I had this idea, and so I wrote it :p
Apparently my subconscious loves Dori more than I thought, since this is the second story I've written about Dori, and I've now made it into a series.
Enjoy :)
...
Dori loved his brothers; they were his only remaining family, and they meant everything to him.
He loved Ori – Ori who had been such a sweet, docile baby, content as long as Dori or Nori were in the room. Ori may not have very dwarvish hobbies, but knitting and scribe work both came in useful. Ori was so proud the day he was apprenticed to an older scribe in Ered Luin, and Dori was so pleased for him. His youngest brother was so kind, and sensible, and gentle, despite the unusual strength he and Dori had inherited from their mother, and Dori couldn't be more proud to call him his brother. Ori, of course, felt the same about Dori.
And then there was Nori... Dori loved him just as much as he did Ori, despite everything. Dori loved him despite the thieving, the bar fights and the quarrels. Dori loved him despite the fact that he was hardly ever there; that he had left as soon as he could without a word; that he'd left Dori to care for Ori by himself. Dori loved him because, though he was rarely there, he wasn't a bad brother. Nori would frequently send gifts, and whenever he visited would always be protective of and very good with Ori, who really looked up to his second brother.
It was because Dori loved his brothers that he put himself last.
When they were younger, after the death of their mother, but before Dori had a proper job, the eldest Ri brother would go thieving in the market so his family could afford to eat. Nori and Ori always got whatever clothing and food they needed, meaning that Dori got what was left over, which was never much.
During this time, Dori had actually been courted by a number of dwarves, well, they tried to court him anyway. If Dori thought there was any reason they shouldn't court, then they didn't: a poor dwarf couldn't help feed and clothe Nori and Ori; a dwarf who wanted Dori for his (rather good) looks would tire of him and leave; a dwarf with a temper might get violent, and the list went on.
There was one dwarf that Dori hated to reason away, but he had no choice. The dwarf was called Navir, and Dori would swear on anything you like that Navir was the best dwarf he'd ever known. So perhaps Ori was kind, and Balin was wise, and Oin was a good healer, but Navir was selfless to a fault, and wise in his own way. He was clever with his hands (and I didn't mean in that way thank you very much Nori) and had a quick mind, making him well suited for his job as a tinker; he had some skill in most things, and learnt new skills incredibly quickly. He had talent to be envied, but the job was neither steady nor well paid, and Dori was forced to deny himself perhaps the only thing he had ever selfishly wanted.
That didn't mean they never saw each other; whenever Dori needed something fixing, he would send for Navir. Navir would fix whatever it was, charge half his normal rate because he knew that was all Dori could afford, and say that Dori could make up the rest of the amount by letting him stay for dinner. Dori would smile, and pretend to consider it, before agreeing and bustling off to make dinner. Navir would sit with Nori and Ori, and he'd read to them, or play with them, or teach Nori how to do cartwheels, or draw with Ori, and all the while Dori would be chopping potatoes or slicing bread in the kitchen, and it would warm him from the inside-out to hear his little brothers laugh so freely. And because the Ri family always enjoyed spending time with Navir, he would always end up staying late, and then he'd complain that he didn't want to walk through Ered Luin in the dark, and so he'd have to stay until morning. This always resulted in Ori whooping for joy, because it meant giving up his bedroll (which resided near Dori's) for Navir to use, and instead sharing Nori's bedroll, which was in a different part of the small house. Dori and Navir would put the children to bed and, after they were both snoring soundly, would go to their own bedrolls and put out the lamps. Ten minutes later, Dori would always feel a hand on his arm, and would hear his name being whispered.
"Dori."
"Navir."
"Can I get into your bedroll?"
"I think you already have."
Navir would shift a bit, and his body would suddenly be flush against Dori's.
"Now I'm in your bedroll."
"I know."
A pause of a minute or so, and then warm hands – Navir always had warm hands – creeping under Dori's nightshirt, over his hips and chest.
"Dori."
"Navir."
"Can I love you tonight?"
"I think you've already started."
Dori can almost hear the grin that Navir gives in response.
"No I haven't."
"What about the children?"
"They're sleeping – don't do anything to wake them."
"I never do."
"I know."
And then Dori would feel a warm mouth pressing a kiss against his chest, then another kiss below that, and continuing down, until Dori lost himself in the quiet pleasure of being loved in such a way.
In the morning, Dori and Navir would be dressed and in separate bedrolls, and they'd share breakfast and bid goodbye as if nothing had happened.
They never kissed each other on the lips, or declared their love, or made any promises in moments of clarity or moments of passion. For years, this was all they had, and Dori ached after each time as he was shown afresh how much Navir loved him, and how long he was willing to wait.
For Navir, it was simply enough to know that Dori loved him; he knew that Dori would never let himself marry while he had two children to care for. So Navir kept coming back, and he never looked elsewhere for love or physical pleasure. He knew a time would eventually come when he could be with Dori properly.
...
Decadess passed; years in which Dori managed to get an honest and well-paid job, and to rise in the ranks of the company. Years in which the Brothers Ri moved into a better house, and Nori ran away, and Ori grew up so much. Years in which Dori grew to love his work, and to prioritise it above everything but Ori. Years through which Navir waited, lovingly, longingly, for Dori: despite all the changes, nothing changed between them.
And it hurt like nothing Navir had ever known before.
Then Navir finally reached a point where he had simply had enough, so he packed his bags, informed his landlord, and left.
He went to say goodbye to Dori, cursing himself for his weakness all the while, and was granted five minutes before the weaver had to rush off to see to something.
So he shouldered his pack and left.
Navir had never travelled far, but in the decade that he spent travelling, he was confident he'd been to the far reaches of Middle Earth, and there was not a wonder he had not seen.
He was in one of those far reaches when he heard about the formation of Thorin Oakenshield's Company, information that must be a few months old at least, judging by how far it had had to travel. Navir paid it no heed, until the sudden fear hit him: what if Dori joined? What if Ori joined, and Dori followed? What if they're going to their deaths? He packed up and left that night, heading for the Iron Hills and then Erebor, and, upon hearing the news that Dain's army was to march to King Thorin's aid, he signed up immediately and left with them.
Navir didn't sight Dori during the battle, but he did afterwards; Navir was nursing a very broken hand as he watched Dori help the injured from the battlefield. Dori's hair was coming out of its braids in wisps, and there was a streak of blood across his left cheek, and Navir was sure Dori had never looked so beautiful before.
He didn't search for Dori – for Navir, knowing Dori was alive was enough – but circumstances caused their paths to cross: the physician who was treating Ori (luckily for nothing more than a broken wrist) was also treating Navir (unluckily, for the injury that meant the end of his career).
Dori burst into the healer's tent one day, thinking his brother was in there, and stopped dead when he saw Navir. Navir and the healer both glanced round at the intrusion, and Navir couldn't help but stare. This was what he'd been trying to avoid.
The healer smiled, "Dori, I've already seen your brother, so he's gone back to his tent."
"Y-yes, thank you..." Dori trailed off, "Navir?..."
"Yes Dori, it's me."
"Oh Mahal, where have you been? I thought you were never coming back. I thought you'd gone for good, and that you didn't..."
Navir noticed the healer quietly slipping out, then he spoke, his voice weary.
"Didn't what, Dori? Didn't love you? I love you more than I've ever loved anything, but you don't love me that much, and that's..." Navir swallowed his feelings, "...and that's fine by me."
"Navir...I did love you, I do love you, but I...I could never let myself..."
"Why? Because of the children? Because of your work? Because I couldn't provide for you? Because I'm nothing more than a tinker?" He smiled and held up his injured hand, "was nothing more than a tinker – I'm not good for much now at all."
Dori frowned at the injured hand and, without thinking, he gently took it in his own and pressed a kiss to the bandages.
"Navir I'm so sorry."
"Don't be; it wasn't your fault."
Dori absently noted that the lilt in Navir's voice was similar to Bofur's.
"I don't mean for that – I mean for everything else I did wrong."
And for once, Dori held Navir, rather than the other way round, and Dori pressed kisses to Navir's greying hair, and Dori told Navir he loved him.
Dori led Navir back to the small tent he shared with his brothers, and the two were greeted with smiles and surprise. Navir was given a bedroll in their tent, where he stayed that night and all the ones that followed, until they moved into a proper house in Erebor months later.
But that night, after Nori and Ori were asleep, Navir heard his name being whispered.
"Navir?" Dori sounded terribly nervous.
"Dori."
"Can I get into your bedroll?"
Navir smiled, and replied with the familiar "I think you already have."
Dori shifted a bit and snuggled closer.
"Now I'm in your bedroll."
Navir smiled, even though it was pitch black. "I know."
A pause of a minute or so, and then warm hands – Dori usually had warm hands – creeping under Navir's nightshirt, over his chest.
"Navir?"
"Dori."
"Can I love you tonight?"
Navir had longed to hear those words for more years than he could count.
"I think you've already started."
Navir knew Dori was smiling. "I haven't."
"What about your brothers?"
"They're sleeping, so don't wake them."
"I won't."
"I know."
And for once, Navir felt a warm mouth pressing a kiss against his chest, then another kiss below that, but instead of continuing to kiss down, Dori began to kiss up. The kisses reached Navir's shoulders, then his neck, his cropped beard, and finally, after a small hesitation, his mouth. And for once, Navirlost himself in the quiet pleasure of being loved in such a way.
...
And they lived happily ever after. More or less...
I didn't know where this was going, but then it sort of took over and wrote itself and ended up here