm seed flooded deep inside her, spilling out of her and down her thighs.

Diane rode out the rest of her orgasm, her triumphant high slowly crashing back down to earth. With labored breath, Diane collapsed into Sam’s strong arms, feeling his racing heart against her chest. Sam was panting heavily, his hands carefully pulling her hair up and out of her face to help her cool off as she did the same. Diane pressed her head against his shoulder, looking around the room in a blurred haze while Sam brushed the beads of sweat that began to run down his forehead.

When the two finally caught their breath, Diane pulled back, looking her boyfriend in the eye. Sam immediately read her expression, a smile lifting on his face.

“Round two?” He asked breathlessly

“Is that even a question?” Diane asked, crashing her lips to his before he could respond.

-

It had been a rough morning for Dean Winchester. Firstly, he had slept in the impala all night, which was beyond uncomfortable since he didn’t have anything to use for a pillow. Second, he was hungover as all actual hell. Third, he was still pissed at Sammy and Diane for their little team up last night.

Grumbling to himself, he walked up the stairs towards the motel room, fumbling through his pockets for the keycard. Pulling it out he slid it into the door till the light turned green then he opened the door. The entrance was dark as Dean took a few steps in. He would immediately regret that decision.

“Wow!” Dean exclaimed, slapping a hand over his eyes and looking away.

Diane peeked out from under Sam’s nude body at Dean, her face glowing beet red.

“Oh....hey Dean.” She said nervously, glancing up to Sam with a horrified expression.

“Yeah uhh...hey.” Dean replied, shaking his head as he kept his back turned.

Sam’s gawked at the scene a second, a nervous smile cracking on his lips “Hey uhh, would you mind giving us a minute-“

“Nope, no problem.” Dean interrupted, already walking out the door.

“Yeah, uh tha-“ Sam was cut off by the door slamming.

After a few minutes Sam came out from the motel room, his hands still fumbling with his belt buckle, his shirt still inside.

“Ah-jeez dude, what kinda freaky shit where you two doing?” Dean questioned, adverting his eyes away from his brother. Deep claw marks and lovebites where scattered across his chest and back, some reaching shades of deep purple.

Sam gave his brother a confused look before glancing down at his chest “Oh,” He said with a chuckle “These. Yeah, I honestly don’t know- they just kinda happened.” Sam said with a shrug.

Dean rose an eyebrow at his brother, this all felt so off to him.

“So you’re a morning sex kinda guy huh?” Dean said after a moment of silence “Figures.”

Sam paused, raising one eyebrow at Dean “Oh no, we were at it all night.” He corrected.

“You what?” Dean asked, giving his younger brother a baffled look.

Sam seemed unbothered, simply giving a shrug “It wasn’t that hard, we got in an argument after you left and just,” he paused, thinking about the right words “couldn’t stop.”

“Okay! Okay save me the details,” Dean grunted, giving his brother a grimace “So you mean to tell me you and Diane hate fucked each other till six in the morning?”

“Pretty much,” Sam replied simply “But I wouldn’t call it hate fucking, it was more like-“

“Don’t need to know Sam.” Dean interrupted, holding his hand out to stop him.

Sam looked at his brothers hand and then his face, letting out a sigh “Okay well, once Diane and I are ready we can head out and check out those vic’s.”

“Sounds super.” Dean replied, not looking him.

The brothers fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Dean looked out into the parking lot while Sam studied his shoes.

“Wow.” Dean said finally, shaking his head as he spoke.

“What?” Sam replied with a laugh, giving Dean a look.

“I just- I don’t know,” Dean began, his expression uncomfortable “I guess I didn’t expect- you know- something like that from someone like you.” He said, his eyes flickering over to his brother.

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes “Really?” He asked, before turning back to the door and letting himself inside

“What? I’m just being honest!” Dean called behind him, the door slamming in response.

[bee-a-wolf]

Feral Creatures

Finally got around to writing a Ratbag/Talion oneshot! You can read it on Ao3, or under the cut.

Talion sat up against a rock, dozing shallowly. His campfire had burned down to embers. He would have preferred to sleep through the night, but dusk found him too close to an uruk stronghold, and a patrol stumbling across his unconscious body was too likely to chance. He’d only risked a campfire in the lee of a tall cliff, where the smoke would be hidden.

A nearby scuffling jolted Talion awake. His hand dropped to the hilt of his blade, and he searched for the source of the noise.

Yellow eyes watched him from just outside the fire’s light.

“Who goes there?” Talion demanded.

“Hey, Ranger,” someone rasped from the darkness. “Funny coincidence running into you, eh?”

Talion closed the distance and pressed his blade against the uruk’s throat before he recognized the voice. Ratbag swallowed hard, raising his hands in surrender.

“Just me! Just your old friend Ratbag.”

“Ratbag,” Talion scowled, hilting his blade. “This would be a strange coincidence indeed, if I believed that.”

“I’m offended, Ranger,” Ratbag said reproachfully. “I’d never lie to you. Never! But, we-ell, maybe I was hoping our paths would cross.”

Fully awake now, Talion began to notice things he’d overlooked. Ratbag always hunched when he stood, but now he bent nearly double, clutching his abdomen. Black blood glistened in the firelight.

“Let me see,” Talion said.

“On second thought? It’s nothing.” Ratbag’s complexion seemed more waxy than usual, though it was difficult to tell with orcs. “Take more’n a flesh wound to put Ratbag down for good.”

Talion grabbed the uruk’s wrists - shockingly thin wrists, Talion noticed, his fingers wrapping all the way around easily - and pulled his arms outward, revealing a deep slash running from Ratbag’s right shoulder down to his left hip. His chestplate hung lose from his shoulders, snapped in half. Black blood pulsed steadily from the gash.

“Flesh wound? You’ve been gutted like a fish!”

“Ah, this little scratch? I can barely feel it,” Ratbag insisted, but yelped and writhed in Talion’s grip when the ranger prodded testingly at the slash.

“How did this happen?”

“You know how politics are.” Ratbag spat angrily in the dirt. “Warchief Gubu thought I would make a better caragor toy than a captain.”

“Uruk politics sound quite different than those of men.”

“So, of course, I’m not going to stick around and wait for those backstabbers to smell blood in the water. Just have to lay low for awhile, ‘til I sort myself out.”

“And bleed to death, most likely. How were you planning to bandage this wound?”

“Well...”

“Let me guess. This is where I come in?”

With a strange splitting sensation, Celebrimbor stepped out of Talion’s body. The spectral blue elf crossed his arms and scowled at Talion.

“We’ve wasted enough time on this one.”

Talion looked critically at Ratbag. While the orc’s advice had led Talion to his first victory against an uruk captain, he’d achieved many more successes since, without any more help. And while Ratbag had been more helpful and less attempted-murder-y than most uruks Talion had met, he was still an uruk. A foul, conniving creature, a minion of the Black Hand.

And yet…

“You remind me of something,” Talion mused. “Or someone. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“While you try and figure that out, I’ll just go bleed out beside those rocks, shall I?”

Talion sighed. “Undress to the waist, orc.”

Ratbag’s eyes shot wide. “What?”

“Your armor is beyond useless. It’s in the way. I need to have a better look at your injuries.”

“Right. ‘course.” Ratbag shrugged off the remains of his armor, unclamped the collar of jutting bone from around his shoulders and dropped it on the ground.

First, Talion nursed the fire. When it burned bright enough to see by, he inspected Ratbag’s wound and discovered the slash wasn’t as deep as he’d first thought. The black blood was deceptive, when Talion’s experience lay in gauging the injuries of red blooded men.

“Nothing vital is damaged,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

“Bad news for old Gubu, then,” Ratbag said, grinning. The grin twisted into a grimace as Talion swabbed the wound with an alcohol soaked rag. “Argh!”

“Stop squirming,” Talion ordered.

He could see Ratbag trying hard to obey the command. The uruk stood with his narrow shoulders squared and chest stuck out. His face was drawn, tight with pain.

When Talion touched the stinging rag to the slash again, Ratbag only gave the slightest cringe. He scrunched his eyes shut while Talion finished cleaning the wound.

Talion realized that this was the longest, closest look he’d ever gotten at an orc. Most of the time, his view was masked by a flurry of blades and bows, and afterward, his opponents were carved deep by mortal wounds. Certainly Talion never lingered long enough to inspect them.

But while he wrapped a bandage around and around Ratbag’s torso, he was struck by how few physical differences there were between uruk hai and men. Even the orc’s nipples were strangely ordinary, albeit pierced by twin metal hoops, the sight of which made Talion glance away quickly. By firelight, green skin might have been merely olive. Ratbag’s jutting ribs and hitching chest seemed more pitiable than off-putting.

“There,” Talion said, almost softly. He cleared his throat and added, more harshly, “You’re done.”

“Thank you, Ranger.” Ratbag glanced away. “I owe you.”

“Many times over, yes.” A smile crept into the corner’s of Talions lips.

“Oy, don’t you worry about that. Ratbag pays back what he owes. Speaking of payback...I need to visit to a particular warchief and his pets.”

Ratbag started to turn away, but Talion caught him by the arm.

“Not tonight. Probably not for awhile.”

“Eh? You said I was fine!”

“Well, you’re not dying,” Talion said, bemused. “But you’re hardly in fighting form. Rest for the night, at least, and I’ll help you get your revenge in the morning.”

“Really?” Ratbag asked suspiciously. “You mean it?”

“Of course. You owe me so many debts, what difference does one more make?” Talion prodded the campfire. “If you’d like to repay me, perhaps you could start by keeping watch tonight.”

“Sure thing, Ranger. You go ahead and get your beauty sleep.”

Celebrimbor, who had been watching the scene with undisguised contempt, finally spoke up. “You can't be serious! You would trust this...feral creature- with your life?”

“Even if a patrol does ambush me while I sleep, I’m sure we can regain the upper-hand,” Talion said. Then looking at Ratbag, added- “And, I’ll know who to blame.”

“No ambushes,” Ratbag said. “You can count on Ratbag.”

“Do as you wish,” Celebrimbor snapped. “But I won’t hear any moaning when your ‘friend’ inevitably betrays you.”

But the next morning found Ratbag still standing vigil - or at least, sitting vigil - on the outskirts of camp. In the morning sunlight, Talion could see dark bags of exhaustion under the orc’s eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ratbag grunted. “Just bored out of my skull.”

“I meant your injuries. Are you in pain?”

“Oh! No, no, that’s all right.” Ratbag yawned widely, showing off an impressive array of jagged teeth.

“Sleep,” Talion ordered. “I’ll take a turn at watch.”

“You’ll watch? Watch for what?”

“Other uruks. You don’t seem very popular among your own kind.”

“That’s not- I’m not some kind of outcast, nothing like that,” Ratbag snapped. “Uruk hai aren’t so soft as men, with all sort of...mercy, and kindness.” Saying the words ‘mercy’ and ‘kindness’ in tones more commonly used for ‘foul stench’ or ‘oozing pustules’.

“Alright,” Talion conceded, laughing. “Then I’ll just mind my own business over there for awhile, shall I? And if any unfriendly looking uruks should approach, I may shout, for my own benefit, loud enough for anyone sleeping nearby to hear.”

“I mean, if that’s what you want.” Ratbag yawned and slumped back against the rocks. He’d passed out within a minute.

True to his word, Talion remained close by for the next few hours while Ratbag slept. He snuck occasional glances at his unlikely ally. Asleep, Ratbag looked even more fragile than usual. Talion wondered at the orc’s comparatively small stature. Did Uruk hai birth litters, and if so, could he be a runt?

Ratbag slept in a loose curl, without bedroll or blanket. Talion briefly considered laying his own cloak over the orc’s huddled figure, but shook off the thought. He could only imagine what Celebrimbor would say about that.

“You stayed,” Ratbag said to Talion after waking, vague wonderment in his voice.

“I told you I would.” Talion unsheathed his sword. “And now, to deal with your warlord.”

An hour later found Talion deep in the uruk stronghold, battling against wave after wave of enemy orcs- but not the warchief. Warchief Gubu was nowhere in sight.

“You said he would be here!” Talion shouted to be heard over the clash of swords.

“And you ought to know by now, I’m not privy to that kind of information!” Ratbag called back.

“There are too many to fight.”

“Right, okay! Hang on.”

Rolling aside to avoid a volley of arrows, Talion landed in a crouch just in time to see Ratbag slip away behind the a nearby parapet.

Talion couldn’t help the dagger of disappointment that slipped between his ribs, just as he stuck a very real dagger into an uruk’s chest and pinned him to the ground.

I did warn you, Celebrimbor’s voice wheedled in the back of Talion’s mind.

An uruk twice the size of Ratbag stepped up and swung an ax toward Talion’s head. He barely raised his sword in time to block. The force of the blow knocked his blade aside, and he awkwardly ducked another uruk’s flail.

“Is this really the time for I-told-you-so’s?” he muttered.

Suddenly, a caragor thundered around the corner and leaped upon the nearest uruk, savagely tearing with long, sharp fangs. A ripple of surprise and fear went through the other uruks as two more of the massive beasts followed the first, muscles rippling beneath pale fur.

From the direction where the caragors had appeared, a skinny orc came running along the wall.

While panic and rampaging caragors tore through the enemy ranks, Talion vaulted up onto a crate and scaled the wall. Crouching to avoid being spotted, he made his way quickly toward where he saw Ratbag heading.

They met up in the shadow of a tower.

“I found him,” Ratbag said hurriedly. “Gubu. That maggot breeding son of a tark... ah, no offence, of course.”

“Of course,” Talion said dryly.

“How’d you like my escape plan, by the way?”

“The caragors,” Talion realized. “It was you who released them.”

“You can thank me later. We’ve gotta catch up to Gubu the Grotesque before he can slip away again.”

Choosing not to remark that Ratbag seemed to be the one who escaped when he and the warchief last met up, Talion followed Ratbag out the other side of the tower. They moved in the shadows until Warchief Gubu and his bodyguards came into sight.

“There he is,” Ratbag hissed, unnecessarily. The warchief’s band was easy to spot- a massive orc with an imperious looking battle-axe, bookended by two slightly less massive uruks wearing the same style of armor.

The leading Uruk’s face looked like ground meat, riddled with squirming white worms.

“Maggot breeding son of a tark,” Talion muttered. “I see that the maggot part was based in truth.”

“Disgusting, innit?” Ratbag shuddered. “I mean, he’s got to hear that all the time. But when I innocently mention that his face makes me wanna puke my guts out-”

“You did what? No wonder he tried to feed you to his pets. For such a puny orc, you’re too mouthy by far.”

“That’s what people keep telling me,” Ratbag agreed. “Now, are we going to kill this bastard, or what?”

Talion leaped down on the first bodyguard by surprise, killing him instantly with a blade plunged into his spine. The other fled in terror, leaving the warchief alone.

“Gravewalker! I’d hoped I would get to face you before my flesh is consumed,” Gubu gloated.

Despite the size of the warchief’s great-axe, he handled the weapon with surprising deftness, spinning the handle to block all of Talion’s blows. Focused intently on getting past Gubu’s defenses, Talion didn’t hear the other uruk come up from behind.

“Ranger, look out!” Ratbag shouted.

Talion whirled around to see an uruk bearing down with a hammer raised high, and slashed his attacker across the middle. The uruk fell backward off the platform with a surprised gurgle.

“Ratbag,” Warchief Gubu chortled. “I should have known.”

“That I would be back to cut your disgusting throat?” Ratbag snarled.

“Hah!” the warchief said. “I meant, I knew you’d bring someone stronger to fight your battles for you. You pathetic, cowardly piece of- arrrghkk!”

Warchief Gubu’s severed head rolled across the platform and came to a stop beneath Ratbag’s boot.

“Excellent teamwork,” Ratbag said.

Talion shook the blood off his sword before sheathing it. “How so?”

“I keep him talking, you cut off his head. Oldest trick in the book.”

“Hmm.” Talon watched as Ratbag went to work eagerly sawing off the warchief's ear with a dull-looking dagger. “You did warn me about the one sneaking up from behind. For that, I owe you.”

Ratbag waved a dismissive hand. “Like you said, Ranger. What’s one more?”

A few nights later, while crouched beside his campfire, Talion heard familiar footsteps behind him. He didn’t bother to turn around as the uruk approached.

Something dropped into the snow beside him. Talion looked down and found himself eye to eye with an enormous dead rat. He looked up at Ratbag, one eyebrow raised.

“Dinner,” Ratbag said, by way of explanation. He slid down to sit near the fire, arms wrapped around his bent knees.

Talion picked up his dagger and began to skin the rat, working the blade’s tip in between membrane and meat.

“What are you doing?” Celebrimbor asked, suddenly materialized across the fire from Talion.

“Cooking.”

“You know that you no longer need to eat to sustain yourself. Or sleep, for that matter. These are unnecessary distractions.” Though Celebrimbor seemed to be talking about physiological distractions, his eyes flicked to Ratbag, who was now watching Talion curiously.

“Unnecessary, perhaps,” Talion admitted, jamming his knife all the way through the skinned rat from neck to tail. He held the skewer over the flames and turned it slowly. “But our reflexes dull after too many days without rest. You know this to be true.”

“But eating!” the wraith insisted. “What possible reason could you have for choking down this vile carcass?”

Talion wasn’t sure, exactly. But he said; “It would be rude not to.”

“Rude to who? The orc?” Celebrimbor barked a condescending laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Who are you talking to?” Ratbag asked.

“It would be difficult to explain.”

“Oh, I get it. You know, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I had an imaginary friend, too, back I was a whelp.” Ratbag scratched his head. “Maybe even a wee bit longer.”

“An imaginary…no. Celebrimbor is not imaginary, and I would scarcely consider him a friend.”

“Why, Talion,” Celebrimbor said. “You wound me.”

“Whatever you say, Ranger,” Ratbag said, and tore into the lump of charred rat that Talion had just handed him. Through a mouthful of meat, he added- “But I’m not gonna judge. Your secrets are safe with Ratbag.”

Celebrimbor grimaced at Ratbag’s smacking, chewing sounds, and his chin shiny with grease. Before ghosting out of the physical plane, he remarked;

“Talion, you mustn’t feed the strays, or they’ll never leave you alone.”

Talion only picked at his food, while Ratbag practically inhaled the rest of the meal. Afterward, Ratbag sat back with a satisfied groan and proceeded to suck the grease off each finger individually. With his thumb still in his mouth, he noticed Talion staring.

“What?” Ratbag demanded.

Talion blinked. “Ah?”

“What’re you looking at?”

“I was just...wondering about your injuries. How are they healing?”

“Not bad. Itches a bit under the armor on hot days, but it don’t hurt at all.”

“I’d better take a look. Make certain that you’re healing properly.”

“Oh, is that the reason?” Ratbag said. Despite the skepticism in his voice, he was already unbuckling his armor.

“What are you implying?” Talion said, a warning edge in his tone.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just rambling. You know Ratbag, always mouthing off about something.”

The orc scooted closer to Talion, within arm’s reach. He lounged back with his weight supported on his hands, so Talion could get a clear look at the long stretch of his torso.

True to Ratbag’s word, the wound was healing quickly. A ragged band of new skin ran down the length of his body. Talion lightly touched the injury and felt swelling, puffy edges along the scar, but nothing to be concerned with. Just the natural effects of healing.

As his fingers ghosted across the skin, Ratbag shivered.

“Did I hurt you?” Talion asked.

“No,” Ratbag replied, his voice a quiet rasp. He cleared his throat. “Ah, so? How’s it look?”

“You’re not dying.”

“Well, there’s a relief. Hard to enjoy a promotion to warchief when you’re dead.”

Talion returned his gaze to the fire, with Ratbag sitting companionably beside him. The orc picked his teeth with a rat bone, making no move to return to his old position or to redress.

A few minutes later, Talion broke the silence.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Ratbag raised an eyebrow. “How personal?”

“Your piercings. I noticed them when I was tending to your injuries. What is their purpose? And why there, of all places?”

Ratbag looked down at his chest. “What, these?” He flicked one of the metal loops.

Talion nodded. “Are they ceremonial?”

“No, no. They’re for...you know. It feels good.”

“Really?” Talion looked bemused. “I can’t imagine it feeling good to be skewered in such a sensitive place.”

Ratbag wheezed a laugh. “Don’t like getting skewered in your sensitive places, eh? Each to his own. Sorry, what were we…? Right. Of course, these didn’t feel so great at first. But after they healed up, sure. Especially when someone tugs on them a bit.”

Talion pointedly avoided Ratbag’s gaze, his face feeling warmer than the fire could account for. “I don’t know why I asked.”

“I got other piercings, if you’re still curious. Wanna see?” Ratbag tugged at the hem of his pants.

“No, thank you, no,” Talion said hurriedly.

“Suit yourself.”

A short time after that, Ratbag excused himself with a stretch and yawn. Talion half expected him to curl up near the fire and go to sleep. Instead, Ratbag squirmed into his armor and left, footsteps retreating into the night.

Talion was disturbed by his own feelings of disappointment. Had he wanted Ratbag to stay? Perhaps Celebrimbor was right to warn him away from the orc. The last thing he needed was this strange, unhealthy attachment.

Over the next weeks, Talion ran into Ratbag many more times; which is to say, Ratbag would appear, slinking along behind Talion to loot the corpses of uruks he’d slain, or strut up to his campfire to proudly gift the ranger with some dead thing or other.

On one night, Talion had just begun to set up camp when Ratbag showed up.

“Hey, Ranger! Don’t bother with that. Come on, follow me.”

In the back of Talion’s mind, Celebrimbor groaned. I suppose we’ll be obeying this orc’s commands?

“Where are you leading me?” Talion demanded.

Ratbag shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down!”

“This had better not be a trap, orc,” Talion said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Or it will go very poorly for you.”

“Still don’t trust me, huh? After all we’ve been through together?”

When Talion didn’t reply, Ratbag sighed.

“It’s just a small camp, one of my patrols. I don’t like these particular whingers. So I was thinking, you’d go in, do your thing-” Ratbag demonstrated with a finger drawn across the throat. “-and then you won't have to make camp tonight. It’ll be all done up for us.”

As they grew closer, Talion could hear gruff voices raised in drunken celebration.

“Your pet tells the truth,” Celebrimbor said, his wraith form suddenly walking alongside Talion. “I sense no more than four orcs.”

“He is not my pet,” Talion said.

Ratbag looked back at him with an eyebrow raised. “Wassat?”

Talion didn’t answer, and Ratbag didn’t press further. They were nearing the camp. The voices of the orcs grew louder.

Ratbag’s plan went off just as predicted. Crouching in the long grass, Talion silently dispatched the first orc who went off to relieve himself, followed by another who came to see what was taking so long.

Talion sighted the two remaining orcs with his bow and put an arrow through the neck of the larger orc. When his friend turned to see what he meant by ‘gurgle gurgle’, Talion shot the last orc through the eye. He slumped over dead.

Ratbag scurried into the campsite. He stepped hard on the neck of a dead uruk, snarled something in black speech and spit on the corpse’s face.

“Friend of yours?” Talion asked.

“He’s nobody,” Ratbag said darkly, his tone discouraging further questions.

After investigating the campsite further, Ratbag discovered a nearly full keg of grog and poured two mugs full to frothing over the sides. He thrust one at Talion, who hesitantly took the proffered drink.

Talion sniffed at it. “Smells like piss.”

“Tastes like piss, too. But it’ll get you off your ass faster than anything else.”

Ratbag downed his mug in a few long pulls. It took Talion significantly longer just to choke down the first swig of foul liquid.

“What are you doing?” Celebrimbor asked. “Or do you even know? Honestly, you humans are inscrutable.”

Talion scowled. “My family is dead. I am barred from joining them by the stuck-up wraith who shares my body, and I spend all day, every day, slogging through blighted lands and uruk hai corpses.” Talon tilted back his mug, draining it to the dregs before he had to take a breath. “I’d say I’m overdue for a drink.”

“Cheers to that,” Ratbag said.

Talion wasn’t even sure if alcohol could affect him, anymore. Over the next hour he learned that he could, in fact, still get drunk.

“Your, your, uh…” Talion slurred, struggling to stay aboard his train of thought. “Your piercings.”

“You’re on about that again?”

“No, not those. The other, the uh, face ones. And your ears. They look a bit…” Talion gesture wildly. “...nice.”

Ratbag glanced suspiciously at Talion from the corner of his eye. “Thanks?”

“You know, when I was a young man, I had considered a piercing myself.”

“Seriously?”

Talion chuckled. “Seriously. My best mate had a hoop, just here,” he said, pointing to the fleshy part of the lobe. “It looked quite handsome.”

“That’d look great on you,” Ratbag said, sloshing his fourth overfull mug of grog in Talion’s direction.

“You think?” Talon rubbed the spot between his fingers, trying to picture it.

“Hey! Let me pierce your ear. I’ll use your dagger- mine’s not so sharp, y’know, wear and tear- and I’ll just poke a liiiiiitle hole, and you can get a hoop, just like your old mate’s.”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah, c’mon! You know you want to.”

Talion hesitated. Really, what did he have to lose? He had no family to impress, no mates to tease him if it wound up looking silly. And it was hard to think critically through the haze of alcohol.

“Do it.”

Ratbag’s face split in a wide grin.

Talion drew his dagger and, after a beat of reluctance, held it out to Ratbag.

Celebrimbor raged like a storm around them.

“You are behaving like an UTTER FOOL!”

Ratbag received the dagger with ceremonial care. He sidled closer, almost straddling Talion’s lap.

“It would serve you right if this orc were to drive your own dagger through your neck!” Celebrimbor howled.

“This one?” Ratbag asked, fingering Talion’s earlobe.

“Yes.”

“NO!” Celebrimbor shouted.

Ratbag lined up the dagger, pressing the tip lightly against the skin.

“Imbecile!”

Talion closed his eyes.

A brief stab of pain blossomed in his ear, just where he’d instructed Ratbag to peirce. His eyelids fluttered open.

“Does it hurt?” Ratbag asked in a rusty croak. His cheeks were a darker, muddy hue, which Talion dimly recognised as a blush.

“No.” Talion reached up to his ear. He felt wetness and inspected his fingers. They glistened red in the firelight.

“Sorry. Might’a pressed too hard. You’ve got a little…just there.”

Ratbag leaned forward. Before Talion could register his intent, the orc was licking away the blood. His tongue dragged slowly over the newly pierced flesh, blowing hot breath into the shell of his ear.

Talion shoved him away. “What are you doing?”

“I thought…” Ratbag snarled and shook this head. “You have some real issues, Ranger.”

“Me?” Talion asked indignantly. “You just licked me!”

“Are you telling me that tarks don’t use their tongues for nothing besides running their mouths? ‘cos if that’s the case, when you screw, it must be extremely loud and unsatisfying!”

Before Talion’s grog-addled brain could process that statement, Ratbag tossed his dagger back to him and stormed away.

Talion sat alone and prodded at the slightly sore hole in his ear. He realized, with a measure of confusion and shame, that he was painfully aroused, and all he could think about was the phantom pressure of a certain orc on his lap, and of Ratbag’s mouth, wet and hot against his skin.

A few days later, on a cruelly cold night night that froze his breath into fog, Talion slept beneath his cloak. He awoke to sounds of movement in his campsite and reached automatically for his blade. When he spotted the two amber eyes staring out of the darkness, Talion groaned and withdrew his hand.

“Ratbag.”

“Ranger.” Ratbag hesitated, then came closer to crouch beside Talion. “Can I...?”

At first, Talion didn’t know what the orc wanted. Then he noticed how Ratbag was shivering, hugging himself against the cold.

Talion lifted the edge of his cloak. “Come on, then,” he urged impatiently.

Ratbag scuttled under the cloak, and Talion let it fall down to cover them both. Again, he was struck with that sensation of familiarity, almost deja-vu, but couldn’t place what he was reminded of.

Ratbag wriggled closer, and Talion didn’t stop him.

He scarcely dared to breathe.

Ratbag might have been cold out in the snow, but under Talion’s cloak, he was warm. A warm body nearly pressed up against his. When Ratbag rolled over to face away from Talion, he wriggled backward, fitting neatly against the curve of the ranger’s body.

Talion didn’t tell him to move.

He carefully averted his gaze from the nape of Ratbag’s neck, where his hair had fallen aside. Away from the delicate whorls of his skin, the steady rise and fall of shoulder blades jutting out above the hem of the cloak.

Maybe the orc would sleep too deeply to notice the firmness pressed up between them. Talion tried to convince himself that was what he wanted.

He couldn’t. In spite of attempts to will his gaze away, it lingered on the surprisingly delicate curve of Ratbag’s ear just inches from his face. He couldn’t help a flicker of hope that the orc would feel the arousal that his nearness caused in Talion, and that he would reciprocate.

Talion braced himself for Celebrimbor’s admonition. It never came. Could the wraith have remained asleep? That the elf’s consciousness might be preoccupied elsewhere seemed too good to be true.

Slowly, his fingers trembling for reasons besides the cold, Talion rested his knuckles lightly against the curve of Ratbag’s neck.

The orc sighed and shifted slightly. Still asleep?

It wouldn’t be the first time Talion had these feelings for another male. Before Loreth, he’d had other lovers, both men and women. But never an orc. He wasn’t sure if any man had ever lain with uruk hai. It was unequivocally wrong, and yet...

Talion stroked Ratbag’s shoulder, tracing a whorl with his thumb.

“Ranger?” Ratbag said in a sleep-slurred voice.

Talion tried to retract his hand, but Ratbag caught it. The orc lightly pressed a kiss against Talion’s knuckles.

The gesture sent a lighting strike of arousal through Talion, followed by a thunderous rumble of tenderness that made him feel weak. Hesitantly, Talion bowed his head to close the inches between them.

Ratbag’s pulse quickened beneath the ranger’s lips.

“Is this okay?” Talion murmured against his skin, not understanding why he did. He’d never asked an orc permission for anything before. But this was different.

This wasn’t just any orc. Ratbag was his orc.

Ratbag hummed his consent, and Talion wrapped an arm around his waist, hand sliding up to play with nipple rings that had so fixed his attention. He was rewarded by Ratbag’s sharp intake of breath and his body arching back against Talion’s.

Flat palm traveling downward, across prominent ribs and concave stomach, then further, slipping beneath the hem of Ratbag’s pants. Talion explored the orc’s other piercings by touch, lightly nudging each metal stud in turn. Ratbag whined, bucking into Talion’s hand.

Suddenly, Celebrimbor appeared a few feet away. He stood this his back turned to Talion.

“I suppose you’ll say you are overdue for this, as well?”

Talion said nothing.

“And I see little point in appealing to your sense of morality, shame, or common sense, as you obviously have none. So…” Celebrimbor sighed. “I’ll just take a walk, shall I?”

The wraith walked away, fading with every step until he’d vanished completely.

Talion wondered where the elf had gone. Their essential tether must have remained intact, or else Talion would have perished, so he couldn’t have gone far. But Talion was relieved to have this privacy, and grateful that Celebrimbor had gone without argument.

He returned his attention to the orc in his arms, who squirmed impatiently against him. Languorously stroking up and down Ratbag’s length, Talion pressed his own clothed erection against the orc’s rear.

“You can breed me,” Ratbag said, glancing over his shoulder. “If you want. I, for one, don’t mind being skewered in my sensitive places.”

“Foul-mouthed orc,” Talion said, grinning in spite of himself..

“Filthy tark.”

With elbows hooked beneath skinny knees, concealed beneath Talion’s cloak draped over his shoulders, they screwed until the outside world was eclipsed by pleasure, everything silent except for their mingled grunts and heavy breathing. Drops of sweat melted divots into the snow.

Ratbag’s arms slid around Talion’s shoulders, fingernails clawing at his back. Talion barely felt the sting.

Afterward, they lay in a tangle beneath the cloak, sweat chilling quickly in the winter air. Ratbag’s gaze lingered on Talion’s ear, the one he’d put a hole in just a few night before.

“You gotta put something it it,” he said, tugging the lobe gently. “Or it’ll close up.”

“I don’t have anything,” Talion said. He didn’t mention the other reason; that after he’d sobered up, the whole idea seemed ridiculous.

Ratbag fussed with his own ear for a moment. When he took his hand away, Talion realized he’d removed one of his earrings. Ratbag prodded the steel through the tiny hole in Talion’s ear and pinched the hoop to bend it shut.

“There,” he said. “Now you don’t look like a silly git with too many holes in him.”

“How do I look?”

Ratbag studied him critically. “Dead sexy. For a tark, anyway.”

“And you are the least repulsive orc I’ve ever met,” Talion said, and tugged Ratbag’s ear teasingly.

His touch lingered there, fingers tracing along cartilage, across the hole without it’s ring, until he came to a notch. An old injury healed to a ragged edge.

All of a sudden, he remembered.

“I know who you remind me of.” Talion said.

“Yeah?”

“I used to have this cat. Actually, he was a stray. The mangiest, most flea-bitten tom you’ve ever seen. Just a little scrap of a thing, nothing but scars and ribs, with a mean streak a mile long.”

“Ah, so it’s a flattering comparison,” Ratbag said dryly.

“You don’t understand. I loved that wretched creature. And I think he loved me, in his own way. He would always sneak into the house to leave presents for me. Dead birds and rats, you know. Sort of like you do. And he would crawl into my bed, much to my wife’s displeasure.”

Talion smiled distantly at the memory. “That little bastard scratched everyone, except for me.”

He shifted slightly, and winced. His shoulders and back burned where the fabric rubbed against them. Talion remembered Ratbag’s sharp nails digging into skin.

“I see that you have no such scruples,” Talion added.

Ratbag laughed unapologetically and wriggled closer, bumping his head under Talion’s chin. Talion folded him into his arms.

He felt himself growing drowsy in their warm hollow beneath his cloak, despite the cacophony of Ratbag’s snores. Dimly, he thought about how he’d been wrong before. Ratbag wasn’t his orc. Ratbag belonged to no-one, just like the stray tom in his old life. Maybe he would saunter off tomorrow and never return, or get himself killed by picking fights with the wrong enemies out in a dangerous world, where Talion couldn’t always be around to protect him.

Ratbag didn’t belong to him, nor did he belong to Ratbag. But tonight, he had chosen Talion to curl up beside, sharing the warmth of his small, wiry body.

And that was enough.

[fictorium]

I just came out to my parents O_O So idk if you're taking prompts but I'd love to hear about Cat coming out

Technically I’m not, but for such a special occasion (well done, you!) I’ll make a brief exception.

She’s nine years old the first time she tries to form the thought out loud, lacking both vocabulary and imagination to express what it is she means. It’s an innocent joke after all, some great aunt or other getting a cheap laugh by suggesting that Kitty will grow up to marry the boy whose birthday they’re celebrating, in this drafty Metropolis mansion.

The force behind her no I won’t is unexpected, but Mother tells her off for being contrary, once the other adults have drifted away in search of another dry martini. This isn’t a birthday party, it’s a wake held four decades too soon, and Cat wants to go home.

You don’t have to marry the first man who asks, her mother tells her, like it’s some private joke.

I don’t have to marry any of them at all, Cat retorts, not knowing why her mother laughs.

The bottle is spinning and spinning, spun much too hard on the parquet floor of Sophia’s game room. They’re all done with the SATs and this is the first available house with no parents, so it’s all warm beer and kitchen herbs passing for weed. Cat will stay just long enough for the morning editions to hit the newsstands, so she can pick up a copy of the Planet and a coffee for the brief walk home. She likes her paper still warm, with the ink ripe for smudging.

Sophia is the one spinning, and Cat knows who she wants it to land on. The unsubtle crush on a football player of all things, is too cliché to be believed. She has an eyeroll ready for when it lands on the hulking quarterback trying not to take up too much space.

Instead it lands on Cat, and she should be protesting for a do-over, for that doesn’t count but the boys are braying and Cat is too intrigued by Sophia crawling towards her to move.

I have to kiss you, Sophia mutters, and she does it in a way that says there’s no obligation in it at all. Despite their audience, Cat kisses back. Enough to put on a show, but stopping when the whoops and hollers start to taper off.

She runs, then. Though the papers won’t be delivered and the diner won’t have opened to serve too strong, too hot coffee. Cat doesn’t make it to the end of the block before Sophia catches her. Damn track team.

Was that okay? She asks, and Cat shrugs her shoulders. It’ll be years before she perfects the art of the snappy comeback. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.

Cat could tell her the truth realized in the last few minutes, that she’s wanted to for a long time. That her scorn over Sophia hanging around football players has been rooted in jealousy, but not over the boys. Cat could be kind, and meet Sophia halfway, share a secret that can only make them closer.

Don’t do it again is what she says instead. She continues her walk home, to a quiet house, and doesn’t turn around to see what damage she might have done.

She tries to do it all at Radcliffe. Every society, every class that her timetable can accommodate. Every social event once she settles on the media as her career path, knowing networks matter to networks more than any college transcript.

Cat takes her theory classes and finds a word for it, at last. The restless feeling that makes her keen on men and quietly interested in women. College, of course, is a hotbed of experimentation that she avails herself of freely. She’s young, desired, and the world beyond Metropolis is beckoning at last.

There are territorial scuffles, of course. The boys find it enticing, for the most part, that she dates girls too. The lesbians with a cause find her dalliances with men a betrayal, but Cat reminds each one of them that she never claimed to be signing up to their exclusive club, though she’ll visit when the mood strikes.

Bisexual, she gets tired of explaining, to the ignorant and those who should know better. It’s not exactly hard to grasp, after all.

The marriage before graduation doesn’t last through the fall, but Cat’s always believed in the first pancake theory of life. It neither slows her nor deters her, and three years later there’s Adam’s father, with his big promises and relaxed attitude to contraception that catches them out in the end.

It isn’t a choice, exactly not to come out to him. With CatCo and barely time for monogamy as it is, Cat decides discretion is the better part of valor. He finds out anyway, because people talk and Cat is vicious when she can drink again, once Adam is born. She uses her sexuality to hurt him, and he uses it against her in court.

After that she swears off romantic entanglements. Empires don’t build themselves.

Eve writes her off on their first meeting. It’s easy to buy into the public myths of Cat Grant. Maneater, mogul, irredeemable workaholic. The legends are many and varied, and hardly any of them true. It’s clear that’s all the lawyer sees when sitting down to depose Cat in some frivolous suit or other, and it irks her in a way that few people can do by this stage in her life.

She researches, of course. The LGBTQ causes, the awards and charitable acts, the lack of partner mentioned in the last six months. Cat is nothing if not a journalist at heart. Their paths cross before long, some fundraiser for the ACLU, and Cat sets her stall out early over champagne.

You assumed I’m straight, didn’t you? Is all it takes to get the telltale quirk of an eyebrow, and the shift of full attention turned on her. It would seem Cat hasn’t lost her touch.

Nine torrid months, leading to a City Hall wedding when a proposition outlawing the newly acquired marriage rights is put on the November ballot. The measure is unsuccessful, the people of California more tolerant than given credit for. The marriage is even less successful, but that’s becoming something of a constant in Cat’s life. She’s beginning to appreciate the predictability of it.

There’s never any public acknowledgement beyond gal pals and that’s Cat’s iron fist at the helm of the media. It’s a conversation she doesn’t want to have with the world, not when she hasn’t with her sons. As excuses go, it’s a handy one.

She dates appropriate men in appropriate settings and has some occasionally inappropriate flings along the way. It’s lonely, lacking in connection, but it doesn’t require an explanation or a media strategy.

It’s enough.

Carter inherits more from her than a curious mind and hair that curls whether asked to or not. He frets for days and it pains her that he can’t come out and say it, but patience is a skill Cat learned for her son, and she exercises it as best she can.

Can you like both boys and girls? He asks, when they’re under blankets in the den, watching some subversive cartoon that Cat’s already forgotten the name of.

Oh darling, she exhales. Of course you can. Let me tell you something about me, okay?

There’s no decision on the public coming out, which is unusual in a life that’s become perfectly organized, regimented first by Kara and then by the systems she left in place for Eve and the one who comes after.

Fame has made Cat bullish about her privacy, walking a balanced line of public displays to lead the press, and a fiercely guarded private life that no paparazzo or hack has been able to breach.

The first night she stays over at Kara’s apartment, none of the usual safeguards are in place. Cat is twenty again, slipping out of a barely-known building. Only this time it’s not a shoeless sprint across campus, but a short walk to her waiting Mercedes. It’s enough for an opportunist with a camera phone. The speculation reaches fever pitch when it turns out one of Kara’s neighbors is a notorious playboy who’s making his way through National City’s celebrities like a dose of whatever STD he’s no doubt spreading along the way.

As the second week of compulsive apologizing from Kara begins, Cat comes to the quiet realization that she wants more. She doesn’t want furtive and compromising. She doesn’t want the most sinful intimacy behind closed doors only, she wants the simple affection of a hand held at brunch or a waist circled on a red carpet. There is Kara, who loves as though she was born to do it, and Cat is tired of pretending she isn’t lucky enough to be the recipient of that love.

That’s why, she tells herself, she insists that Kara come to the Siegel Awards with her. There’s lots of fussing about appropriate distance and a tighter smile than usual when Kara assumes she’ll be relegated to assistant. Three paces behind, despite the fact that their dresses barely made it out of the limo intact thanks to wandering hands.

For years she hasn’t answered a shouted question at these events, but when the inevitable who are you here with? comes, from the Planet of all places, Cat holds her position with all the poise she can summon. She takes Kara’s hand, and pulls her close. It’s a miracle that Kara doesn’t stumble, but luck is on their side.

Not that it’s any of your business, Jerry, she scoffs, squeezing Kara’s hip. But I’m here with the woman I love. This is Kara.

The flashes go off like a thousand tiny bombs, and Cat beams through them. She checks in with Kara, whose smile outshines everything around them.

I meant to tell you that before, Cat leans in to whisper. I know you’ve been trying desperately not to blurt it out, so here we are.

I love you, too, Kara answers, blossoming under the pleasure of saying it at last. Cat kisses her, caught in the moment. 

She’s out, she’s free, and nothing important needs to be a secret anymore.