Gandalf galloped along the little used track, watching for signs of the enemy—any enemy. The intensity of his mission almost caused him to miss the one thing he could use most as the days of peril increased: a friend. He brought his horse to a prancing standstill and turned to glance over his shoulder. His brows crept down over is nose as he frowned. Now what in all of Arda was wrong with Radagast?
“Radagast?”
The wizard glanced up slowly, as if from a deep sleep, and blinked. His eyes maintained the glazed appearance of one who is uncertain of their surroundings. “Ah. Yes. Gandalf.”
“What are you doing sitting in the middle of the road?” Gandalf instinctively raised his eyes heavenward, searching for signs. Always searching for signs, it seemed. And finding them, although he could not interpret them at the moment, he thought as he looked back at Radagast.
“Waiting on you, of course.”
Gandalf tensed as if expecting a blow. But how ridiculous. This was Radagast; his old friend. A wizard. Istari. “Then it is a good thing that I stopped when I did, else you might grow roots waiting for my return.”
Radagast laughed and shook himself, in the way a dog shakes water from its coat. “I’d have simply sent the birds searching for you. I have lodgings not far from here, Gandalf, come and rest a while. Your mission will not suffer for a few hours rest with an old friend.”
“What do you know of my mission?” Unconsciously his hand went to his sword.
Radagast touched the horse’s bridle and the animal whinnied softly, as if greeting a friend. “When are you not on a mission, Gandalf the Gray? How many years of men have you walked the earth? And how many friends have you made, lost, forgotten? Come, I do not wish to be one of those, here at the end of all things. Besides, I bear a message from Saruman.”
Gandalf eagerly dismounted after than. “You were able to reach him then? Excellent. What news then?”
Radagast gathered the animal’s reigns and turned the horse to a track that even elf might have missed. “Not here, in ear shot of prying eyes and over sensitive ears.”
Gandalf nodded and clapped the other wizard on the shoulder and followed him into the wood.
~*~
Gandalf sensed something was wrong, but he could not quite place his finger on it. Radagast seemed distant and preoccupied; more so than usual even for the reclusive wizard. The hut he’d been led to was tiny and scrupulously clean. In fact, it was almost too clean. Fresh straw and herbs covered the packed earthen floor. The heart was swept so clean, even a Hobbit would have doubted a meal had ever been cooked in it. The heavy oaken table was scrubbed until it gleamed white. A patchwork quilt covered the corner bed and that was the only thing that really looked out of place in the orderly room. The bed was lumpy and the covers rumpled.
He sniffed cautiously, trying to determine the odd odor that faintly hung about the room. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it sent chills racing along his spine and lifted the short hairs on the nape of his neck. For some reason, it reminded him of sex. Gandalf shook his head ruefully. Perhaps Radagast had a lover. It was about time, too. The old hermit spent much too much time among the wilds for his own good. But then, who was he to criticize?
“You said you had a message from Saruman?”
“In good time, old friend, in good time.” Radagast bustled about, lighting a fire and putting water in a large cast iron kettle. “I’ll just get us some refreshments.”
Gandalf controlled his irritation. After all, he’d agreed to come and to be anything less than amiable would be unconscionable. “Tea sounds wonderful.” He paused watching the brown wizard crumble herbs into fine powder. “What are those?”
Radagast twisted his head to look over his shoulder. “Wild hyssop. I have become rather fond of it.” He went back to powdering the leaves.
Gandalf said nothing more. He knew the herb wasn’t wild hyssop. But he couldn’t place it from the smell or the color. He’d know, more than likely, if he took a pinch and tasted it. What concerned him more was Radagast’s lie. Why would his old friend lie to him?
The water in the kettle hissed and steam whistled from the spout. With a heavy mitt, Radagast removed it from the fire and poured the boiling water into a smaller, earthenware pot. The crushed herbs at the bottom released their pungent scent into the air with the steam. Radagast put the iron kettle aside and popped the lit on the earthenware one.
“Let it steep a minute. Honey?” He produced another crock and set it on the table along with two large mugs. “I have some bread and butter and a bit of jam, if you’d like. Or would you prefer something more substantial?”
“Bread and jam is fine,” Gandalf wondered at all the ceremony as Radagast placed food on the table and then poured the tea.
They sat companionably pouring honey in their tea and slathering strawberry jam on their bread. The tea was strong and Gandalf winced as it bit his tongue, but the jam took away the bitter after flavor. While he ate, Radagast outlined his visit to Saruman and Gandalf felt his hackles rise again, although he couldn’t say why. Radagast said nothing unusual or untoward about the visit. In fact, it was all quite banal. Saruman sent word that Gandalf could come and use Orthanc’s resources for anything he needed and that he was interested in hearing more of Gandalf’s suspicions. Radagast’s responses to Gandalf’s questions were so thorough that the Gray Pilgrim never became suspicious until his ears started ringing.
“Radagast?” The hoarseness of his own voice surprised and frightened him. “What have you done?”
Radagast stared down at his tea for a moment. “Do not fret, my old friend, you’ll become used to it.”
Gandalf wagged his head from side to side. “No, Radagast, I shall not.”
*~*
When Ganalf awakened awoke, he was naked and shackled to the bed. His mouth felt dry and his eyes burned. He had no idea of the time nor how long he’d been there. He tested his bonds and discovered they were too secure for him to break.
What happened to Radagast? Why had his old friend turned on him? He thought of the herbs in the tea and wondered what they really were. Had he gotten them from Saruman? Possibly. But why?
“Hallo, Gandalf,” Radagast walked towards the bed dressed in a loincloth and carrying a pail of water. “Let me get you sponged down.” He sat next to his friend and began sponging the sweat from Gandalf’s body. As he worked, he talked softly, almost to himself. “The drug makes you sweat and purge and I knew you’d be upset about that. At first, you can barely function, but after a while you become used to the drug and you can at least do more than lay on your cot. You’ll hardly notice the effects at all after a while.”
“What did you give me?” Gandalf shivered at Radagast’s touch.
“I am not sure what it is,” Radagast’s voice remained sing-song. “Saruman gave it me.” He lifted his head and stared with his brown eyes into Gandalf’s blue ones. “It will grant your fondest desires.”
Gandalf’s bushy brows shot up on his forehead. If only it were that easy, he thought. “My desires are not of the flesh.”
Radagast smiled as he tilted his head down towards Gandalf’s hips. “Aren’t they?”
His breath fanned out over Gandalf’s skin and the wizard clenched his fists and thrashed in his chains. This wasn’t happening to him, he thought with rising panic. What had Saruman done to Radagast? Moreover, what had Radagast done to him? Incredibly, his body responded to his captor’s ministrations in a way that was simultaneously frightening and startling. Gandalf lifted his head and stared down the length of his body as Radagast took his cock into his mouth. Horror swept over him as he watched his member harden and lengthen.
“Radagast! Stop!” He used a voice that worked well with others, but on Radagast, it had no effect at all. Nor did it have any effect on his own body. Shame filled Gandalf as he found that he actually liked the way Radagast nuzzled around the base of his cock and flicked his tongue over his balls.
Radagast wanted to cry. All his life, he’d admired and respected Gandalf. And maybe, in the dim recesses of his mind, he’d even housed a longing for a bond deeper than friendship. The drug in his system, the one he could no longer do without, removed his inhibitions and took away that one social restraint that had kept him from pursuing Gandalf. Now, he was a slave to the drugs Saruman had given him, and in turn, a slave to his own desires. Saruman promised that he could have Gandalf for a few hours for his own pleasure once he’d captured the cagey wizard. That promise alone had been worth much to Radagast.
Beneath him, Gandalf struggled and strained and arched his back until the muscles and sinews creaked. Radagast placed his hands on Gandalf’s hips and held him tight as he continued to suck and lick. His time was limited and he had to make the most of it for he knew that Saruman would send Grima to fetch Gandalf and Radagast wanted to make sure he had his fill before his friend was dead.
Sweat trickled over Gandalf’schest. It beaded on his forehead and pooled in his hair. It formed puddles on his abdomen; made his thighs slick. And still the heat continued to spread. It spread from his loins to his chest; it set his toes curling. And as much as he loathed what was happening to him, he could not stop his reaction. The drug in his veins sung a different song than his mind and his body took control. The pressure on his cock was incredible and when Radagast inserted a finger into his puckered hole, Gandalf tried to draw his knees up and clench his sweaty thighs together at the same time. His mind screamed no. But his body, oh, that weak flesh, how it screamed for more.
Radagast’s own cock peaked from beneath his loincloth and dripped cum onto the dirty bed covers. He was nearly frantic with need and want and the shame was pushed away from him so that he could ignore it at last. He no longer cared. The drug made wicked promises. The drug, always the drug, now offered him fulfillment if he would but reach out and take it. And take it Radagast did.
He scrambled up, leaving Gandalf writhing in a puddle of sweat. “Yes, my friend, you feel it, too.” He stripped off his loincloth and took his cock in his fist, stroking slowly as he stared down at Gandalf.
The wizard’s wrists and ankles were scored by the iron manacles. Blood trickled down his forearms and splattered on the sheets. Radagast licked his lips and then bent down and licked the length of Gandalf’s arm, tasting copper and salt. He kept right on licking, moving down Gandalf’s arm, over his shoulder and across his armpit. He dipped his tongue into the hollow beneath Gandalf’s ear and then bit the earlobe until it bled and he licked away the blood from there. The evil coiled within him stirred, reared up, and whispered to him.
He kissed Gandalf’s lips, shoved his tongue inside the warm cavity and ground their lips together until their beards scraped each other’s chins raw. He drew away long enough to climb onto the bed and wriggle his way between Gandalf’s thighs. With one hand, he shoved his weeping cock against Gandalf’s anus and then rocked forward so hard that the wizard screamed and arched his back.
“Yes, my love, scream for me.” Radagast crooned and he thrust in and out. He locked one hand around Gandalf’s throat and began squeezing while all the while telling the wizard to scream.
Gandalf felt the violation and screamed and screamed. He did not scream because of the violation but rather because of his body’s reaction to it. With the insidious drug in his system, he did not reject the violation of his body, but accepted it as one would accept a lover. Only Radagast was not his lover. His mind screamed no as his body wound tighter and tighter, like a spring. He could feel the tension building and knew it was only a matter of time before he spilled his seed and humiliated himself further. Every reaction gave Radagast—and perhaps the drug—more power and Gandalf despaired even as he reached that final summit.
Radagast, unable to contain himself, reached down and sank his teeth into Gandalf’s shoulder, biting down harder and harder as his orgasm wracked his body.
*~*
“Gandalf?” Frodo raised himself up on his elbows and stared at his friend with concern clouding his blue eyes. Something about the wizard struck a cord in the Hobbit.
Gandalf’s blue eyes met Frodo’s as he came out of his reverie. “Oh, I’m sorry, Frodo. I was …delayed.” His smile was sad and pain filled.