AN: Well, that took forever. I just could not get Dwalin's voice. And then I did. Thank goodness. This is a companion piece to Better Tomorrows
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Yeah, ha ha ha ha, I wish.
Characters/Pairing: Dwalin/Ori, Dwalin, Ori
Summary: When Dwalin wakes up with Ori sprawling naked across his chest for the third morning in a row, he begins to think that maybe he hasn't made more of a mess of the situation than he can fix.
Better Todays
When Dwalin wakes up with Ori sprawling naked across his chest for the third morning in a row, he begins to think that maybe he hasn't made more of a mess of the situation than he can fix.
It hadn't been a particularly auspicious start. Thorin, at least, had done him the courtesy of not laughing in his face when Dwalin had voiced his intentions, but the same could not be said of Balin, who had laughed so hard he'd had to sit, first on a nearby stool and then on the floor, the better to avoid an undignified tumble. By the time Dwalin had made it to Dori's cottage (stone cold sober, and he'll swear to that with the Maker's Hammer above his neck, thank you very much), he'd been so nervous that he had stammered his way through speaking his piece, and made the entirely thing sound like a bloody business proposal.
The languorous, some might say "excruciatingly extended", courting practices favoured at Erebor had mostly fallen by the wayside amongst the merchant class, and as a second son, Dwalin had the option of moving quickly into marriage, which he, never one to linger, had done. But once they'd been wed, and he and Ori stood in a kitchen that didn't even boast a full set of crockery yet, Dwalin had become rather immediately convinced that he had bollocksed the entire affair beyond remedy.
Ori shifts against him, almost waking up, and Dwalin concentrates on deep, even breathing, though that is nearly the exact opposite of what he really wants to do. He can wait. He didn't think Ori would ever be easy around him, though the blow job in the kitchen went a good way towards settling both of them, and to have the smaller dwarf comfortable in their bed makes Dwalin feel embarrassingly fluttery about the middle.
Ori shifts again, and the flutter becomes rather less embarrassing and rather less middle. Dwalin pulls his focus away from dangerous memories involving the kitchen table and back to his breathing. He almost misses the press of Ori's smile against his chest, small muscles against his bulk, but he's been trying to pay more attention to the details.
"Your heart," says Ori, his voice so artfully innocent that Dwalin feels vaguely lecherous until he realizes that Ori's doing it on purpose: then he just feels hungry. "Your heart is hammering like a forge full of dwarrows on Maker's Day."
"Let's leave the gods out of it, shall we?" Dwalin says, his tone as artfully pious as Ori's is credulous.
"Probably for the best," Ori agrees, and looks up to smile at him.
It's not love, not yet, but there's quite a bit of fond affection in Ori's expression, which is a damn sight better than Dwalin really deserves, and between that and what Ori's hands get up to underneath the furs, Dwalin is more than content. Ori has asked no questions of him, or at least nothing like "when in Mahal's name did you manage to find the time to decide to court me and why were you so curst awful at it?", and while part of Dwalin is glad to be spared what would surely be an overflowing font of feelings, there's a larger part of him worrying that, in spite of everything, Ori feels somehow compelled, or worse: owned.
Dwalin is not unaware of their difference in status, and he knows Ori isn't blind to it either. He'd made his initial moves with some haste, it was true, but he'd also been prepared to wait him out. The second bedroom is Ori's, and Ori's alone, but since the first night, when he hadn't so much as flinched, they have yet to even open the door to it.
That line of thought takes him right back to the kitchen table, and since Ori is apparently very determined, Dwalin gives in (with very little even remotely resembling regret), and rolls over to pin him to the mattress.
"Good morning," Ori says pertly, and Dwalin does the only thing he can, which is to say he kisses him rather desperately.
It's something of a grappling match after that. They haven't had quite enough time to learn everything about the other, but they've had enough that Ori knows precisely how to cant his hips and where to bite, and Dwalin knows more or less how hard to grip when he takes their cocks in hand and which dirty things to whisper in Ori's ear when he does it. It's hardly the stuff of the epic romances he and Thorin used to giggle over when they were badgers, but it does the job, and before long they're both panting, foreheads pressed together, and satisfied.
"I am glad you asked," Ori says, when Dwalin rolls to his back and Ori follows, still pressing close. "To marry me, I mean. I never would have thought of it, but we'll do well together, I think."
"I'm glad you said yes," Dwalin replies. "I gave you precious little to go on."
"Your reputation preceded you," Ori tells him.
"You didn't worry I was taking advantage?" There it is: the thing he's feared. It is surprisingly easy to say, in the end.
"I had Dori for that." Ori huffs a laugh. "And I could tell by the things he said he knew it was a good idea in his head, if not in his heart."
Dwalin rumbles a laugh in return. Being polite to Dori is quite high on his list of things to do, of late, and he hopes he never has cause to stop.
"Besides," Ori continues. "I could tell you were different from…the others. It's not like I haven't always been pretty."
The way he says it makes something ugly curl up in Dwalin's stomach: ugly because the thought of another dwarf taking advantage of Ori makes him reach for his axe, and doubly so because he, too, had seen that stocky form and thinly drawn face, and wanted it.
"None of that," says Ori, leaning over him suddenly. He's not smiling anymore, but there's something fierce in his face, and it takes Dwalin's breath away. "You were different," he repeats. "I wouldn't have said yes if you weren't, no matter what else I got out of the bargain."
Dwalin lets out the air he's holding, and Ori moves to kiss him, slow, and with a sweetness that belies the fire rushing in his blood, like wind bellows-pressed over smoldering coals. He pulls Ori back on top of him, sprawling again, but this time with deliberate intent. The next kiss is anything but slow and has very little sweet, but the fire spreads, and Ori kicks off the furs so he can move more easily. Dwalin hardly minds the view.
"Did you have," Ori gasps in the spaces around Dwalin's tongue, "anything to do today?"
Technically, as newlyweds, they are exempt from all responsibilities for a week, but Dwalin has made the daily trek to the training yards, and Ori continues to go to the library. Dwalin looks at all that bared skin.
"Not really," he says, but he does. He's thought of something better.
finis
Gravity_Not_Included, April 3, 2013