A/N: Hey, dearreader, their very first meeting is described in "Thorin's Return to Shire" chapter 8 and their second in Word of the Day #16.
A/N#2: Note to everyone :D There is a fic (which is not a fic:) "Thorin's Timeline," which is just a timeline of the main events in all the stories, and I updated it recently. But feel free to ask for clarification! :)
You remember the endlessly indecent song that Thea tends to hum, None but the brave deserves the fair, and you grab his ears and kiss him. He grasps handfuls of your undertunic on your shoulder blades, and there is this rumbling in his chest again. You know it probably sounds like growling, but when you are spread on his wide scorching chest, your breasts pressed into the hot skin through the gauzy material, the vibrations transferred into your body, it feels like purring.
He bends one leg, and suddenly you are somewhat straddling his thigh and it is pressed between your legs. You moan and slightly shift your hips. Maiar, help you, you might reach your release right now! That is quite a stratagem for a man without any carnal experience! And then you realize it is unintentional, he is just trying to roll you over. You let him, and he is looming over you.
He lifts his torso and supports it on one elbow, while his eyes are roaming your body. The undertunic hiked up from your movements and is bunched up on your waist. His gaze falls on your drawers, and you berate yourself. You should have listened to Thea. Your undergarments are endlessly plain, the drawers reach your knees, no lace, just dull white linen. Thea has chiffon, and silk, and dimity, and bodices are lacy and inviting, some of her drawers are as short as only covering her buttocks. His palm lies on your stomach over the fabric of the undergarment, and all thoughts vacate your head.
He gives you a mischievous smile, and his teeth sink into the soft bottom lip. Oh Maiar, you have never seen anything more alluring! He picks up the string on the low collar and pulls at it. You are smiling back at him. His brows twitch, and you hold your breath. You learnt to recognize this little twitch as an indication of some internal decision being reached in his mind.
He lowers his lips on yours and decisively slides his palm under the hem of your chemise. His hot palm meets your skin, and your whole body jolts. His hand is so large, that while his fingers are on your ribs, his thumb gently strokes your solar plexus. You run your tongue on his upper lip, and your hand lies on his chest. You stroke the hard muscles there, feeling the ridges of scars under the pulps of your fingers, the hair an exquisite treat, thick and coarse.
His hand slides higher and brushes the underside of your breast. You gasp into his mouth and involuntarily dig your nails into his skin. He hisses, and you jerk it back. He mumbles something into your lips. You move away and look into his eyes questioningly. He drops his head and presses his mouth to your neck. Is he hiding a blush? "Do it again..." Did you actually hear it or you imagined his low raspy whisper? There is only one way to find out.
You inhale gathering your courage and press your palm into his chest. And then rake your fingers down the rock hard pectoral muscles and graze the abdomen. An impressive shudder runs through his body, and he nips your skin painfully. Was that a moan? That was definitely a moan.
And them his palm covers your breast, and it is your turn to make noise. You are ashamed to confess, yours sounds more like a sob. He freezes and then lifts his face. You should not be laughing, but he has such a cautious, slightly frightened expression, that you cannot help it. You giggle, and he frowns. He is obviously not used to be unpractised in anything, and definitely he is not used to being laughed at. He looks peevish, and you start shaking with laughter harder. It is probably hysterics.
He starts pulling the hand out, but you press your both palms over it through the undertunic, halting him. "Forgive me, my lord, I was not laughing at you. I am just..." You cannot find the right word. He haughtily lifts a brow. And that is when you decide that openness is the best policy. "Giddy, I am giddy. Could you please put it back?" You are blushing, but you give him a shy smile.
His fingers twitch on your ribs, and then he pushes the hand under your back and pushes you to sit up. He rises himself and gently picks up the hem of the undertunic. He glances at you, and you nod. You lift your arms, and he slowly pulls it up. His fingers graze your back, and you exhale sharply.
The undertunic gets tangled around your shoulders, your elbow stuck in its short sleeve, and he puffs some air in irritation. He jerks it up couple more times, but it would not go. He lets it go and moves away from you. You pull the hem back down and look at him. He is so irked that you can even see knots of muscles on his jaws.
"Would you please take it off yourself, honourable healer?" The tone is annoyed. You are not going to let him wallow in his feeling of inadequacy and being grumpy about it. He is obviously brooding. You want him, and you want him to enjoy it. It is not a competition, and you do not need a demonstration of skills. You lift your chin.
"No," your tone is firm, and he exhales angrily. He is glaring at you, but you do not yield. He is pondering you for a moment and then gives you a dark smirk. He grabs the hem again. He jerks it up, and you think your hear the fabric rip. You open your mouth to object, but the chemise flies across the room, and your naked chest is exposed to his eyes. You gasp and stare at him. His eyes are fixed on your small peaks, and you bite into your bottom lip from acute shyness. He has a strange expression, and you feel blush rising all over your body. Is he disappointed?
He tentatively stretches his hand and cups your left breast. You gulp, and he lifts his eyes at you. And then his thumb brushes the teat, and your eyes close against your will. The shivers of pleasure runs through your body, and then you feel his lips and his beard on the collarbone above another breast. He is slowly exploring the skin there, lips and tongue sliding on your skin, and you moan loudly, dropping your head back.
His lips close over the hard nipple, and you whimper. He obviously has learnt by now that it is not a sound of displeasure, and you feel his tongue experimentally touch the pink teat. Your head is spinning, and all you want is more.
You grab his ears and falling backwards on the bed, you pull him down with you. He is more than willing to oblige, his lips leaping to your neck, to the collar bones, to the breast again, peppering kisses, quicker and quicker, hot, open mouthed. He is supporting himself on his right elbow, while the left hand slides under your shoulder blades again, lifting you to his greedy mouth. You feel a scorching lick run along your ribs, and you cry out, grabbing handfuls of his hair.
Both breasts receive an equal amount of attention, his lips, his tongue, and eventually his teeth, gentle but thorough, exploring and so obviously enjoying them, that you are moaning loudly. He is murmuring into your skin again. Ghivashel, esujer, umuhud… Treasure of treasure? Really? And something about lure and glory. Your friend Estel was right, men do have diverse tastes. You never thought there is any allure in your hardly noticeable breasts and bony angles. So the breasts then, not the backside. But on the other hand, maybe he has not gotten to it yet. If he seems so enticed with them, maybe your skinny bum will also be to his liking.
You realize that he was restraining himself, but now that his control is slipping he is like an eruption of a fire mountain, hot devastating lava flooding you, overwhelming you, and you do not want his reserve and composure.
You press your palms into his back and, remembering the previous experience, you rake his skin with your nails. His mouth is on your shoulder, and he bites into it with a throaty moan. You grab his ears and push him down, towards your breasts again. His left hand covers the small peak, and you arch into him. He pulls another teat into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, and you are whining.
One of your legs wraps around him, and he takes his hand off you and presses it into the covers. He lifts his upper body above you, his mouth still on your skin, and slides down, hot open mouthed kisses going between your breasts, on your stomach and then he is still, his nose pressed into the waist of your drawers.
He kisses the skin above the edge of the fabric and then slides his tongue along it. It looks so much as if he is sampling the taste that you impulsively press your knees together. Your legs are caught in the cage of his massive arms, bent in elbows and supporting his weight, and he looks up at you.
You stretch your hands to him, and he moves up, his heavy body covering you for the first time. You spread your knees, making room for him, and his eyes are shining. He presses his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, and you allow your hands explore his upper body. The muscles move under the scorching skin on his back when he tilts his head and moves his mouth to your neck, you stroke the broad shoulders, and slide your palms around the waist, narrow for a Dwarf. You forgot the bliss of a large male body weighing on you. Perhaps, you have never known it.
Your fingers brush his ribs, and he jerks. The King Under the Mountain is ticklish, and you feel ecstatic. A smug thought comes to your mind that you might be the only person in the world to know it. You feel coltish and brave and run the tips of your fingers along the waist of his breaches. He exhales into your neck. You tickle, he chuckles.
And then he chokes on his laughter, when you pick up the strings on his trousers and pull at them. You know if you allow yourself to think for even an instant, you will be terrified, so you squeeze your eyes and push your hand down the open fly of his breeches. The tips of your fingers bump into hot flesh in there, and he groans.
His member is constrained in them, bend under an obviously uncomfortable angle, and you exhale sharply. You have a speck of courage left, and you need to use it wisely. You push your hand further, wrap your fingers around his shaft and release his erection to freedom. He drops his head on your shoulder and emits a long raspy moan. It encourages you, and you push the waist of his breeches down. And then in a spur of strange inventiveness you bend your legs and push the trousers all the way down with your feet. His eyes fly to yours, and the shock in them is the best reward. You smile to him smugly. And then remember that now you will have to deal with the beast you have unbound, and you gulp in mortification.