Thorin is blinking. There is not much more to say, since that is the only thing he is doing. His face is blank, pupils dilated, he is staring at a point at a wall behind your right shoulder. He is still holding your hands, a thumb unknowingly to him continues stroking your knuckles. "Thorin?" He blinks again, this time seemingly shaking off the stupour, and looks at you. "Are you certain?" "Yes, I am. I would not have told you, my King, had I not been certain. My magic allows me to hear the hear." "The heart?" The king pales and presses a hand to his forehead. The gesture is so melodramatic and unsuiting the stern King Under the Mountain that you giggle. He suddenly shifts his eyes and stares at your stomach, his hand still pressed to his brow. To be honest, he is a few inches off but you allow him his impracticable investigation. The bizarre pertification that has befallen the King becomes increasingly comical, and you start chuckling. "My King, that is not quite the reception that I expected upon telling you the news." He cannot seems to tear his eyes from your middle, the only change is the growing pressure of his fingers on your phalanges.
He is still silent, and you pull one hand out from his crashing hold and jab his shoulder. He blinks again, Mahal help you, and gulps. "A babe?" An almost uncontrollable desire to snark, "No, a warg pup" is battling in you with acute sympathy to your King. Apparently, Dwarves are not quite such quick thinkers as you always assumed. And apparently, the possibility of a child is the last thing that your King was prepared for. You consider delivering a final blow by telling him it is a male heir of the line of Durin, but allow him some more time to recuperate. He stretches his free hand towards your stomach but pauses an inch away, his fingers visibly shakingly.
And then your Thorin is back, a beaming smile lights up his face, and he presses his warm palm to your stomach. "A babe," his tone is finally assertive, and you laugh. "A son." His eyes widen, and he stares in your eyes. "You can ascertain that as well." His tone is awed. "Do not glorify my abilities just yet, my Lord. It took me awhile to recognize it for what it is. Since I have never had to examine the symptoms from inside," you chuckle. "I find it endlessly amusing that I have seen others go through this so often, and yet it appeared so inconceivable." He is smiling and gently strokes your stomach. "Are you going to mutter other banalities as well, my Lord? "Are you sure it is baby?" is indeed the most common. There is also, "How did that happen?"" He screws his laughing eyes at you. "I do know where children come from, zundush." He finally pulls you into his arms and buries his nose in your hair. You busk in his affection, and the world is right again.
"Why now?" he asks, his voice soft, "Why not before?" You consider his question. In the early days, you protected yourself, some herbs and roots being greatly effective to make sure a child was not to be conceived. But later, upon discussing it with the King, you stopped taking them. Neither of you spoke of it, but with years you both just accepted that your races were not meant to procreate jointly. "I do not know," you sigh into his chest and rub your cheek to where his rapid hearbeat is drumming. He moves you away from his body and hold you at arm's length. "Will it bring harm to it," he stumbles over his own words, "to him, that you are not a Dwarf?" You momentarily get annoyed that he picks your race as a possible flaw in this union, but there is no point in discussing it now. "No, he is as healthy as any babe at this stage. Something can still happen," you look down at your hands that are now resting on your knees, "But his chances are as higher as for any other healthy child. He is a very strong and determined little being," you smile and the King smiles with you. Paternal pride is blossoming in his eyes, and you already see that he is going to be impossible from now on. "That is good," he nods, affirming something internally. "We are turning around and returning to Erebor." Here you go.
Your temper flares you but then you deter yourself, reminding yourself that the King does not possess your knowledge in midwifery. "It is quite alright, my Lord. I am perfectly healthy and capable. There is no need to change any of our plans." You give him a reassuring smile, but he frowns and gets up. The stern posture and the decisive line of his tense jaw, which you are unfortunately so familiar with, tell you you have a battle ahead of you. "The road is no place for an expecting woman." Here come the banalities! You start with trying to alleviate his worrying. "I feel completely well. It is just my moods and appetites that are affected." The mentioning of appetite makes you think of seedcake and sweet tea, and you get momentarily distracted. Then you think of other appetites, and you glance at the unsuspecting King, who is frowning and pacing around the room. He is positively delectable, his upper body clad only in a light shirt, sleeves rolled up, trousers hugging the glorious backside. You imagine licking that throat and raking the shoulders with your nails. Well, you concede, what they say of pregnant women is true. Mind of a squirrel, hunger of a wolf.
You switch to reasoning. "My Lord, there is only one day of travel left to reach the Shire. If we turn around, we will have to spend the next night under the open sky. And there is a rainstorm coming." It is true, you can feel the quiver of an approaching thunder in the air. The King halts and contemplates, immobile in the middle of the room. You are fighting starvation and the desire to tear the clothes off his hard, warm, strong, scrumptious body. You shake your head to clear the libidinous haze. The King assents, "We will continue the journey, but as soon as the weather permits, we are returning home." You understand that this is the first of the countless discussions of your capability in your current state, most of them will probably turn into heated arguments, but so far you are satisfied. The trip is to continue, and you will address the King's overprotective impulses when they arise.
"As you say, my King," he looks at your suspiciously but you are a picture of a womanly obedience. He definitely expected more quarreling as he knows you well. "My Lord, would it be possible to send for tea? I am afraid my hunger these days is unquenchable." And if you could take off your shirt, that would be grand as well. You shush the rapacious growl in your head and smile demurely. The King dashes to the door. Eager to please, are we? Oh, these upcoming months are going to be fun!
You are finishing your second cup of tea, under a loving and bemused gaze of the King. He is sitting on the bed, across the teatray from you, plates on it heaping with cakes, cheeses, toast and jam. "I have to say, I have never seen you eating so copiously. You have always possessed a healthy appetite, zundush, but you are positively ravenous." And you are positively appetizing, my Lord. Oh shush you, one craving at a time. You lick honey from your finger and suck at the tip. The King's eyes fix on your lips. Someone is eager to celebrate as well. You smile a predatory smile and move the tray to the floor. You pull at the belt of your robe and lean closer.
Thorin jumps up and bolts to the corner of the room, actually placing a chair between you two. You lift a brow in befuddlement. "I think I should go down and ask for another room," his voice is raspy, and he clears his throat. You feel you are missing something. "My Lord?" "Your state," he is vaguely waving in the direction of your stomach, "it is not wise for us to stay in the same bed." "Thorin, you are not going to harm the baby if you roll over me in your sleep," you are laughing but his face gets even more panicked. "It is not the sleeping that troubles me." You are starting to understand. "Is it about the ridiculous Dwarven custom of purity during parturiency? Are you trying to avoid temptation of sharing the bed with me?" His eyes shift. You lick your lips and murmur sensually, "Is my Lord scared of not being in control of his lecherous yearnings?" He shrinks even more and starts retracting to the door. You pounce and beat him to it. You press your back to it and pin him with a stare. "It is not a ridiculous custom. One is not to bed his wife while she is carrying a child," he goes as far as to give the window a sideways glance, and you snort. "It is an old wife's tale, Thorin. There is nothing harmful in it, it is good for the woman's body and spirit and enjoyable for both partaking it." "It is not to be done!" You lock the door and put the key in the pocket of your robe. You advance, effectively cornering him. You never thought you would hear Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the King Under the Mountain squeak in fear. "I have overseen hundreds of pregnancies, delivered plenty of healthy babes and I know what I am saying. It is completely safe and very, very pleasurable for the woman," you are purring and he swallows loudly. Nonetheless, he is jerkily shaking his head and stretches his hand. "Give me the key, kurdu."
"No," you actually stomp, "You are not leaving this room tonight." He looks at you almost pleadingly. You try different approach. "I am distressed, all the agitation of the last few days, I need consoling. And doting. A lot of doting," you look at him from under your lashes. He throws a sideways glance at the bed and immediately looks terrified. He understands that once you get your hands on him, he is lost. You both know that self-control in carnal matters is not one of his strong points. "We will just repose, have some rest," you are murmuring, edging closer. "We both know it is not true," his resolve is wavering. "Of course not," that is it, you have had enough of the Dwarven prejudice and stubbornness. "We will get into this bed and you will please the mother of your child, repeatedly, or Mahal help me, I will combust!" Your eyes are probably mad and flashing, and he gapes. "And we both know that you would not last either, since the Dwarven pregnancy is forty eight months," he looks momentarily aghast, apparently having forgotten this fact, "even with half of Dwarven blood in him your son is not coming for the nearest sixteen months. Are you planning to stay away from my body for sixteen months?" He runs his eyes over the said body and capitulates. "No... But only because I trust your experience as a midwife." Meaning, and not because he cannot control his urges. Right… "For which I am endlessly grateful, now off with your clothes and into the bed!"
You step forward, and grabbing the bottom of his shirt you pull it off, his broad exquisite chest with coarse hair and hard muscles finally in front of you. He guffaws but chokes on it when you rake his chest with you nails. He picks you up, rough palms groping your buttocks, hot lips on your mouth. You moan and clasp your hips around his waist. For a moment he supports you with one arm, another pushing the robe of your shoulder. Stepping over it, he lowers you on the bed, sinks on the floor on his knees between your legs and wraps his fingers around your small feet. His palms are slowly sliding up your legs, preceded by greedy lips. He kisses and sucks, until he reaches the hemline of your night dress. Then the hands rush ahead, hiking up the skirt, while the lips and tongue lavish attention to your revealed inner thigh. You are whimpering and writhing, clawing at the covers on the bed. You pick up your bum and he pushes the night dress up, slips one hand under your shoulder blades and lifts you torso, divesting you of the dress.
You fall back on the bed with an oomph, his hands back on your hips bones. You shortly wonder if he is going for what is the last line left uncrossed in your intimacy, when his hot breath scorches your folds. You take it as a yes and then violently cry out when his mouth is pressed to your throbbing sex. You thrash and grab handfuls of his hair. He hums, and that is almost painfully intense. He slips his tongue between your labiae, and you realize that he is sampling the taste. That almost pushes you over edge. He gives each fold a slow lick, thumbs caressing your hipbones, and then he closes his mouth over the clit. You buck your hips and pull at his ebony strands harder. He moans and lets go, going back to the tortuous exploration of your dripping folds. You arch your back, spread you legs wider and notice you have been begging for a while. "Please, please, please..." He slides one hand from the hip and the tip of his index finger is caressing your opening. "I am not certain what exactly you are pleading for, kurdu," his voice is low and gruff, feral smirk on his lips. "Please, let me come, please." He is chuckling, continuing to stroke you with featherlike touches of his fingers. "I do not think you understand, my Queen. I genuinely do know what you are asking for. I have never done that before," he lowers his lips on you again and your whole body jerks. "Prideful Dwarven warriors consider that beneath them," he informs you between lazy licks, "Such activities are a duty of women." You are grasping for air and see small black dots in front of your eyes. "So you see, my heart, a bit of guidance would be highly appreciated." "Oh, you are doing just fine," you remark drowns in your howling when he gives your clit a hard suck. Encouraged by your reaction, he does it again and then circles it with the tip of his tongue. You yell his name and climax, clenching his head between your hips.
He gives you a moment to recover and then licks you again. You yelp and scamper from him, pushing his head away and scooting back to the wall. He chuckles deep in his chest and wipes his beard with his palm. You flop on the bed, panting and quivering. He lies down near you and places his warm palm on your stomach. "That was quite enjoyable," you look at him askance, not capable of moving your head. In the matter of fact, none of your muscles work. "I loved how vocal you were," he is murmuring and rubs his face into your stomach. "Are you more sensitive because of the babe? You mentioned increasing appetites," the smirk on his lips is completely indecent. "I would not be able to compare, would I, my Lord?" "Indeed," he is kissing the stomach now and you feel you have rested sufficiently. "Perhaps, my King, we should partake in an activity that you have previously enjoyed," you roll on your side and caress his chest. "Indeed," he pulls you on top of him and picking you up under you arms he seats you on his bulging erection. "Let us start with your favourite, you do relish holding the reins so," he smirks and you silence him with an ardent kiss.
