Sit."

"…Excuse me?"

"I said,sit."

"I am not a dog."

"Thorin, trust me."

"You make that rather difficult."

"Well. I'll just go, then. Forget it," you threw up your hands and turned to leave. Thorin sighed loudly.

"Where?"

"Pardon?"

"Where shall I sit, oh persistent one?"

You raised an eyebrow, then looked about. Thorin watched you, almost squirming with impatience.

"I still don't see why we had to come all the way out here for this."

"For privacy."

"Andwhydo we need privacy?"

"I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

"And I shall question my judgement until the end of my days."

You set yourself on a nearby rock and pointed in front of you.

"Sit right here."

"…On the ground?"

"Yes. Or are you so proud that you're above sitting on the earth itself?"

Lips set into a stiff line, he walked over then paused. He gave an irritated snort and rolled his eyes. He'd turned a bit pink, you noticed.

"Face away from me," you offered, seeing his embarrassed hesitation. He nodded and cautiously sunk to the ground, sitting a good foot and a half away from you.

"You're going to have to get a bit closer."

Sighing again, the dwarf king slid back.

"A little closer, Thorin."

"Exactly how close am I supposed to be to you?"

"Close enough for me to touch you."

"Andwhyexactly do you have to touch me?" He turned, almost achingly slowly, to look at you.

"Thorin, when I said I could help heal you, did you really think I wouldn't have to touch you?"

"I have been healed a great many times and they do not all involvetouching."

"Well this one does."

"I don't know why I agreed to this."

"Because you were walking like you had an axe stuck in your spine."

"I was not."

"And you weren't sleeping."

"I was."

"Oh, all that tossing and turning was nothing, then, hm?"

"I am a light sleeper."

"And Oín couldn't find anything to help."

"He will."

"Who knows how long that'll take."

"I am patient."

"Oh, you arenot."

"Yes, I am."

"Really," you replied. If you could say it any more dryly, you'd have a desert in your mouth. This was the dwarf who practically flung himself into danger without hesitation, began a nigh impossible mission with only a team of mismatched hooligansandhad taken to poking you in the side each morning with his boot to wake you. Because you didn't get up fast enough. He turned back around with a huff, more resembling a petulant child than royalty.

"Fine."

"Okay. Take off your coat, your vambraces and your mail."

"This is ridiculous."

"Thorin."

The now very testy dwarf grumbled aboutsafetyandif we get ambushedbut obliged, shuffling off his large fur coat and vambraces before expertly removing the mail, folding it and placing it beside him.

"…And your tunic?"

There was a long pause. This was it. You waited for him to yell, to question, to storm off, to turn around and punch you square in the face but he didn't. He took a deep breath. And then in one smooth motion, pulled his tunic up and over his head, letting his long dark hair catch in the fabric then fall gracefully across his back.

You had Thorin Oakenshield shirtless between your legs.

Quickly pushing away all the absolutely inappropriate and borderline obscene thoughts leaping to mind, you started digging through your bag, which you'd set alongside your stone perch. Thorin tossed the tunic to the side and waited.

"And what do I do now?"

"You relax," you paused, grabbing a small bottle from your bag, "you do know what relaxing is, don't you?"

"I am familiar with the concept, yes."

"Alright," you pulled the stopper out of the bottle, which made a brightpop.

"What was that?"

"It's just something to aid in the healing process, it's an oil."

"It smells."

"It's supposed to be soothing."

"Do I need 'soothing'?" he mimicked your voice unattractively.

"No, what you need is a firm kick to the backside, but thankfully I'm a bit kinder than that."

He chuckled a little and you smiled. You poured a little of the oil onto your hands, rubbing it between them to warm it.

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?"

He didn't respond.

"Is that okay?"

"Just do whatever it is you're going to do so we can get back to camp."

"Oookay."

You reached out and carefully swept his long dark hair over one of his shoulders. He tensed.

"Relax," you said softly.

"I. Am."

You rolled your eyes but didn't dare laugh. It had taken a lot to get him out here and you didn't want him to retreatnow. You'd consciously avoided calling it a'massage', worried he'd have some association with elves or some other thing he loathed and flat out refuse. You hated lying by omission, but he really,reallyneeded this. You brought your hands up and smoothed the oil across his shoulders, delighting a little in how it accentuated his musculature in the light. He flinched at the touch and you paused.

"Shall I continue, my king?"

He took a breath, then quietly, "Yes."

Gently pressing both thumbs at either side of his spine, just where his neck met his shoulders, you began rolling small circles, working at the muscles gently. He wastense. You knew just from watching him that he was holdingeverythingin his shoulders. He probably hadn't properly relaxed since before Smaug's attack and it broke your heart to watch him suffer. You moved slowly outward, along and down his broad shoulders, untangling knot after knot. It felt as though he had iron rods where his muscles should be. You dug in a little harder and he grunted.

"Just let me know if the pressure's okay."

"Hm?" he rumbled.

"Let me know if it's too soft, too hard…"

"S'fine."

"Alright."

"S'good."

You chuckled and continued. You progressed from thumbs to alternating between the heel of your palm and your knuckles, pressing and kneading, before smoothing along with the palm of your hand and fingers. You worked slowly but strongly, taking your time. This kind of stress wasn't going to just melt away – you would have to pummel it into submission. You zeroed in on a particularly stubborn knot in the crook between his shoulder blades and spine, pressing hard.

…And that's when the noises started.

They were so soft at first you thought it was a tree groaning against the breeze. But no. It was him. Your stern, imposing, very serious leader softly moaning under your hands. It was only natural, you told yourself, you were breaking down a lifetime of stress and worry, you couldn't expect him to sit there like a stone! But as the sounds started growing in volume, you couldn't fight the rising blush or your embarrassed – and rather satisfied – smile any longer.

Youwere doing this.Youwere provoking these wonderful, borderline erotic sounds from him and it just made you feel… fantastic. Powerful. And not the least bit, well,excited.

"Oh,Mahal," he gasped and you paused, surprised at the exclamation, "don't you darestop."

Well. You couldn't very well deny the king. You kept at it, slowly working your way down. And he responded enthusiastically, steadily leaning forward to give you more access. Scars crisscrossed his back and you found yourself tracing the violent patterns with your fingers. You wondered where they'd all come from, if they still hurt in one way or another, and if your touch was hurting him at all.

"Right there!" he nearly shouted, "Yes,right there. Please Y/N, keep going."

That answered that question. Youdefinitelyweren't hurting him.In fact,theThorin Oakenshield was practically begging you to keep touching him. And you were more than happy to comply. Kneading along either side of his spine, you slowly reached his lower back. Without really thinking, you took ahold of his hips, squeezing gently. He moaned heavily as you rolled your thumbs again, gripping his hips tightly. Your fingers caught on the waist of his trousers and your imagination practically danced. Oh, the possibilities.You could bring your hands around his front, dip them below the fabric and–

NOPE. STOP.

You could grab at his firm buttocks and–

AH. NO. LEADER. STOP.

You shook your head out of your reverie and consciously moved up his back again, flushing at your bold mind. He was more tense higher up, anyway.

"Harder," he grunted, suddenly.

"…pardon?"

"I saidharder. Please."

You were about ready to give up on the massage and fling yourself atop him, but held back, channeling your building excitement into another hard, decisive press into his back. The guttural, animalistic sound that followed was unlike anything you'd heard from him thus far.

You like that, huh?You found yourself thinking, surprised at your own dark satisfaction. And the way having him at your mercy aroused you. You pressed in hard again and he whimpered, whispering your name between shallow breaths.That's right, say my name. Louder.

Soon enough he was letting out a steady stream of moans, groans and gasps that would rival the busiest brothel. Occasionally he would speak, worlds garbled and thick – mostly telling you howgoodeverything felt, howamazingyou were, sometimes a spattering of Khuzdul. The dirty, satisfied voice in your head was having a field day, almost laughing with pleasure.

But as much as you wanted to make him sing for you forever, your hands were starting to get sore.

You slid from your perch on the rock and kneeled beside him, taking an arm and carefully squeezing and kneading down his strong bicep and forearm. He had gone completely passive in your hands and watched you as you took his hand in yours. First pressing your thumbs into his rough palm, you continued making circles before you gave each finger equal attention. You gently put his hand down and moved to repeat the process on the other side, your audience absolutely captivated. He looked nearly drunk, eyelids heavy over dark eyes, mouth slightly open, groaning softly. You smiled at him before you released his hand and moved back around to your stone. You set about one last run starting at the base of his spine.

You worked your way up to his neck until you were cradling his head, your fingers dancing along the bottom of his skull. He lolled back in your grasp and you caught a glimpse at his face. He looked… well, lovely. Eyes closed, face relaxed, truly the picture of bliss. And then he looked up at you. You blushed hard but kept rubbing and watched as his tongue escaped momentary, wetting his lips. His eyelids flickered and his eyes started to roll back with pleasure.

That's right, I've got you.

You practically tore your eyes away and trailed your fingers along his scalp, eliciting a deep growl. You worked at his scalp for a bit, using your fingertips and thumbs to trace swirling patterns through his hair. Your fingers slid down to his temples and along his brow, determined to ease some of the burden that sat there day after day. Then along to his jaw, fingernails gently scratching through his beard. He had melted back into your lap at this point, completely and utterly relaxed.

You ran your hands softly along his shoulders once more before you stopped, smiling down at him.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Mmm…," he opened his eyes slowly, looking up at you. He smiled lazily and you giggled.

"Comfy?"

"Mmmm…"

"Incapable of speech?"

"Mmmm…"

"Damn, I'm good."

"I'll say," he sighed.

"Oh! So you can speak! I guess I didn't do such a good job after all."

Thorin chuckled softly and took your hands in his. He brought them to his mouth and kissed the top of each hand.

"Thank you."

"Not a problem. Any time."

"Dangerous words. You may never get rid of me."

You laughed, looking down at the near gelatinous king between your legs. He'd closed his eyes. A comfortable silence followed as you let the king rest. Without thinking, you placed a hand upon his cheek, letting the thumb rub lightly. He hummed, leaning into your hand before turning his head to kiss your palm.

"Talented, these," he muttered.

"Lots of practice."

"Well, should you need to practicemore…," he said quietly, counterfeiting innocence.

"You'll be the first to know. But right now, we shouldprobablyget back to camp."

Thorin inhaled and looked thoughtfully out into the forest.

"…I don't know if I can stand."

You couldn't help it, you broke, giggling uncontrollably. To your surprise, the dwarf king joined you, positively shaking with laughter.

"Come on, you. I'll help," taking a deep breath, you patted his shoulders and got up. You probably sounded like a pair of children, the way you both carried on, snickering as you eased him back onto his feet. He wasn't kidding – he was more than a little wobbly. You held him by the elbows, steadying him.

"Do you need me to help you walk, your majesty?"

"No, no, I think can handle that much at least," he took a cautious step, glancing at you playfully, "but be on guard."

"Oh! Your things!"

You quickly grabbed the haphazard pile of garments and held them out to Thorin. He held the tunic for a moment, then reached out to you, laughing. Giggling, you braced him as he swayed and shuffled the garment back on, the fabric clinging to his now oil covered back. He looked at the rest and shrugged, laying them over an arm.

"Shall we?" He nodded toward the camp and you departed. You walked casually, laughing and catching Thorin a few times as he lost his footing. You didn't think you'd ever heard him laugh this much.

"Where exactly did you learn to dothat?" He said it with a sigh, almost reverentially.

"I picked it up, working here and there. You'd be surprised how much you learn just from watching someone."

"Oh?"

"People carry their bodies differently when they hurt. If you can pinpoint where the hurt is, you can fix it."

"Well, then I am pleased to know you've been watching me," he smirked and you laughed

"Glad you liked it."

"I more thanlikedit."

You laughed again as the two of you walked into camp. And into a wall of eyes. Every member of the company was staring and seeing you, nearly jumped back into action, talking loudly and serving dinner, actively ignoring your entrance. You raised an eyebrow and looked to Thorin, who shrugged. He took your hand once more and gave it a lingering kiss before he walked toward the others, still a bit unstable on his feet.

Damn, you were good.