You are locked in a circle of his large arms, and you run your fingers up and down his forearm. "I need to leave, haban..." His voice is soft, his lips brush your ear, and it feels as if he just buried his Elven blade into your stomach down to its hilt. You clench your teeth and will yourself to take five deep breaths. Just five breaths in, you tell yourself, you can do it. You accomplish four before the first strange choked sound escapes your lips. He does not notice and nuzzles your neck.

"Where are the bath chambers in this inn?" He sounds rather awkward, and you feel you will start weeping right away if you do not find some way to govern your storming emotions. He is not leaving, he just needs to… That makes you remember about your own needs. And they are urgent. You notice that the pressure in your bladder certainly helps to stop you from agonizing over emotional devastation from his potential leaving. You extricate yourself out of his embrace and turn to him. "At the end of the corridor, to the right from my door. And I should as well…" You make vague gestures in the air, and he nods.

You both climb out of the bed and start picking up your clothes from the floor. You chuckle. He is standing in the middle of your room, in all his naked glory, his trousers in his hand, and questioningly cocks a brow. "I cannot find anything…" You giggle, and he smiles to you. You grab your dressing gown from a chair and wrap in it. You will unlikely encounter anyone in the halls, it is very late. He pulls on the trousers and his light shirt, and you unlock the door.

There is a strange pause, and you giggle again. You two are standing in the corridor in front of your open door, and you wonder if you should kiss goodbye. He finds a wonderful solution to the tense ambiguity. He gives your buttock a squeeze with his hot palm through the thin fabric and bestowing you with a lopsided smirk leaves to his end of the hall. You give yourself a moment to appreciate the view and then dart to the opposite bath chambers.

You attend to your needs, quickly rinse your body in cold water from a pail, noting the soreness inside and already appearing purple finger prints on your backside, you have to spin on the spot several times like a pup chasing its tail to have a good look, and then you pull on the gown again, and rush back.

The King is sitting on the bed already, his hands on his knees, like an obedient pupil on a school bench. There is an anticipation on his face, and you understand he is not planning to go to sleep now. You step closer to him, and he presses his face into you, his nose brushing your breasts. The palms lie on your buttocks, and you push your fingers into his mane. His fingers twitch, and it is quite clear he does not know how to ask. You scrape your nails on the back of his head and then gently pull his hair. He drops his head back, and you are looking in his beautiful face. The cerulean eyes are shining, and you have learnt to recognize the soft, sensual line of slightly open lips as a sign of his lust rising again. You give him a feathery kiss on the corner of his mouth, and he smiles wider to you.

The deft Dwarven fingers slip on the knot of your belt, you are stroking his ears. The gown opens, and he pushes his hands inside and around your waist. The lips press to your sternum, and he twirls his tongue on your skin. You arch into him, and he pulls you closer, tilts his head and sucks one of your teats in. He switches sides, humming low from obvious pleasure. But there is still this lingering desire in you, you have not had enough of one of your ploys...

You carefully move away from him, the breasts, wet from his mouth, are cooling in the air, and you slowly kneel in front of him. His eyes darken, and you place your palms on his knees. And then you gently push them wider. He is taking slow deep breaths and complies. You quickly untangle the strings on the fly and slide your hand in. He is fully erect already.

You bend down and take him in your mouth. He hisses and tries to move away. You lift your eyes at him, not moving your lips. His hand tangles into your hair, "Gentle, haban, it is too much…" You realizes he must be oversensitive after all that transpired between you two, and you hum apologetically. It achieves the opposite result from the one you wanted, the vibration going into his member, and he painfully grasps a handful of your hair. It takes a lot of your willpower not to give him a forceful suck, somehow his action making your walls clench, and you feel moisture dripping from your folds.

You carefully encircle the base of his phallus with your hand and proceed with soft licks and gentle swirls of your tongue on his flesh. A low groan falls off his lips, and he leans back supporting himself on straight arms behind his back. Your other palm slips under his shirt onto the scorching skin, you rake your nails on his hard stomach, through the coarse hair, his eyes close, and he is moaning. You slide up and down his length, switching between swirling your tongue around the glans and pushing your lips all the way down bumping your nose into his dark curls. He is breathing laboriously, and then he lifts his head and stares at you.

Your lust flares up, and you pull him out. Keeping your eyes locked with his, you touch the head with the very tip of your tongue, and then slowly press your tongue to it, making sure he sees every movement. Your tongue swirls around the head, and you both moan. You close your lips and lower yourself on him, taking him as deep as you can. You will your throat to relax and breathe through the reflexive constricting of it.

He suddenly moves and presses his hand into your shoulder. "Enough, haban… It is not… It has been too much, I cannot…" You press your hands into his abdomen and shove him forcefully onto the bed. He falls back with a groan. You move closer to the bed, your knees already aching on the hard wooden floor, but you hardly notice it. You pull his breeches lower, gaining access to his scrotum. You have no skill and very little knowledge, but necessity is the mother of invention.

You slide your hand under his testes and press your palm into them. You are familiar with the medical side of this body part, the low lustful growl that such action elicits out of the King Under the Mountain is a pleasant surprise. You know how sensitive they are, so you gently cup the sacks and slightly move your fingers, continuing to bob your head up and down.

Once again you notice your own pleasure building up in your lower stomach from your actions, and you moan loudly. And then you put your hand right at the bottom of his testes, the tips of your fingers brush his perineum, and you slowly run your palm and fingers from the bottom of his scrotum all the way up to his member in one motion. He growls and clenches his fists on the sheets.

You repeat the action several times, and his breathing changes, short sobs bursting out of him, and you understand that he is approaching his release. You have learnt the sighs the last time, and you double your efforts. You suck all the air out of your mouth, the movements of your head more forceful, your fingers playing with his sacks, and he roars and releases into your mouth.

The seed hits your throat, and your own climax erupts in you. You release his member and sag on the floor near the bed. You drop your head on your arms and moan weakly. Your body is shuddering, small sobs escaping you, and you press your forehead to the cold floor. Hot waves of pleasure run through you, every muscle of your body aching and singing.

A pair of warm hands picks you up. The King pulls you on the bed, into the sheets, your heads lie on the pillows, you intertwine your bodies, your lips find his, his heavy leg encircles yours, and he seems to press every inch of your body into him. You both are still shaking, and you rub your temple to his cheek. Hot lips press to it, and he sighs.

You remember nothing after that, sleep overwhelms you without you noticing it, and your body is so overtired that no dreams come. You open your eyes, in the first bleak light of dawn seeping through the curtains on the window. Your first night with Thorin Oakenshield has passed. This is your last dawn with him.

You turn your head and look at the Dwarf sleeping near you. He arms are wrapped around your middle, your side aching from sleeping on his massive forearm. The lush lashes are lying under his eyes, the line of lips soft, he looks younger and content, because there is no omnipresent wrinkle between his brows, and he is so beautiful that white cold pain pierces your chest. You stroke the silver on his temple with the tips of your fingers and notice that your hands are shaking. You are not ready to let him go yet.

You press your lips to his. It is not yet morning, the sun is not yet high. He stirs in his sleep, and you push him on his back. The blue eye fly open, and he is staring at you in confusion. You straddle him, peppering kisses on his face, slide lower, clawing on his chest, mad and sobbing. He is trying to catch your hands, pull you up, he is trying to see your eyes, and you are pushing the covers off the both of you.

"Please, please, one more time… Just one more..." You are pleading, biting and kissing, your hands roaming his torso, and he picks you up under your arms and pulls you to his lips. You clench handfuls of his hair in your fingers and bite into his bottom lip.

Your frenzy spills onto him, his hands are grabbing your shoulders painfully. You sit up and squeeze him between your thighs. His member is growing under your sex, and you rub your folds to it. He palms your breasts, and you drop your head back. "Just once more, please..." You are moving your hips, and his hands painfully grab your buttocks. He throws you off him onto the bed face down, and his teeth sink into the flesh of your backside. You wail and wrench out of his hands. In your attempt to escape his grip you twist your body, and your feet end up near his face. You slide on his heated body and swiftly guide his member into you mouth.

"No, not that..." He is growling, but you are relentless. And suddenly you release him and scream from genuine pain. He bit your calf that was dangling in front of his nose. He pushes you on the bed and pounces at you. His hot body is weighing you down, and you are lifting your pelvis, pressing your buttocks into him. You are mumbling, spreading yourself, and his arm slides under your stomach. He pushes into you, and you wail. He thrusts with a feral snarl, lifting your hips, and you are weeping, words of gratitude spilling from your lips.

He is pounding into you, you are stretching your upper body on the sheets, clawing at them, and he straightens up, his both palms once again on your hips, fingers clenched, hurting you, and he pushes both of you over the edge, into the roaring fire of pleasure, and rapture, and something that feels like death. His words make sense now. Malel sanamrad… The perfect death in pleasure...