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“That’s one hell of a vice,” he sighed.

Gimli harrumphed. “Well, that’s the truth, all right, but you can’t very well write that down in the history books can you?”

Laurent sneaks a look at Lincoln, who sits quietly, hands folded in his lap, looking out the window, wide grin on his face. The kind of grin that makes his whole face light up in beautiful anticipation.

“You do know how to do the tongue thing,” Lincoln whispers against his mouth.

Then Aragorn’s eyes wandered down the smooth torso to the… oh. My. He had never seen anything quite like that before.

Laurent never lies to Lincoln. It’s not that he can’t, he just really enjoys telling the truth.

“But then we lay back on a soft grassy hill, and I rubbed little circles on your back until you fell asleep and we had a long peaceful nap.”

What he doesn’t know is that Albert wants seconds because of Lincoln.

He’s no longer some freak, a clone meant to replace parts on the useful one. He is the one.

Of course, the solution has been there all along, patiently waiting for him to grow weary of the task.

So, you know your Romantic poets. Big deal.

“Because tracksuits are not for going out,” Albert says with a air of dreadful finality.

Yes, he did have that effect on Elves, sometimes, he chuckled to himself.

And then they heard the sound that drives terror in the hearts of the doughtiest of warriors.

“Lad, you seem to be misinformed about the exact location and dimensions of Dwarvish private bits.”

“I would not call it a tryst, my lord. Balian has a will of his own. It would be an… opportunity.”

This Constantine is fitter than the old one, free of his pain, his bitterness, his cancer.

"How could I forget? Yes, stubbornness, legendary staying power, and superior recovery time. Shouldn't we be following Aragorn into the mountain?"

Connor sat up, swung his legs over the side of his bed, and looked down at his brother, bathed in the neon glow from the giant cross.

Lincoln Six Echo will never forget the achingly beautiful intensity of being laid out on the desk, papers and sketches fluttering in the air around him, as Albert Laurent’s mouth descends with deadly accuracy.

After all, he’d been travelling for quite some time with Hobbits, Men, a Wizard and a Dwarf, and though he found some of their ways strange, he found that, on the whole, their peculiarities were fairly tolerable.

Doctor Merrick had claimed he’d given life to Lincoln Six Echo, hence he could take it away.

Saladin signified his approval with a twist of his fingers in Nasir’s hair.

Constantine steps up to Midnite. Close.

He voiced these concerns to Gimli, who tut-tutted him and insisted there was plenty of space on the bed, and would he please drink up his ale.

… when Laurent is really lucky, his tongue is showing, just peeking out between lips drawn tight with concentration.

Lincoln bets that Albert is extraordinarily grateful that he killed the wrong man.

In short, the Queen of Gondor was pining for a wizard.

And from the sea came a hero, and he was the mighty Beowulf the Geat – slayer of foes, fighter of evil and possessor of much manly facial hair.

It and trails off, faintly glowing, merging with the line of dark hair that leads into his…

“Constantine, do you think anyone could do this without the help of a little magic?”

Lincoln has to know how they work. Inside.

“Yes. I like to be dominated in bed because I can’t allow myself to be dominated anywhere else.”

His finger slips, glides over Laurent’s silk-covered bicep.

If he stops, he’ll want to lick Albert’s head, and Albert wouldn’t like that because they’re on the sidewalk, out in the open.

After his experiences, Lincoln could easily have gone the other way and become as ruthless and unfeeling as… as Laurent used to imagine himself.

He simply shreds Laurent’s hard-earned discipline as if he’s sweeping away a spider’s web. But spider’s webs are stronger than they look. When you push them aside, the strands wind together and make themselves even stronger.

It might not have been glossy, but there was a lot of lubricant involved, so Lincoln suspects it would be quite shiny.

“I see,” Laurent says, not really seeing anything but the way Lincoln’s legs are bare, except for the ginger-coloured hair and a pair of black socks that droop a bit at the top of his black, high-top sneakers.

Albert just got here a few minutes ago, and Lincoln is pretty sure you’re not supposed to just jump into doing the tongue thing

Lincoln is trapped between big, strong Albert and the wall.

That accent drives Constantine crazy.

“In fact, you tend to do very nice things to me.”

Murphy slid his hands down to cover his nipples with his palms. He gave his chest a light squeeze, then rotated his hands for some satisfying friction. “Sensors set to maximum sensitivity, captain.”

Papa Midnite begins to unbutton and unzip his clothes.

Breathing is for pussies, Laurent decides.

We were two days journey from Jerusalem, without adequate shelter or supplies. It was the cold of the desert night that convinced him to come closer.

Then he forgets all about manicures and nails, because Lincoln’s lips are on his throat.

Lincoln loves sleeping in, even if it doesn’t involve a whole lot of sleeping. And when Albert decides to sprawl across a bed, he covers a lot of ground. A lot of warm, rippling, beautiful, incredibly sexy ground.

Black leather, stretched taut, so when the sun hits it, it gleams like a mirror.

Your eyes are the most impossible blue before you come.

… the praying thing creeps me out.

Trendy and cool are two entirely different things. Trendy has to do with marketing cycles and the short attention span of the buying public. Cool is forever.

But there was a recklessness to the way it happened.

What he doesn’t know is that Albert wants seconds because of Lincoln.

You suit our garb well, my friend. The rich colours, the heavy materials, they drape over your frame in a most comely fashion. Perhaps, some skin. Yes, my lord should see more skin.

It’s unfair of Laurent to even consider going any further. He has already gone beyond what is proper.

I’m saying I don’t care how the soap smells. I like the way you smell.

Nothing, not Orcs nor Sauron nor the fires of Mount Doom itself, could keep him away from Legolas. The only thing that would part them would be the sea, and even that, he was sure, he would find a way around.

And for the life of him, he can’t figure out which team she meant.

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