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kribbanTitle: Played to Perfection
Author: Kristina [k7@telia.com]
Pairing: Ian McKellen/Gandalf. Yes, it’s the dreaded FP/RP cross-over.
Rating: M for Mature.
Warnings: Real/Fictional Person Slash
Summary: Who is playing who, exactly?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gandalf or Lord of the Rings. Other people do. Ian McKellen owns himself and is in no way obligated to behave the way I write him. This is non-profit fiction not intended to infringe on any copyrights or offend any one.
Author’s Notes: I started this fic about a year ago, and behold! It’s already finished. That’s some sort of record, that is. Big thanks to my wonderful beta Nefertiti who came up with some gorgeous lines (and the title) for me in between slapping me silly with The Big Stick of Grammar. Couldn’t have done it without you, although I’m sad to say we disagree in the age old debate on Whether Gandalf Drinks Tea or Not. I hope you all enjoy!
He doesn’t remember it, but it was the thunder that woke him.
It had been threatening rain all day, and the storm had finally been unleashed. Lightning flash upon lightening flash lit up the sky, each to be answered by a roaring thunderbolt. Ian sighed and sat up. There was no use trying to fall asleep again until the bad weather had passed. Having no one to help him pass the time in more interesting ways, he decided that he might as well make himself a nice cup of tea.
He reached the kitchen and gasped. By the flashes of nearly continuous lightning, he could clearly see a man hunched before the stove, twisting the knobs with a frown on his face.
Ian shrank back in horror. Had the downside of fame finally caught up with him? Was this a fanatic stalker of some kind or merely a burglar? If he was stealthy he might escape unnoticed through the back door. He was so lost in these thoughts that he didn’t notice he was backing straight into the wall with a muffled thump.
The stranger looked up and said calmly, “Ah! You’re awake.”
“I’m calling the police!” Ian stammered. “I have a…a gun in my hand and a band of bodybuilder friends upstairs!”
To his surprise the stranger merely straightened up and looked at him with a little frown.
“You are insincere. You aren’t holding anything, and I am well aware that you are entirely alone in this house.”
Ian was flabbergasted. “There’s… there’s a police station just down the street, and I’m a terribly important person. If something were to happen to me...” He hoped his intruder hadn’t spent enough time scoping out the neighbourhood that he would know that Ian was lying.
The stranger chuckled. “Yes, I know you think yourself to be terribly important.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Ian couldn’t help to feel a bit indignant. “Well, I don’t mean that exactly… What is it you want anyway?”
As soon as the words had left his mouth he felt a wave of panic rise up inside him. He shouldn’t have said that. What if this stranger meant to hurt him? To beat him, or worse…
“To be treated with the courtesy I deserve, of course!”
For all his fear Ian couldn’t help but gasp. “Courtesy? You broke into my house!” Another flash lit up the room. The stranger was looking intently at him, and he felt a shiver creep up his spine. “To collect a very large sum of money I’m sure, and I’m going to give it to you so you can be on your way,” he added softly, trying to keep the panic out from his voice.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Your very high thoughts of me are most insulting. I shall, however, let it pass. For the time being.”
Ian’s mind wandered to the ventilation crack in the window. With a sinking heart he realized that the frequent crashes of thunder would probably drown out any ruckus that might break out.
Now that the initial shock had dissipated he switched on the light so he could take his first good luck at his intruder. He seemed to be in his mid to late thirties. A tall man with short dark hair and of medium built. Ian saw with astonishment that he was wearing a silk garment that seemed very similar one of Ngila’s Elvish costumes. His spirits sank. Definitely unhinged, this fellow.
“My Lord,” he began soothingly. “I am sure we can come to an agreement. If you would kindly…”
The stranger scoffed at him. “I’m no one’s Lord, and you won’t improve your hospitality by assuming your guests are mad.”
“Please take what you want, but don’t hurt me. I’m an old man and…” Ian’s voice died in his throat. He’d begged twice in his life, and it wasn’t something he thought he’d have to do again.
The intruder got a look of revulsion on his face, but it was quickly replaced by what almost seemed to be kindness. “I’m not going to harm you,” he said, surprisingly softly. “At least, not if you improve your manners!”
Ian swallowed. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated before taking the plunge. “What can I offer you?”
The stranger seemed to study him thoroughly before deciding Ian was indeed polite enough. “A cup of tea, to begin with.”
Ian was nervous about coming so close to the stranger but to his relief the other man stepped aside as he approached the counter. He filled the kettle and flicked the switch.
“Regarding manners,” Ian started carefully as he felt the stranger relax. “I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is….”
“Your name is one of the things I already have,” the intruder said curtly. “I suppose I should give you mine as well.”
Ian nodded. “That would be most welcome, sir.”
“Except I don’t have one to give.”
Ian blinked. “Pardon?”
The younger man cocked his head. “I don’t have a name, at least not in the sense you do.” He frowned in puzzlement at the kettle. “If you don’t put that on the stove, we’ll never have tea.”
The moment the kettle clicked off, Ian lifted it, and the stranger ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as he saw the boiling water emerge as his host poured it into the two cups with shaking hands.
Ian said, “When you say you don’t have a name, what—“
Shaking his head briefly in amazement, the stranger turned and gestured at the nearby table. They sat down. The intruder seemed to relax and smiled quite jovially at him. “I keep forgetting the way you mortals work! Obviously, you haven’t yet mastered the art of non-verbal communication.” He smiled. “You can call me Gandalf.”
“G- Gandalf?” Ian had expected to hear an elvish name, since it was obviously an elf the intruder had chosen to impersonate.
“Yes, that’s one of the old nicknames I was given during the third age. I suppose now it’s safe to say that it was always my favourite.”
Ian shook his head. For all his wisdom he couldn’t help protesting, “I’m sorry, but no one really IS Gandalf. Still, if anyone could make such a claim, it would be I.”
The intruder laughed. “Yes, that’s what you seem to think, isn’t it?”
By now, Ian had pushed aside his fear and was busy taking in the absurdity of the situation.
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you really should have picked another character to impersonate. Elrond, perhaps.”
He clucked his tongue rather condescendingly. “Everyone knows Gandalf doesn’t look like that,” he said, pointing to the stranger.
The intruder let out a soft hissing breath. “You obviously haven’t done your homework. I am a Maia,” he said, looking indignant. “I can assume whatever shape I want.”
Ian wasn’t convinced. All thoughts of the many horrible ways in which this lunatic could hurt him were momentarily forgotten. He sighed. “The Valar confined the Istari to bodies of men, old men, I should add. I also sincerely doubt that ‘homework’ is a word Gandalf would know. My dear friend,” he said as warmly as he could, “You should always research your role.”
The intruder shook his head. “Don’t call me dear or friend when I know perfectly well that you mean neither!” He gave Ian an annoyed look. “If you know me as well as you claim you do, then you’ll also know that that particular restriction was only temporary. Once I returned home I was again granted my full powers.”
Ian looked suspiciously at the stranger. “So you’re a post-Quest Gandalf, then.” He sighed. “The ring was destroyed?”
The younger man looked at him in bewilderment. “Of course it was! Do you think you would be alive today if it hadn’t been?” He muttered to himself. “Ridiculous name anyway… Europe.”
Ian’s mind was racing. Obviously his first suspicion had been correct. The intruder was a deranged fan of some sort and had probably broken in for a game of role-playing. He could only hope that the burglar alarm had gone off and the police were on their way.
Strangely, the windows seemed untouched. Perhaps the door had been forced? The thunder certainly would have prevented him from hearing any such clandestine activity. He wet his lips. “So you’re… Gandalf?”
The other man cocked his head. “I have already told you I am.”
“All right. Uhm. And what do you want with me?”
The stranger stared sullenly at him. “You still think I’m a liar.”
“No, no!” Ian shook his head. “I believe you, honestly!”
The other man sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this…”
Suddenly, a large flame erupted from above the stove. Ian leaped to his feet and spun around to face it. The flame seemed to linger in mid-air before swallowing the whole kitchen counter. Ian gasped.
The stranger waved his hand, and the flames disappeared, revealing the kitchen to be quite unharmed.
Ian turned back to stare at him. “How… How did you do that?”
The intruder rolled his eyes and waggled his right hand in Ian’s face. “I’ve got the Ring of Fire, you know. It didn’t lose all its power when the One Ring was destroyed. Granted, my fireworks are not what they once were, but…”
Ian shook his head. “That’s… a magic act. Trickery of some sort!” Instinctively, he took a step back.
The man who claimed to be Gandalf stood up and advanced one step toward him. “I don’t understand why you are not calming down. If I had wanted to harm you I would have already done so.” He sighed. “What would it take to convince you? Oh, very well.”
Ian would never be able to explain to anyone what happened next. There was a loud pop and suddenly the young man vanished. In his place stood an old man with cropped white hair and beard.
He tumbled backwards in surprise. “That’s…. that’s impossible!” he gasped as he gripped the counter.
Gandalf looked at him with a puzzled expression. “No, it’s quite possible. I told you I’m a Maia.”
“But…. But…It was just a fairy tale!”
Gandalf sighed. “People sometimes do that. They have difficulty accepting certain parts of history, and so they convince themselves it was a fantasy. Why do you believe there is no visible magic in this world of yours? Because people spend so much time convincing themselves that there isn’t! Why, they don’t even notice the elves that chose to stay behind! I’ll wager you don’t even realize that you’ve got a family of them living only three houses away from you.”
Ian’s heart was racing, and he felt as though he was on the verge of some very undignified behaviour. “No, wait just a minute! This is not true, it can’t be true. There are scientific laws. This isn’t logical!”
Gandalf gave him a glance. “How do you believe this … Europe of yours came into being?”
“A cosmic explosion, the Big Bang, billions of years of evolution...”
Gandalf shook his head. “Those are the fairy tales. Concocted by people too narrow-minded to face the truth. I suggest you read the Silmarillion again, with a grain of salt,” he added. “Because some details were lost in translation… And then there was the editing process, additions for dramatic value, second hand accounts and so forth… but the point is, it’s closer to the truth than anything else you may have read. Mostly,” he added with a guilty look.
Ian was silently pleading with his legs not to give out. He kept his hands on the counter, making sure there was a considerable distance between himself and Gan… this man.
“No, no, no, no! It’s simply not true. There’s no magic, there are no elves, Middle-earth was not Europe and whatever you say, you can not be Gandalf!”
That last part was looking more and more like a lie, but he wasn’t prepared to admit that. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest.
“I’m going to go now,” he said as sternly as he could. “I’m going to walk out my front door and go straight for the police, and when I come back I don’t want you to be here.” It was his best chance… He couldn’t fight his way out, not against someone who could conjure up fire, and it was obvious that playing along wasn’t getting him anywhere. He put up his hands and started sidling toward the stairs.
“You don’t want to do that,” Gandalf said calmly, and it made Ian explode again despite his fears.
“Do you listen to yourself? Gandalf doesn’t talk that way! He wouldn’t…” but then he trailed off, staring into the other man’s eyes. Did he really want to leave? To go out into the cold, rainy night? Of course not. He should stay inside, in the safety and warmth of his kitchen, and have a nice cup of tea with Gandalf. Yes, of course it was Gandalf, there was no doubt about it now, and Ian wanted to give him the biscuits in the top cupboard and the raisin cake left from last night. A warm feeling of security and peace swept over him. He blinked.
“What the f…”
Gandalf interrupted him by handing him his tea cup. “Do sit down and relax, my friend, and yes, unlike you, I always mean that word when I use it.”
Gratefully, Ian took the tea, thinking it must be cold by now. It was however, steaming hot. He glanced warily at Gandalf’s ring and sipped. He was, despite his better judgement screaming at him from the back of his mind, feeling a lot better.
“You put a spell on me.”
Gandalf rummaged in the cabinet and found both the biscuits and the remainder of the raisin cake. “Oh, not so much. Just a bit of calming down. Do you have any wine? No? Oh well, this’ll do.” He sat down in front of Ian and spread out the treats before him. “You were being most unreasonable.” He handed Ian a large piece of the cake. “Now, do you believe me? Good.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Gandalf smacked his lips. “This is delicious. I’m glad the culinary arts have not been completely lost.”
“Uhm, thank you.” Ian didn’t have the heart to tell him he had bought the cake for one-fifty at the corner bakery, and his mind drifted to the evening’s stunning revelations. Strangely, they didn’t seem that important any more.
Partially, he noted sourly, that may be because he had no one to share them with. He returned from his reverie to find Gandalf looking curiously at his box of dried-up petunias in the window. “Is that your medicine?”
Ian sighed. “No, it’s a potted plant. We use them for decoration.”
“It doesn’t look very decorative.”
“It would, if I had more time on my hands.”
Gandalf regarded him thoughtfully. “Yes, there is always something you want, isn’t it?”
Ian thought of saying something snappy but settled for drinking his tea in silence.
Gandalf smiled and finished the last of his tea with a slight grimace. “Now, a good smoke on this, and I’ll have to re-consider my first impression of you!”
“Oh,” Ian began, “I apologize, but I’ve given up smoking ... again.”
Gandalf looked at him in amazement. “Why would anyone want to do such a thing?”
The magic-induced calm was dissipating quickly, and Ian felt himself getting irritated.
“Because I don’t want to die. I’m sorry. You’ll just have to do without.”
Gandalf looked at him with compassion. He opened his mouth but closed it again as if he realised this wasn’t a topic you ought to discuss with your host. Instead, he smiled benignly.
“Intriguing possibility, but I think I’ll have a smoke anyway. Where is your pipe-weed?”
Ian looked at him sourly. ”I told you, I don’t have any.”
“No, you didn’t tell me that, and I’m glad you didn’t because that would have been another lie.”
“What?! That’s…. Oh, never mind.” Ian sighed and pointed to a cabinet behind Gandalf. “There’s a pack in the bread box.”
He watched (completely without amusement) as Gandalf examined the cigarettes with a look of astonishment on his face. As he carefully started tearing one apart to get to the tobacco, Ian decided to intervene. “No. You smoke them. Here.” He resolutely stuck the cigarette between Gandalf’s lips, the tips of his fingers touching the wizard’s soft skin as he did so. He shivered and scolded himself.
‘I need to get laid,’ he thought as he used the kitchen matches to light Gandalf’s cigarettes. “There, just smoke like you’re used to. A bit lighter than you’re used to,” he added as Gandalf choked on a large breath of smoke.
“Of course, you’re used to smoking pot…” he muttered under his breath but smiled when Gandalf addressed him again.
“You have fully changed my opinion of you, dear friend. I no longer think you are foul and bad-mannered.”
“Oh, thank you,” Ian muttered dryly but the sarcasm seemed lost on Gandalf who was now beaming sincerely.
“Your home is very spacious.”
Ian snorted. “Is that some sort of Amanian euphemism?”
At Gandalf’s puzzled expression, he answered the apology he hadn’t gotten. “Don’t worry. I’m not easily offended.”
“And I’m not easily offensive.”
Ian’s hand gripped his cup. “I don’t mind living alone. It’s just something that’s gone on a bit longer than I expected. That’s all.”
Gandalf looked at him strangely. “Things can change.”
Ian blinked and looked away. When he met Gandalf’s gaze again the wizard was smiling at him. “Now that our stomachs are full, I think we can have a bit of a chat.”
Ian’s curiosity was piqued. “Yes, there are quite a few things I would like to know! How you came here, why you came here, how did Professor Tolkien learn about Middle-earth and, most importantly, how in the world did you get into my house?!”
Gandalf pursed his lips. “Since you claim to know so much about me you should know that when in between bodies we Maia can travel instantly anywhere we like. I simply waited until I was in your kitchen before I formed that rather beautiful elven manifestation you saw earlier. Took a lot of concentration to get it just the way I wanted it. Look what good that did me.” He sighed. “I’m back in this old shell.” He indicated his body. “Two thousand years, and not a modification! I was already rather tired of it by the end of the Third Age.”
Ian smiled apologetically. “You can change back if you want to. I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” Although he tried to sound convincing, he realised he would mind a great deal to see the body before him vanish. He’d tried for so long to picture Gandalf that now that the real one was in his kitchen, he couldn’t help being fascinated.
Gandalf sighed. “No, I don’t think I feel up to it anymore. I guess I could always do some more experimenting when I get home, see if I…” He coughed. “Not that we are interested in such shallow, vain things back in Aman.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Why did you come?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
Gandalf smiled so mischievously that Ian got suspicious. “Why?”
“To bed you, of course.”
He had never pretended to be a quivering lily, but Gandalf’s assumption made him strangely furious. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You have a lot of nerve, taking something like that for granted. Who the bloody hell do you think you are?”
”I think I am the man that you have spent the last couple of years trying to become. And making a pretty penny from it as well. Furthermore,” he paused as Ian glared at him. “You have been making quite a lot of statements on my behalf. False, I might add. Like saying that I am not interested in sex.” He snorted. “Being devoted to a higher cause does not make one dead below the waist!”
“I’m sorry, I simply assumed… I read the book, you know… well, there are no records of you dallying about with some beautiful elves or whatnot!”
“Oh yes, because that would certainly have brought the story forward! Chapter ten and a half – Council is Delayed While Gandalf Frolics with the Servants. It’s a novel – not a minute-by-minute account.”
Ian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Right, well, I apologize if I have hurt your feelings by diminishing your great virility.”
Gandalf shook his head. “I didn’t come to hear your apologies, and I don’t accept them. I was curious as to who my ambassador to the mortal realm really was. I had watched you from afar, and now I wanted to meet you in person. No need to fret,” he raised his hand to cut Ian off. “I haven’t spied upon you. It’s more like putting your ear to a large grapevine. I think you call it television.”
Ian sighed. “I’m sorry, this is all making very little sense to me. I’m an old man, and I’ve never put much faith in the mystical.”
Gandalf seemed puzzled at the use of the word, but he smiled benignly and patted Ian’s hand. “You’ll feel better once I’ve laid you.”
Right, that did it. Ian snatched his hand back. “There’s that assumption again! What makes you think I can’t resist you?” His eyes widened. “Unless...”
Gandalf snorted in disbelief. “I don’t use magic to seduce people. I know full well you can resist me. I just don’t think you want to.”
Ian leaned over and took a cigarette. “Not a word,” he said menacingly, but Gandalf obliged him. “What makes you think I want to go to bed with you?”
“You desire me, for one thing. I am after all the very person under whose clothes you’ve tried to crawl for the last couple of years, and you wouldn’t let the chance slip to finally be able to do so.” Gandalf put his hand on Ian’s wrist where the sleeve ended. “Furthermore, you do not have a lover now.” He smiled coyly. “Besides, I am rather good at it.”
Ian exhaled loudly and considered all this. He had to admit to himself that the other man was right – this was an opportunity his actor’s ego couldn’t say no to. Besides, it was true that he found the whole prospect thrilling. Middle-earth had actually existed, and magic was real! He couldn’t help but wonder how it would be to sleep with such a powerful, mystical creature. Although Gandalf didn’t look very mystical at the moment, as he was chewing a leftover biscuit.
“All right!” Ian said, and he felt a surge of excitement shoot through him. “I’ll do it. But I’m telling you,” he added mirthfully, “between the sheets I’m a better wizard than you’ll ever be.”
“Never challenge an Istar.” Gandalf smiled, and then he pulled Ian close and kissed him. It felt very odd to be on the other side of that beard. But pleasant, very pleasant.
***
He woke up late in the afternoon and rolled over. His body was sore from head to toe, but it somehow felt marvellous rather than painful. He felt as though he had slept better than in years, and he revelled in the feeling for a while.
The details of a complex and very bizarre dream came suddenly rushing back to him. He had dreamed that a peculiar young man had visited him in his kitchen, and after having cake and tea they had walked into the bedroom for a bout of vigorous sex. Except, the man hadn’t really been young, and he’d been someone Ian knew, someone… Oh, how pathetic. Ian grimaced in embarrassment and slapped his hand over his eyes. He had dreamed about Gandalf.
In his dream Gandalf had started by sucking his cock on the foot of the bed and then fucked him under the covers. Ian could distinctly remember the feeling of the wizard’s cock in his ass and the way his hands had felt, caressing Ian’s body.
The dream had continued by Gandalf straddling his chest and doing some very intense excavation of Ian’s throat, (Ian was proud to say he had always been particularly good in that position) followed by a final round of intercourse, with Ian leading up the front. He vividly recalled the sight of Gandalf bent over and writhing in pleasure as Ian was fucking him with fervour.
He remembered lying next to Gandalf afterwards, as the wizard had answered all his questions about Middle-earth and in return questioned him about how the electric kettle knew when to turn itself off. It seemed pitiable now, but he couldn’t remember having felt that happy in a long time.
Ian groaned. He was a fanboy. A sixty-seven year old fanboy. He would never be able to look Peter Jackson in the eyes again.
The memories of the dream were getting him hard, and he quickly tended to his erection. He thought about showering but felt a pang of reluctance to do so, and went instead into the kitchen to make toast and coffee. For a brief moment he imagined finding two used cups on the counter, but all the china were clean and in the cabinets. The raisin cake was gone, but he figured he must have eaten it and forgotten about it.
The following day he was arrested by a bobby for crossing in the middle of the block in his own quiet side-street. He was taken to a police station down the street that he had never seen despite having lived in the neighbourhood for over twenty-five years. The commanding officer apologized for his young colleague’s overzealousness and asked Ian out for a romantic dinner.
By the time Chief Superintendent Travers had finished moving in, Ian had already forgotten all about the strange dream. Had he remembered it, he would have put it down to stress and perhaps a looming eccentricity as he was getting older, something which was far more pleasant to do along with someone else.
Being a copper’s mate wasn’t nearly as dramatic as it sounded when the copper in question was nearing retirement and liked to spend his evenings playing bridge.
The joy of being together far out-weighed the occasional absent-mindedness that at any rate only seemed to manifest itself in pleasant ways. For all that he ate, his refrigerator never seemed to run out of food, and his petunias were always blooming.
Author: Kristina [k7@telia.com]
Pairing: Ian McKellen/Gandalf. Yes, it’s the dreaded FP/RP cross-over.
Rating: M for Mature.
Warnings: Real/Fictional Person Slash
Summary: Who is playing who, exactly?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gandalf or Lord of the Rings. Other people do. Ian McKellen owns himself and is in no way obligated to behave the way I write him. This is non-profit fiction not intended to infringe on any copyrights or offend any one.
Author’s Notes: I started this fic about a year ago, and behold! It’s already finished. That’s some sort of record, that is. Big thanks to my wonderful beta Nefertiti who came up with some gorgeous lines (and the title) for me in between slapping me silly with The Big Stick of Grammar. Couldn’t have done it without you, although I’m sad to say we disagree in the age old debate on Whether Gandalf Drinks Tea or Not. I hope you all enjoy!
He doesn’t remember it, but it was the thunder that woke him.
It had been threatening rain all day, and the storm had finally been unleashed. Lightning flash upon lightening flash lit up the sky, each to be answered by a roaring thunderbolt. Ian sighed and sat up. There was no use trying to fall asleep again until the bad weather had passed. Having no one to help him pass the time in more interesting ways, he decided that he might as well make himself a nice cup of tea.
He reached the kitchen and gasped. By the flashes of nearly continuous lightning, he could clearly see a man hunched before the stove, twisting the knobs with a frown on his face.
Ian shrank back in horror. Had the downside of fame finally caught up with him? Was this a fanatic stalker of some kind or merely a burglar? If he was stealthy he might escape unnoticed through the back door. He was so lost in these thoughts that he didn’t notice he was backing straight into the wall with a muffled thump.
The stranger looked up and said calmly, “Ah! You’re awake.”
“I’m calling the police!” Ian stammered. “I have a…a gun in my hand and a band of bodybuilder friends upstairs!”
To his surprise the stranger merely straightened up and looked at him with a little frown.
“You are insincere. You aren’t holding anything, and I am well aware that you are entirely alone in this house.”
Ian was flabbergasted. “There’s… there’s a police station just down the street, and I’m a terribly important person. If something were to happen to me...” He hoped his intruder hadn’t spent enough time scoping out the neighbourhood that he would know that Ian was lying.
The stranger chuckled. “Yes, I know you think yourself to be terribly important.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Ian couldn’t help to feel a bit indignant. “Well, I don’t mean that exactly… What is it you want anyway?”
As soon as the words had left his mouth he felt a wave of panic rise up inside him. He shouldn’t have said that. What if this stranger meant to hurt him? To beat him, or worse…
“To be treated with the courtesy I deserve, of course!”
For all his fear Ian couldn’t help but gasp. “Courtesy? You broke into my house!” Another flash lit up the room. The stranger was looking intently at him, and he felt a shiver creep up his spine. “To collect a very large sum of money I’m sure, and I’m going to give it to you so you can be on your way,” he added softly, trying to keep the panic out from his voice.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Your very high thoughts of me are most insulting. I shall, however, let it pass. For the time being.”
Ian’s mind wandered to the ventilation crack in the window. With a sinking heart he realized that the frequent crashes of thunder would probably drown out any ruckus that might break out.
Now that the initial shock had dissipated he switched on the light so he could take his first good luck at his intruder. He seemed to be in his mid to late thirties. A tall man with short dark hair and of medium built. Ian saw with astonishment that he was wearing a silk garment that seemed very similar one of Ngila’s Elvish costumes. His spirits sank. Definitely unhinged, this fellow.
“My Lord,” he began soothingly. “I am sure we can come to an agreement. If you would kindly…”
The stranger scoffed at him. “I’m no one’s Lord, and you won’t improve your hospitality by assuming your guests are mad.”
“Please take what you want, but don’t hurt me. I’m an old man and…” Ian’s voice died in his throat. He’d begged twice in his life, and it wasn’t something he thought he’d have to do again.
The intruder got a look of revulsion on his face, but it was quickly replaced by what almost seemed to be kindness. “I’m not going to harm you,” he said, surprisingly softly. “At least, not if you improve your manners!”
Ian swallowed. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated before taking the plunge. “What can I offer you?”
The stranger seemed to study him thoroughly before deciding Ian was indeed polite enough. “A cup of tea, to begin with.”
Ian was nervous about coming so close to the stranger but to his relief the other man stepped aside as he approached the counter. He filled the kettle and flicked the switch.
“Regarding manners,” Ian started carefully as he felt the stranger relax. “I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is….”
“Your name is one of the things I already have,” the intruder said curtly. “I suppose I should give you mine as well.”
Ian nodded. “That would be most welcome, sir.”
“Except I don’t have one to give.”
Ian blinked. “Pardon?”
The younger man cocked his head. “I don’t have a name, at least not in the sense you do.” He frowned in puzzlement at the kettle. “If you don’t put that on the stove, we’ll never have tea.”
The moment the kettle clicked off, Ian lifted it, and the stranger ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as he saw the boiling water emerge as his host poured it into the two cups with shaking hands.
Ian said, “When you say you don’t have a name, what—“
Shaking his head briefly in amazement, the stranger turned and gestured at the nearby table. They sat down. The intruder seemed to relax and smiled quite jovially at him. “I keep forgetting the way you mortals work! Obviously, you haven’t yet mastered the art of non-verbal communication.” He smiled. “You can call me Gandalf.”
“G- Gandalf?” Ian had expected to hear an elvish name, since it was obviously an elf the intruder had chosen to impersonate.
“Yes, that’s one of the old nicknames I was given during the third age. I suppose now it’s safe to say that it was always my favourite.”
Ian shook his head. For all his wisdom he couldn’t help protesting, “I’m sorry, but no one really IS Gandalf. Still, if anyone could make such a claim, it would be I.”
The intruder laughed. “Yes, that’s what you seem to think, isn’t it?”
By now, Ian had pushed aside his fear and was busy taking in the absurdity of the situation.
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you really should have picked another character to impersonate. Elrond, perhaps.”
He clucked his tongue rather condescendingly. “Everyone knows Gandalf doesn’t look like that,” he said, pointing to the stranger.
The intruder let out a soft hissing breath. “You obviously haven’t done your homework. I am a Maia,” he said, looking indignant. “I can assume whatever shape I want.”
Ian wasn’t convinced. All thoughts of the many horrible ways in which this lunatic could hurt him were momentarily forgotten. He sighed. “The Valar confined the Istari to bodies of men, old men, I should add. I also sincerely doubt that ‘homework’ is a word Gandalf would know. My dear friend,” he said as warmly as he could, “You should always research your role.”
The intruder shook his head. “Don’t call me dear or friend when I know perfectly well that you mean neither!” He gave Ian an annoyed look. “If you know me as well as you claim you do, then you’ll also know that that particular restriction was only temporary. Once I returned home I was again granted my full powers.”
Ian looked suspiciously at the stranger. “So you’re a post-Quest Gandalf, then.” He sighed. “The ring was destroyed?”
The younger man looked at him in bewilderment. “Of course it was! Do you think you would be alive today if it hadn’t been?” He muttered to himself. “Ridiculous name anyway… Europe.”
Ian’s mind was racing. Obviously his first suspicion had been correct. The intruder was a deranged fan of some sort and had probably broken in for a game of role-playing. He could only hope that the burglar alarm had gone off and the police were on their way.
Strangely, the windows seemed untouched. Perhaps the door had been forced? The thunder certainly would have prevented him from hearing any such clandestine activity. He wet his lips. “So you’re… Gandalf?”
The other man cocked his head. “I have already told you I am.”
“All right. Uhm. And what do you want with me?”
The stranger stared sullenly at him. “You still think I’m a liar.”
“No, no!” Ian shook his head. “I believe you, honestly!”
The other man sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this…”
Suddenly, a large flame erupted from above the stove. Ian leaped to his feet and spun around to face it. The flame seemed to linger in mid-air before swallowing the whole kitchen counter. Ian gasped.
The stranger waved his hand, and the flames disappeared, revealing the kitchen to be quite unharmed.
Ian turned back to stare at him. “How… How did you do that?”
The intruder rolled his eyes and waggled his right hand in Ian’s face. “I’ve got the Ring of Fire, you know. It didn’t lose all its power when the One Ring was destroyed. Granted, my fireworks are not what they once were, but…”
Ian shook his head. “That’s… a magic act. Trickery of some sort!” Instinctively, he took a step back.
The man who claimed to be Gandalf stood up and advanced one step toward him. “I don’t understand why you are not calming down. If I had wanted to harm you I would have already done so.” He sighed. “What would it take to convince you? Oh, very well.”
Ian would never be able to explain to anyone what happened next. There was a loud pop and suddenly the young man vanished. In his place stood an old man with cropped white hair and beard.
He tumbled backwards in surprise. “That’s…. that’s impossible!” he gasped as he gripped the counter.
Gandalf looked at him with a puzzled expression. “No, it’s quite possible. I told you I’m a Maia.”
“But…. But…It was just a fairy tale!”
Gandalf sighed. “People sometimes do that. They have difficulty accepting certain parts of history, and so they convince themselves it was a fantasy. Why do you believe there is no visible magic in this world of yours? Because people spend so much time convincing themselves that there isn’t! Why, they don’t even notice the elves that chose to stay behind! I’ll wager you don’t even realize that you’ve got a family of them living only three houses away from you.”
Ian’s heart was racing, and he felt as though he was on the verge of some very undignified behaviour. “No, wait just a minute! This is not true, it can’t be true. There are scientific laws. This isn’t logical!”
Gandalf gave him a glance. “How do you believe this … Europe of yours came into being?”
“A cosmic explosion, the Big Bang, billions of years of evolution...”
Gandalf shook his head. “Those are the fairy tales. Concocted by people too narrow-minded to face the truth. I suggest you read the Silmarillion again, with a grain of salt,” he added. “Because some details were lost in translation… And then there was the editing process, additions for dramatic value, second hand accounts and so forth… but the point is, it’s closer to the truth than anything else you may have read. Mostly,” he added with a guilty look.
Ian was silently pleading with his legs not to give out. He kept his hands on the counter, making sure there was a considerable distance between himself and Gan… this man.
“No, no, no, no! It’s simply not true. There’s no magic, there are no elves, Middle-earth was not Europe and whatever you say, you can not be Gandalf!”
That last part was looking more and more like a lie, but he wasn’t prepared to admit that. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest.
“I’m going to go now,” he said as sternly as he could. “I’m going to walk out my front door and go straight for the police, and when I come back I don’t want you to be here.” It was his best chance… He couldn’t fight his way out, not against someone who could conjure up fire, and it was obvious that playing along wasn’t getting him anywhere. He put up his hands and started sidling toward the stairs.
“You don’t want to do that,” Gandalf said calmly, and it made Ian explode again despite his fears.
“Do you listen to yourself? Gandalf doesn’t talk that way! He wouldn’t…” but then he trailed off, staring into the other man’s eyes. Did he really want to leave? To go out into the cold, rainy night? Of course not. He should stay inside, in the safety and warmth of his kitchen, and have a nice cup of tea with Gandalf. Yes, of course it was Gandalf, there was no doubt about it now, and Ian wanted to give him the biscuits in the top cupboard and the raisin cake left from last night. A warm feeling of security and peace swept over him. He blinked.
“What the f…”
Gandalf interrupted him by handing him his tea cup. “Do sit down and relax, my friend, and yes, unlike you, I always mean that word when I use it.”
Gratefully, Ian took the tea, thinking it must be cold by now. It was however, steaming hot. He glanced warily at Gandalf’s ring and sipped. He was, despite his better judgement screaming at him from the back of his mind, feeling a lot better.
“You put a spell on me.”
Gandalf rummaged in the cabinet and found both the biscuits and the remainder of the raisin cake. “Oh, not so much. Just a bit of calming down. Do you have any wine? No? Oh well, this’ll do.” He sat down in front of Ian and spread out the treats before him. “You were being most unreasonable.” He handed Ian a large piece of the cake. “Now, do you believe me? Good.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Gandalf smacked his lips. “This is delicious. I’m glad the culinary arts have not been completely lost.”
“Uhm, thank you.” Ian didn’t have the heart to tell him he had bought the cake for one-fifty at the corner bakery, and his mind drifted to the evening’s stunning revelations. Strangely, they didn’t seem that important any more.
Partially, he noted sourly, that may be because he had no one to share them with. He returned from his reverie to find Gandalf looking curiously at his box of dried-up petunias in the window. “Is that your medicine?”
Ian sighed. “No, it’s a potted plant. We use them for decoration.”
“It doesn’t look very decorative.”
“It would, if I had more time on my hands.”
Gandalf regarded him thoughtfully. “Yes, there is always something you want, isn’t it?”
Ian thought of saying something snappy but settled for drinking his tea in silence.
Gandalf smiled and finished the last of his tea with a slight grimace. “Now, a good smoke on this, and I’ll have to re-consider my first impression of you!”
“Oh,” Ian began, “I apologize, but I’ve given up smoking ... again.”
Gandalf looked at him in amazement. “Why would anyone want to do such a thing?”
The magic-induced calm was dissipating quickly, and Ian felt himself getting irritated.
“Because I don’t want to die. I’m sorry. You’ll just have to do without.”
Gandalf looked at him with compassion. He opened his mouth but closed it again as if he realised this wasn’t a topic you ought to discuss with your host. Instead, he smiled benignly.
“Intriguing possibility, but I think I’ll have a smoke anyway. Where is your pipe-weed?”
Ian looked at him sourly. ”I told you, I don’t have any.”
“No, you didn’t tell me that, and I’m glad you didn’t because that would have been another lie.”
“What?! That’s…. Oh, never mind.” Ian sighed and pointed to a cabinet behind Gandalf. “There’s a pack in the bread box.”
He watched (completely without amusement) as Gandalf examined the cigarettes with a look of astonishment on his face. As he carefully started tearing one apart to get to the tobacco, Ian decided to intervene. “No. You smoke them. Here.” He resolutely stuck the cigarette between Gandalf’s lips, the tips of his fingers touching the wizard’s soft skin as he did so. He shivered and scolded himself.
‘I need to get laid,’ he thought as he used the kitchen matches to light Gandalf’s cigarettes. “There, just smoke like you’re used to. A bit lighter than you’re used to,” he added as Gandalf choked on a large breath of smoke.
“Of course, you’re used to smoking pot…” he muttered under his breath but smiled when Gandalf addressed him again.
“You have fully changed my opinion of you, dear friend. I no longer think you are foul and bad-mannered.”
“Oh, thank you,” Ian muttered dryly but the sarcasm seemed lost on Gandalf who was now beaming sincerely.
“Your home is very spacious.”
Ian snorted. “Is that some sort of Amanian euphemism?”
At Gandalf’s puzzled expression, he answered the apology he hadn’t gotten. “Don’t worry. I’m not easily offended.”
“And I’m not easily offensive.”
Ian’s hand gripped his cup. “I don’t mind living alone. It’s just something that’s gone on a bit longer than I expected. That’s all.”
Gandalf looked at him strangely. “Things can change.”
Ian blinked and looked away. When he met Gandalf’s gaze again the wizard was smiling at him. “Now that our stomachs are full, I think we can have a bit of a chat.”
Ian’s curiosity was piqued. “Yes, there are quite a few things I would like to know! How you came here, why you came here, how did Professor Tolkien learn about Middle-earth and, most importantly, how in the world did you get into my house?!”
Gandalf pursed his lips. “Since you claim to know so much about me you should know that when in between bodies we Maia can travel instantly anywhere we like. I simply waited until I was in your kitchen before I formed that rather beautiful elven manifestation you saw earlier. Took a lot of concentration to get it just the way I wanted it. Look what good that did me.” He sighed. “I’m back in this old shell.” He indicated his body. “Two thousand years, and not a modification! I was already rather tired of it by the end of the Third Age.”
Ian smiled apologetically. “You can change back if you want to. I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” Although he tried to sound convincing, he realised he would mind a great deal to see the body before him vanish. He’d tried for so long to picture Gandalf that now that the real one was in his kitchen, he couldn’t help being fascinated.
Gandalf sighed. “No, I don’t think I feel up to it anymore. I guess I could always do some more experimenting when I get home, see if I…” He coughed. “Not that we are interested in such shallow, vain things back in Aman.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Why did you come?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
Gandalf smiled so mischievously that Ian got suspicious. “Why?”
“To bed you, of course.”
He had never pretended to be a quivering lily, but Gandalf’s assumption made him strangely furious. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You have a lot of nerve, taking something like that for granted. Who the bloody hell do you think you are?”
”I think I am the man that you have spent the last couple of years trying to become. And making a pretty penny from it as well. Furthermore,” he paused as Ian glared at him. “You have been making quite a lot of statements on my behalf. False, I might add. Like saying that I am not interested in sex.” He snorted. “Being devoted to a higher cause does not make one dead below the waist!”
“I’m sorry, I simply assumed… I read the book, you know… well, there are no records of you dallying about with some beautiful elves or whatnot!”
“Oh yes, because that would certainly have brought the story forward! Chapter ten and a half – Council is Delayed While Gandalf Frolics with the Servants. It’s a novel – not a minute-by-minute account.”
Ian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Right, well, I apologize if I have hurt your feelings by diminishing your great virility.”
Gandalf shook his head. “I didn’t come to hear your apologies, and I don’t accept them. I was curious as to who my ambassador to the mortal realm really was. I had watched you from afar, and now I wanted to meet you in person. No need to fret,” he raised his hand to cut Ian off. “I haven’t spied upon you. It’s more like putting your ear to a large grapevine. I think you call it television.”
Ian sighed. “I’m sorry, this is all making very little sense to me. I’m an old man, and I’ve never put much faith in the mystical.”
Gandalf seemed puzzled at the use of the word, but he smiled benignly and patted Ian’s hand. “You’ll feel better once I’ve laid you.”
Right, that did it. Ian snatched his hand back. “There’s that assumption again! What makes you think I can’t resist you?” His eyes widened. “Unless...”
Gandalf snorted in disbelief. “I don’t use magic to seduce people. I know full well you can resist me. I just don’t think you want to.”
Ian leaned over and took a cigarette. “Not a word,” he said menacingly, but Gandalf obliged him. “What makes you think I want to go to bed with you?”
“You desire me, for one thing. I am after all the very person under whose clothes you’ve tried to crawl for the last couple of years, and you wouldn’t let the chance slip to finally be able to do so.” Gandalf put his hand on Ian’s wrist where the sleeve ended. “Furthermore, you do not have a lover now.” He smiled coyly. “Besides, I am rather good at it.”
Ian exhaled loudly and considered all this. He had to admit to himself that the other man was right – this was an opportunity his actor’s ego couldn’t say no to. Besides, it was true that he found the whole prospect thrilling. Middle-earth had actually existed, and magic was real! He couldn’t help but wonder how it would be to sleep with such a powerful, mystical creature. Although Gandalf didn’t look very mystical at the moment, as he was chewing a leftover biscuit.
“All right!” Ian said, and he felt a surge of excitement shoot through him. “I’ll do it. But I’m telling you,” he added mirthfully, “between the sheets I’m a better wizard than you’ll ever be.”
“Never challenge an Istar.” Gandalf smiled, and then he pulled Ian close and kissed him. It felt very odd to be on the other side of that beard. But pleasant, very pleasant.
***
He woke up late in the afternoon and rolled over. His body was sore from head to toe, but it somehow felt marvellous rather than painful. He felt as though he had slept better than in years, and he revelled in the feeling for a while.
The details of a complex and very bizarre dream came suddenly rushing back to him. He had dreamed that a peculiar young man had visited him in his kitchen, and after having cake and tea they had walked into the bedroom for a bout of vigorous sex. Except, the man hadn’t really been young, and he’d been someone Ian knew, someone… Oh, how pathetic. Ian grimaced in embarrassment and slapped his hand over his eyes. He had dreamed about Gandalf.
In his dream Gandalf had started by sucking his cock on the foot of the bed and then fucked him under the covers. Ian could distinctly remember the feeling of the wizard’s cock in his ass and the way his hands had felt, caressing Ian’s body.
The dream had continued by Gandalf straddling his chest and doing some very intense excavation of Ian’s throat, (Ian was proud to say he had always been particularly good in that position) followed by a final round of intercourse, with Ian leading up the front. He vividly recalled the sight of Gandalf bent over and writhing in pleasure as Ian was fucking him with fervour.
He remembered lying next to Gandalf afterwards, as the wizard had answered all his questions about Middle-earth and in return questioned him about how the electric kettle knew when to turn itself off. It seemed pitiable now, but he couldn’t remember having felt that happy in a long time.
Ian groaned. He was a fanboy. A sixty-seven year old fanboy. He would never be able to look Peter Jackson in the eyes again.
The memories of the dream were getting him hard, and he quickly tended to his erection. He thought about showering but felt a pang of reluctance to do so, and went instead into the kitchen to make toast and coffee. For a brief moment he imagined finding two used cups on the counter, but all the china were clean and in the cabinets. The raisin cake was gone, but he figured he must have eaten it and forgotten about it.
The following day he was arrested by a bobby for crossing in the middle of the block in his own quiet side-street. He was taken to a police station down the street that he had never seen despite having lived in the neighbourhood for over twenty-five years. The commanding officer apologized for his young colleague’s overzealousness and asked Ian out for a romantic dinner.
By the time Chief Superintendent Travers had finished moving in, Ian had already forgotten all about the strange dream. Had he remembered it, he would have put it down to stress and perhaps a looming eccentricity as he was getting older, something which was far more pleasant to do along with someone else.
Being a copper’s mate wasn’t nearly as dramatic as it sounded when the copper in question was nearing retirement and liked to spend his evenings playing bridge.
The joy of being together far out-weighed the occasional absent-mindedness that at any rate only seemed to manifest itself in pleasant ways. For all that he ate, his refrigerator never seemed to run out of food, and his petunias were always blooming.
