Oak and Ash and Thorin
The afternoon sun was blazing and both Thorin and his pony were hot and tired. He had finished all of the smithing to be done in the settlement of Man and had decided that he had best move on to the next town. It was times like this when he missed his family the most. He had chosen to strike out on his own when there were simply too many smiths for the amount of work in the Blue Mountains. It was only right that the work go to the folk who had lived there all their lives. They were kind and generous allowing Thror's band of followers to move in after the fall of Erebor, but when push came to shove something had to give and what gave were the newcomers.
Thorin had saved enough for a portable forge and a pony. He was still young and idealistic enough to think that he could take on the world and win if only he put in enough effort…and dragons stayed away. When they were making the pilgrimage from the ruins of Erebor to the Blue Mountains he'd noted that there were few smiths of quality. Surely there were men who pounded on iron to mend and craft but their skills were poor compared to his. So far he'd managed to do reasonably well. He'd been worried about angering what passed as a smith in the towns he'd gone to, but the work he offered was different enough so that even those with forges came to him for repairs.
He'd seen the lake from the road shimmering azure in the sun. He turned his pony toward it, his stride lengthening at the promise of a cool bath. The pony followed obediently dragging the cart with the forge, stopping every few yards to snatch a mouthful of the lush grass.
"Come on Mizimul," he urged tugging the shaggy pony. She looked the farthest thing from a jewel, but she was gentle and did anything he asked of her and so earned her name. He unharnessed her, scratching behind her ears and across her withers where the strap of the harness had matted her hair with sweat. He tied her in the shade with a line long enough to both graze and drink. Pulling his bedroll from cart he dropped it under a large oak tree and opened it, spreading it and pulling out necessities and the small luxury of a new comb and two bars of sweet-smelling soap.
Thorin kicked off his boots and stripped quickly, dropping his dusty clothes into a heap under the oak. He strode to the lake looking for a spot to enter that looked less mucky. A strip of sand caught his eye and he waded in, enjoying the sting of the coolness against his hot skin. When he was thigh deep he dove gracefully and swam for several yards under water, reveling in the coolness of it against his bare skin. His hair floated out making him look for all the world like one of the merfolk come to life. He surfaced, took a breath and submerged again. He was a powerful swimmer and was able to swim half the length of the lake before surfacing.
He swam back, got out of the water, picked up one of the bars of soap and waded out thigh deep. There he proceeded to bathe every inch of his skin. He slid the bar along his arms enjoying the roughness of the bar and then the slick foam of the lather. He rubbed it in, massaging tired muscles with strong fingers, raising his arms to work the lather into his pits and then sliding his hand down across his massive chest. He was bigger than most Dwarves; taller and broader chested, an inheritance from the Line of Durin. Pectoral muscles flexed as he scrubbed, working the suds into a lather that lifted his chest hair up in curls. The soap covered the intricate tattoos that decorated his pecs. They were part of the passage into manhood, painful at the time but a source of pride now.
Thorin slid his hands lower across his abdomen, massaging the tight muscles and then lower to lift and clean his manhood. Its length and breadth were another inheritance from his forefathers, one that had always been a considerable source of pride and pleasure. He smoothed back his foreskin, washing the delicate head. The cool slickness of the lather caused him to lengthen and extend. It had been a very long time since this weapon had been used in battle. Being an impoverished exile was not conducive to finding a partner even for one night. He squeezed himself with the promise of relief later and continued to bathe until he felt clean.
Then he waded out a bit further, bent forward and ducked his head quickly, rising up to shake loose the streaming water and scrape it from his face. He reached up and applied the soap to his hair. He dug his fingers down into his mane, working the lather deep and pulling it through his long hair with his fingers. He skimmed his soapy hair back and worked soap into his beard and moustache, digging and scrubbing before scrunching his eyes and washing the rest of his face. Finally he dove deep hovering under water to rinse the suds from his hair and face. When he rose he burst to the surface and flung his head back, his hair arching up, sending a spray of glistening water high into the air.
Thorin came back to the shore where he stood erect and stretched. He raised his arms upward and then outward, chest and arm muscles rippling. He shook his head spraying water and then reached up to run his fingers through his hair, shaking even more water from it and pulling out the tangles. He stood with the setting sun painting his body red and gold, his dripping hair shimmering as if sprinkled with diamonds.
Without bothering to dress he walked around collecting firewood and kindling letting the warm breeze dry his moist skin. He washed his dirty clothes, hanging them from the oak's branches to dry. It felt wonderful to go skyclad. Nudity was a luxury impossible to enjoy living in close knit societies as did Dwarves and Men. It had become one of his secret pleasures, one he indulged as often as possible when he was traveling.
He started his little fire, putting on a pot of water for tea and another for the stew one of the town ladies had given him in return for mending a small silver heirloom. He sat on his bedroll and ate his stew when it was only slightly warm, mopping it up with a chunk of crusty bread. As he waited for the tea to brew he took the comb to his mane, wincing as he tugged at snarls. He persevered until it lay in soft waves about his shoulders and streamed down his back shining and still slightly damp.
The air was starting to chill and he rose, stowed his comb and pulled out clean clothes. He was about to step into his breeches when a soft voice behind him said, "Please do not do that."
Thorin whirled, one leg in his pants eyes searching for his knife. He saw no one and struggled to get his other leg in and cover himself. He only succeeded in tripping himself. Dancing on one leg he kicked off the pants and snatched up his blade.
"Who is talking? Show yourself!" His voice was gruff demanding an answer.
"I meant no harm. You are beautiful." The voice was feminine and appeared to come from the tree.
He looked upward and saw a face peering at him from between the leaves. He couldn't seem much other than large eyes peering between the branches.
Thorin peered up at her knife still at the ready. "What are you doing up there? Spying on me?"
"I live here and yes I was watching you. I could scarcely avoid it. You come in and make yourself at home, bathe in my lake and take my wood to make a fire." The owner of the voice began to sound perturbed.
"I apologize for trespassing but I saw no cabin." Thorin said roughly as he bent to pick up his breeches. "I will be on my way at dawn."
"I have no cabin. This oak is my home." With that a slender form dropped from the tree to land directly in front of Thorin.
He dropped his pants crouching as he prepared to be attacked. She was tiny, her head coming only to his chin. Her eyes were the same green as the leaves of the oak, her hair the color of the bark. She was barely wearing a diaphanous gown the color of new leaves. She was unarmed and looked up at him, wide eyes mild and curious. He looked at her and stepped back, nearly tripping over his breeches where they lay forgotten in a heap, the knife loose in his grip, forgotten as well.
"Who are you?" The challenge was gone from his voice, the gruffness replaced by confusion.
"I am Sylva. This is my Oak." Her voice was soft with a strange lilting accent that he did not recognize.
"What do you mean "your" oak?"
She gestured sweepingly at the tree. "I live in it."
Thorin was thoroughly puzzled. "In a tree house?"
She laughed musically. "No, I live inside it, I am one with it. It is me and I am the tree."
He cocked his head completely bemused. She stepped up to him and ran slender fingers across his cheek then took his left braid and let it slip between her fingers. "I rarely show myself to mortals but when I was watching you bathe I saw how handsome you are and I could not help myself."
"You aren't making a lot of sense," he muttered.
She smiled at him and then pointedly looked him up and down, frankly appraising his body. He bent to retrieve his pants, suddenly aware of his nakedness, but she pulled them from his hand and dropped them at her feet.
"My question is, who are you? You are not of the race of Men."
He would have bowed but he felt stupid attempting formality while he was naked in front of a female so he merely inclined his head. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. I am a Dwarf from Erebor, the Lonely Mountain."
Sylva raised one eyebrow. "Well, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, are all your people as handsome and…well-built as you?
Unused to such boldness, he felt his ears warming in a blush. "I would not know. Now may I have my pants?"
"No."
As she spoke she stepped forward against him, reaching up to twine the fingers of one hand in his hair and draw him forward into a kiss. She ran her tongue across his lips asking him to part them. When he did she slid it into his mouth, exploring tentatively at first and then with enthusiasm as he returned her kiss. He was startled but not dead and his tongue met hers, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. He was not used to anyone so much smaller than himself and had to adjust so that he could kiss her fully.
She tangled her fingers in his hair stroking and tugging gently pulling him forward for more kisses. He ran his hands down her shoulders, sliding her wisp of a gown off and letting it pool around her feet. She artfully stepped out of it, kicking it to one side and then melded against him. Her skin was as soft as silk and she molded against him, pert breasts pressing into his chest, slender thighs straddling one leg, hip pressing into his growing erection.
When he felt as if he could not breathe he laid her down on the bedroll and positioned himself over her, supported on one elbow. He was better positioned to claim her lips and kiss his way down her slender neck to her collar bones and down to make love to her breasts. The sun was hanging low, casting shadows, and the fire turned her pale skin rosy, pink nippled breasts pressed upward demanding attention. He paid homage first to one then the other, flicking the nipples with his tongue and gently drawing them into his mouth to suck, first lightly then more firmly as her breathing quickened. He nibbled on one and gently kneaded the other while her fingers played with his hair ,pulling it over them both like a dark soft shawl.
He worked his way down slowly and gently. In truth her seeming-fragility concerned him. He was used to lusty wenches both Dwarrow and tall-folk who gave as good as they got. He was afraid that the slightest breath would bruise the delicate creature who cuddled against him. From her reaction to his questing hands and seeking tongue she had the same reactions as other females. She clearly liked what he was doing and wanted more of it. Her small hands tugged on his hair, pulling his mouth along the length of her chest and softly rounded belly.
When his kisses slid lower she sighed and lifted a bit in anticipation. He put his open mouth on her mons and blew a breath of hot air, warming her, heating her still further. The sensation made her shiver so he did it again. With a tiny mew of appreciation she relaxed her legs giving him full access to the treasure at their juncture. Her pubic hair was soft and he nuzzled it, kissing and licking until her lips became swollen and parted on their own. His tongue slid into her, teasing her labia and slipping up to encircle the pearl of her engorged clitoris. He flicked it with the tip of his tongue and then maddeningly slid away to delve deep into her before returning to press his lips around her clit and suck gently while stroking insistently with the tip of his tongue.
She started to speak to him in her own language, a soft musical sound that sounded like singing interspersed with sighs and moans. Her hands were deep into the tangle of his hair and she pulled and tugged, directing his movements. She showed him what she needed and when to hold still. He slid first one thick finger into her and then two. She was so wet and hot that he thought for a moment that he was going to lose it and spend himself without ever being touched. Thorin took a deep shuddering breath to gain control and then pushed his fingers in and upward, searching for that delicate roughened patch of flesh that lurked just inside. He located it and curled his fingers to stroke and prod it while licking her clit with insistent strokes.
The combination sent her spinning and she rose against his tongue, arching up, pressing against his tongue, begging for more. He licked harder and she came with a long wavering cry, holding his head in place with strong fingers. She needn't have bothered, a team of horses could not have pulled him away until she was done. When she relaxed and let her hips drop he followed her down with his mouth still glued to her, no longer licking, just sucking very gently as she rode out the aftershocks of orgasm.
When Sylva could get her breath she pulled Thorin up and kissed him, her tongue exploring his mouth then his moustache and face as she licked and kissed him, tasting herself. They shared her orgasm and he licked her tongue as he had her clit and felt her tremble in his arms.
At length she pulled away and then rolled so that she was in the dominant position. She leaned down kissing him fiercely, tongue stabbing deep into his mouth. She worked her way down his neck, licking, sucking and biting gently, just hard enough to make his skin tingle. She left a small deep bruise at the base of his throat that he would treasure until it faded days later.
She seemed both puzzled and fascinated by the tattoo on his chest. She traced the design with one finger and bent to kiss it. Turning to look at him she asked,
"You have patterns on your skin. Were you born this way?
His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest feeling like a small earthquake under her fingers. "No lass, it's a tattoo, a design applied when I was young."
"Why and how, didn't it hurt?" Her brows furrowed with concern.
He was not in the mood to explain Dwarven rites of passage to her or tattooing techniques. "I wanted it and yes it hurt, but that was a very long time ago."
She thought a moment, then apparently deciding that Dwarves made no more sense than Men, she let it go, turning her attention back to stroking and kissing the design. He'd never had it traced by a tongue and found it to be a very pleasurable experience.
She liked his chest hair. She stroked it with her fingers, pulling it gently and then leaning in to nuzzle it.
"Soft," she said. "So soft…" She laid her lips over his heart and kissed his chest, nibbling at the curling hairs and pulling them up with her lips to let them snap back. One hand roamed exploring the muscles of his chest, teasing his nipples. She turned her attention to the closest nipple, sucking and licking it, teasing it with her tongue and lips. He'd never had his attentions there returned before and he found that it felt amazing. It sent little shocks of pleasure straight to his cock.
Slowly, maddeningly she worked her way down over his belly, taking far too much time to explore the ridges of his abdominal muscles and then down to tease and then cup his testicles. She rolled them gently in her hand, toying with them as her lips worked their way lower and lower. Just when he was about to beg for mercy she bent down and kissed the tip of his cock, gliding her lips over the slick head. She teased his slit with her tongue and then slid it down to tempt the delicate frenulum just under the head. She braced herself and took him in hand, pulling at his foreskin, tugging it up over the head and then down again while she looked up as his face, greedy to see his expression of lust and pleasure. His head was tipped back, his mouth open as he gasped for air and moaning softly. His hair was spread in like a dark cloud across the bedroll, glinting red in the firelight, the silver beads reflecting the light like small stars in his galaxy.
Sighing with pleasure, she replaced her hand with her mouth and engulfed the head, sucking gently but firmly. She grasped the base of his thick cock, stroking in cadence with the movement of her head. He said something in Khuzdul and reached down to pet her head. He did not press her, he just wanted contact, a stronger connection to the incredible pleasure that he was experiencing.
She regulated her breathing and took him deep, sucking and laving the underside with her tongue on the upstroke. His hips rose under her begging for more. She was careful to pause when he thrust too hard, keeping him at the edge but not tipping him over. His speech a litany of moans and sighs, pleas for more and muttered words of encouragement.
At length he reached down and gently pulled her away. "Not yet…feels incredible, but not yet..."
She allowed herself to be moved into position. She expected to be mounted; instead he slid down her body and kissed her mons again, tongue darting out and into her to bring on her heat again. He licked and sucked, remembering what she liked and repeating it expertly. He rolled her hard clit under his tongue, scraping it gently with his teeth, listening to her sweet sounds of pleasure. When she started arching up against his tongue he reluctantly pulled away, kissed her belly and then moved into position. She spread her legs, welcoming him into her body. He pressed at the entrance, pausing to enjoy the beginning of an experience that never failed to fill him with wonder. Slowly he pressed forward, feeling her soft moist folds accommodate him, feeling her heat and her lust.
He arched his back and began to thrust slowly, teasing them both. His hair spilled down onto her face and she breathed in the sweet scent of the soap, the wildness of the lake and the deep musk that was Thorin. She looked up into intense blue eyes fixed on her and lips that whispered endearments in Common and Khuzdul. His moans rumbled deep in his chest. She could feel them like thunder against her breasts. He thrust deeply and then leaned down to kiss her, tongue entering her as fully as his cock. He slid deeply churned and then withdrew. She arched up against him demanding more. He gave it to her.
Muscles honed from the forge and miles of walking coiled and rolled and thrust, rocking her, exploring every part of her above and below. She was completely consumed by him, his passion was so intense she could feel it crackle as the atmosphere did after a close lightning strike. He watched her eyes, waiting for the green to turn to black as her pupils widened signaling that her orgasm was near. He played with her, teasing her and himself with shallow strokes followed by deep ones. He kissed her and licked her and stole her very breath away.
Suddenly she arched beneath him, eyes black and unseeing as she rode high on pure pleasure. He rammed into her, no longer afraid of hurting her. His thrusts sent her even higher, her hands fisted in his hair pulling hard but he didn't notice; he was riding with her, slamming into her again and again chasing his own orgasm. He cried out, froze for a long moment deaf and blind to anything except the peak of his pleasure. She ground beneath him, clamping down hard, urging him upward. He shivered and jerked as he emptied into her. When he was spent he finally took a long breath. Sylva pulled him down for a kiss his breath hissing into her questing mouth.
He took his weight on his elbows and lowered himself reluctant to leave the warm comfort of her body. She kissed him tenderly and whispered, "You can rest on me. I can bear your weight, my love."
Slowly he relaxed onto her, surprised that she could bear him. She shifted a little and he found she could move him quite easily. She was definitely not breakable. He looked into her eyes and smiled. She smiled back and kissed the tip of his nose. "For tonight I love you, Thorin."
"Only for tonight?" His voice was hoarse and still deep with passion. "I would hate to leave you."
"I am not mortal, my love. I can't leave my oak. I can offer no more than tonight, but perhaps after this night there will be a morning." She whispered into his ear. "And maybe another night beyond that."
His lips found hers again. "And maybe one beyond that."
She returned his kiss. "Perhaps. Definitely, perhaps…"