August 1st, 2007
My lotrips_remix fic.
remix of saklani2
Title: You Can Leave Your Hat On
Original story: Hat Trick, by saklani2
Pairing: Sean Bean/Ian M/an opinionated hat
Summary: Who wouldn’t want to fuck Sean Bean?
DISCLAIMER: The author makes no claims or inferences to reality or truthfulness. Moreover, this story is based upon the work of another author and recognises their creation.
Ian slid his eyes over his gathered cast mates as they all traipsed back towards the clutter of trailers, finally freed from the blasted Rivendell set. Astin, whining. Orlando, whining. Viggo, sulking, or thinking, or something. Bean, hanging behind Ian, just in his peripheral vision, was wild-eyed and irritable.
Elijah bounced past, chasing Dom, and Ian muttered, “Dear God, no. Not one of the children.”
“Him!” the hat repeated, leaping almost out of his hands and colliding with Bean.
Relief. Sweet relief. Really, catering to the hat’s sexual preferences was a bloody nightmare. At least it was someone hot this time.
“Careful there,” Sean called, “or you’ll put someone’s eye out.”
Ian stopped and waited for Sean to catch up, trying not to let his eyes wander too low down Sean’s body. The man was a hunk. “My dear, that’s the least of this hat’s talents.”
“Woo!” said the hat. “Total babe. I want him spread over your bed, or else.”
Dear God. One day, someone was going to find out what the wretched hat was saying.
“Wha- what do you mean?” Sean asked, and Ian smiled sweetly.
“What does he think I mean?” the hat demanded. “Sean kebab, skewered; that’s what’s on tonight’s dinner menu.”
Ian pinched the brim of the hat, making it squirm. “Well, I have it on very good authority that Gandalf used to play a lot of interesting games with this hat.”
Sean looked suspiciously at the said hat. “What kind of games?”
“Not fucking football,” the hat said, and it chuckled to itself, obviously amused by its own wit. “Fucking, yeah.”
Ian said, “They’re better shown than explained. Perhaps if you accompany me to dinner and then my home after we change, I might be able to show you.”
“Dinner?” the hat said. “Claaaaassy moves, Ian. You didn’t buy Orlando dinner.”
Would it be murder to kill a hat? Ian suspected the hat would think so.
Sean said, “All right, if I can keep awake.”
Ian smiled. “Oh, I don’t think there will be any trouble about that.”
Sean ducked into his trailer, and Ian bit the hat’s brim, just once. “Stop it,” he said, teeth clenched through the woolen fabric and stiffening.
“Owowowowowow!” the hat squealed. “You big bully! You brute!”
Sean was a tart, obviously, shedding his clothes eagerly without being asked, then sitting on the edge of Ian’s bed, wearing only his boxers.
The hat was propped on a chair in Ian’s bedroom, and it felt hard and ready to go when Ian picked it up.
“Rowrrr,” the hat said, and Ian had to agree. A mostly-naked Sean Bean was something to remember.
Ian sucked on the point of the hat, making it give little shuddering jabs into his mouth. The hat wasn’t the only one that was horny: if the hat couldn’t satisfy Sean, Ian was damned sure he’d be happy to help out.
The hat almost leaped into Sean’s mouth when Ian held it out for him to suck too, and Ian kept a firm grip on the brim, just to make sure the bloody thing didn’t actually molest Sean outright.
Of course, Ian really needed to keep a firm grip on himself too, because watching Sean suck the wet fabric, eyes closed in bliss, front of his boxers tenting, was just about the sexiest sight ever.
“That ought to be enough,” Ian said, carefully easing the trembling hat away from Sean.
“Enough for what?” Sean asked, opening his eyes slowly, his voice a rumble of lust.
“Why, hat trick number three, of course,” Ian said with a wicked smile. “All I need you to do is remove your boxers and turn over.”
Sean looked suspicious, though really, the action in Ian’s underwear as his cock fought for freedom through the layers of clothing should have made it clear that something intensely interesting was about to happen.
Sean kicked his boxers off and rolled over and sprawled across Ian’s bed. “What now?” Sean asked.
“The hat takes over, of course.” Ian sat astride his thighs, and gently parted Sean’s cheeks. Maneuvering carefully, he slipped the hat between them.
Sean strained to look over his shoulder far enough to see what Ian was doing, and his eyes went wide. The hat was trembling with anticipation in Ian’s hands, and Ian could quite understand. He’d be pretty worked up too if he was sliding into Sean’s arse.
Ian knew the feeling; the hat had fucked him often enough. It was a tingly sensation, like velvet being rubbed across skin, like really fine champagne being poured over really fine young man.
Sean arched, the hat slipped in further, and Ian and the hat both moaned.
“Steady,” Ian whispered to the hat. That arse looked tight and pristine; it was just possible it hadn’t been touched for a very long time, if at all.
Sean thrashed on the bed, and the hat writhed in Ian’s hands, diving in deeper.
“Now!” the hat shouted. “Fuck him now!”
“Move it, godfuckingdammit,” Sean cursed through his gritted teeth, almost in unison with the hat.
“Yeeha!” the hat cried. “Ride ‘em, cowboy!”
Ian pushed it harder and deeper, so his arms ached and sweat crept down his face and stung his eyes. If he didn’t already know how impossible it was to stop the bloody hat, he’d wrench it out of the way and slam his own cock into Sean’s willing arse. But, the hat was rude, the hat was determined, and that hat was very very loud if it was interrupted.
Sean went wild, howling and shouting, lifting his hips up to meet the thrusts of the hat into his arse, almost shaking Ian off his thighs in his ecstasy.
“HAT!” Sean yelled, his body convulsing, and the smell of come was enough to push Ian over the edge too, his own come soaking into his underwear.
The hat shouted, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” and spasmed in Ian’s hands, pumping its own precious fluid into Sean’s body, then collapsing back against Ian’s chest.
The force was enough to topple Ian off Sean’s legs and onto the bed beside Sean.
The hat slumped onto the bed between them, breathing hard, and Ian stroked it affectionately.
“Bloody hell,” Sean groaned finally. “No wonder Gandalf was so powerful.”
Ian chuckled. “His best kept secret. By himself, Gandalf the Grey wasn’t really all that powerful. He got his reputation from hat tricks.”
“Oh God,” the hat sighed. “I want a smoke now; time for some magic hobbitweed. Ian, get up and get me a pipe, you pervy faggot.”
“Would you mind if I lit up?” Sean asked, rolling over onto his side and smiling at Ian.
“I’m in love,” the hat said.
“Please do,” Ian said, smiling fondly at Sean. “I’ll join you.”