A/N: DON'T MISS THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER!
It is an actual update unlike this one :D I accidentally DELETED this story, so I'm posting it again. Sorry :)
That time when Thorin was smithering in the forge, while Wren stopped to ask for directions.
A/N: Thank you, UKReader, it is marvelous, and yes to Thorin's chest in a forge! :)
A/N#2: This one is pure graphic smut. Be aware when proceeding!
As for the ending… I couldn't help it. Call me repetitive, predictable and limited, I deserve it all :S *wallowing in self-doubt*
Thorin was tired, the day was hot, clients discontent, and he lowered his hammer on the anvil and realised he missed the spot by half an inch. He growled through his teeth and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. He was still fuming after the altercation he had with a dissatisfied merchant half an hour ago, still coming up with rude comebacks in his head for the puffed up, ignorant man, when the door to the forge squeaked. He didn't turn and barked, "What now?"
"I apologise for the intrusion, kind sir," the voice was young and quiet, and he gritted his teeth, "I was wondering if you could help me." He sharply turned around and saw a small skinny figure lit from behind. One of those orphans, he thought grumpily, lots of vagabonds would pass through the village, and they all somehow assumed his forge was a place to ask for food and shelter.
"No charity, get out!" He smashed the hammer down again. This time his aim was even worse, and he swore dirtily under his breath.
"I do not require any alms, I simply need directions." He immediately realised the visitor was no child but a young woman, the tone was confident and sarcastic.
"I am no milestone, ask someone else," he threw over his shoulder.
"Your statement makes no sense," the person by the door chuckled, "Another person wouldn't be a milestone either, and were I to ask a milestone, it wouldn't answer." He turned sharply and had a better look.
No wonder he mistook her for a child, she was even shorter than him, very thin, a halo of small curls around her head, escaping a simple braid around her head. His eyes got accustomed to the light, and he recognised the healer's robe and sack. He still couldn't see her face well. He was torn between yelling and hurling his hammer in her direction, and a strange curiosity. She had an odd manner of speaking, words were pronounced very clearly and seemed thought through, as if she was speaking a foreign language. While he was glaring at her, she calmly remained at his doorstep, as if allowing him to arrive at a certain decision regarding her.
There was strange serene air around her, and he grumbled, "Where are you heading, honourable healer?"
She stepped inside, and he finally could see angular features, turn up nose, wild orange freckles. Hair was also orange, like coppered gold. She had a wide, bright red mouth, the corners were curled up, and she was studying him. He noticed that her eyes slid from his face to his bare chest and lower. He wasn't used to such open evaluation, as if he was kettle. He was also not used to the approval he saw in her eyes. Women of Men rarely found his race attractive, although he himself had a few lovers among Men of both sexes. But again he was slightly taller and less hairy than most of his kin.
"Ithilien, kind sir. I have left the main road to replenish my supplies, and now I seem to have been lost my way in all these small villages. They all look alike." She put her healer's sack on the floor and rubbed her shoulder. He noticed the hands, small, but strong looking. "Although I would have remembered a village with a Khazad working in a forge had I passed it before." The appellation in his native language made him jerk and stare at her face. Her pronunciation was impeccable.
"Thorin, son of Thrain," he gave her a small bow, keeping his eyes on her face. She seemed unaffected, perhaps not recognizing the name.
"Wren from Enedwaith," she nodded. He put down his tools, wiped his hands, and stepped to the door to point at the right direction. The sunlight rushed into his eyes, and he shielded them with his hand. And then he caught her eyes on his bare chest again. He saw her throat move, and she licked her red lips.
He waited, and a second later her eyes met his. Hers were strange, slanted and of odd, indistinct colour, feverish and hungry at the moment, and he stepped ahead and pressed his hand into her shoulder. She swayed back, and her back hit the doorframe.
"Honourable healer, is there something you want?" His voice was low and raspy, and he momentarily felt surprised why in Durin's name he felt so affected by the attraction from a simple unassuming girl from Men. She stared at his face, her pupils giant, dilated, and he saw her frantically considering her options. She blinked, and her face grew calm.
"Yes," she answered simply and to his shock smiled to him softly. He suddenly doubted he was understanding her right, and he opened his mouth to ask, when her hand lay on his forearm, she stepped backwards into his forge and pulled him in after her.
He made a clumsy step ahead and then quickly closed the door behind him.
"I have a room upstairs." She nodded and suddenly turned away from him. She scooted and started rummaging through her sack. He understood she was looking for herbs for protection. He waited, quickly looking her over. He hadn't had a woman for a while, he was planning to stay in the village for a while, and locals wouldn't have taken kindly to Dwarven sexual ways. He had started feeling the effects of the abstinence on his mood recently, his erections in the morning becoming more and more frustrating, and his dreams more and more obscene. He doubted he'd receive much relief after the encounter with this woman, she could hardly withstand much, and didn't seem very experienced. He doubted her stamina, she was slender boardering to sickly.
She straightened up and handed him a bottle while holding one for herself in the other hand. Hers was for protection against the possibility of a child, he was familiar with the greenish brown tinge of the tonic, but he looked at the one intended for him and lifted his brows. "This one will cleanse your blood," she suddenly blushed headily, "You are a Dwarf, you are known for your promiscuity." There was no judgment in her tone, but he felt a prickle of irritation.
"Then you know what to expect," he grabbed the vial, opened it and toppled it into his throat. She drank hers, put the empty vials away and looked at him expectantly.
He turned around and marched up the stairs without looking back. She followed, he assumed, but her steps were so quiet that he was fighting an urge to turn and check.
In the bedroom, dim light seeping through the small window, he closed the door behind her and looked her over again. She was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes quickly running around the scarce furniture and his belongings. He threw a look at her bottom and found it rather enticing. He also felt almost certain that she had never done it before. To test her and just because he really wanted to, he stepped behind her, wrapped one arms around her shoulders and cupped her right buttock with his palm. She jolted, and he expected her to jump away. But suddenly she relaxed into his body, her back leaned into his chest, and she chuckled.
"Have I passed your trial, master Dwarf?" His nose filled with the smell of lilacs, her soap and dust from the road. He gave the buttock a squeeze and found it exciting.
"Rather so," he chuckled as well, and she threw his an askew look over her shoulder.
"I have to confess, I might be a huge disappointment for you." He hummed and leaned in. Something was keeping him from making the first step. "You might have to do all the hard work." Her tone was suggestive, and she pushed her pert bum back. He assumed that qualified as a signal and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. She immediately tilted her head to give him more access.
He let his hands roam her body, through the rough fabric of her robe. She was taut, all bones and lean muscles, breasts small, no hips. She arched in him and threw her arms up and back, wrapping them around his neck. Even if she didn't know what she was doing, her willingness was compensating for it.
He hadn't lain with a woman for too long, and his erection was fast and painfully turgid. He wrapped one arm around her middle and pressed her into him, quickly losing control, his teeth ground loudly.
"You can..." She breathed out, "Just do it… There will be more times, just do it..." It took him a few seconds to realise what she was saying. She would run after, he thought, but he was no fool no waste this chance, she offered herself. He bent, grabbed the hem of her robe and jerked up, keeping her pressed into him with another arm tight around her stomach. He found the waist of her bloomers and pushed them down. She was breathing in raspy shallow breaths but didn't object. He pushed his trousers down, aligned his length with her entrance, already surprisingly wet, and grabbing her hip with another hand, he thrust in.
She cried out and dropped her head ahead. He knew he was larger than an average man, and he should have gone slower, but there was some strange buzzing in his head, and he knew he only had one chance. She was sagging in his arms, and he started moving, in deep harsh thrusts, his hand slid up, across her chest, his pelvis pummeling into her in sharp moves. She seemingly returned to reality and sobbed loudly. He continued driving into her, his teeth clenched, low growls escaping his throat, when he realised she was moaning, and not in pain but in pleasure, arching and pushing her hips back into him. He sped up, her screams became louder, greedier, and he climaxed, in a hot suffocating wave, his body quaking violently, everything went white hot in front of his eyes, and he pressed her into him more, not realising that his hand was clenching around her throat.
His hands fell flap down, releasing her, and she dropped on her knees in front of him, whining and shaking her head, wild copper curls having escaped the do. He swayed, and his ankles got tangled in his breeches, he clumsily flailed his arms but didn't manage to keep his balance. He landed on his butt painfully and groaned. She was standing on all four making small strange noises, and he astoundedly realised she was giggling.
"Maiar help me," her voice was coarse, "Is it always like that for you?" She turned her head to him, and he saw blissful smile on her lips. He was staring at her dumbfounded. "That was rather intense… And you honestly should get up, male reproductive organs do not appreciate sitting on the cold floor naked." She got up, wobbly on her feet, and leaning on his desk, she started untying the lacing in the front of her robe.
"What are you doing?" His voice was uncharacteristically shaky.
"I'm undressing, master Dwarf," her tone was yet again sarcastic, and he noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes. "There will be more of that," she vaguely gestured all over him, "Right? Knowing the stamina of your race."
He awkwardly got up and pulled up his trousers. "How many lovers have you had before me, honorable healer?" He didn't know why he was asking, he honestly didn't need to know anything about her. That was just a single encounter, she'd be gone soon.
"One," she said quietly and pushed her robe down from her shoulders. She was so small that it simply slid on the floor. Underneath he saw the already familiar modest bloomers and a chemise, simple, no ruffles or lace, of pristine white cotton. He was staring, she snorted and gave him a look over. "To be honest I'm normally rather keen on excessive cleanness, but I have to say all this soot and grime on your chest is working wonders on my libido."
He lifted his eyes and couldn't quite believe the small teasing smile on her face. Thorin didn't appreciate being laughed at.
"Turn around," he rasped.
"Are we repeating the same thing? I was hoping for some diversity," she drew out in a mocking voice but turned. Her palms lay on the table, and he quickly shed all his clothes and stepped behind her. His hands covered her breasts, and he stroked the tips with his thumbs. Shiver ran down her body, and he heard her gasp quietly.
"What was your lover like?" He once again didn't know why he was asking. She was just a one time thing. "Was he diverse?"
"Not really. He was considerate," she was chuckling, "Tender, loving. Conscious of my pleasure. Why are you asking?" As if he knew.
"Did he abandon you?" One hand still stroking her breasts, he moved another one down and splayed it on her stomach, his lips hovering over her neck but not quite touching the pale, radiant skin.
"He died." Her tone was calm, and he placed an open mouthed kiss on her nape. She shuddered, and he felt slightly smug satisfaction. It was very pleasant to make her strange calm confidence waver. He ran his tongue along her neck and caught her lobe between his teeth. He could see her close her eyes, her head was slightly turned to him, and he pushed her drawers down again. His palm rubbed on the soft smooth skin of her thigh, and then he thrust in her without warning. She whimpered but didn't shift. He straightened up, letting her go, and then his hand on the back of her neck he pushed her down, on the table. He grabbed her bottom, his hands kneading her buttocks. She stretched her arms ahead, her fingers splayed in the wooden surface, and he stared at her narrow back. He pushed his hand under the chemise and stroke the silky skin between her shoulder blades.
"Then why?" He was taking slow breaths in, slightly dizzy from the feeling of her tight inner muscles clenched around his length. "Why are you here… with me?"
She looked at him once again over her shoulder, and he saw her eyes vulnerable and wide open.
"I don't know," she pronounced clearly and then turned away and placed her head cheek down on the table. "I just am."
He placed his feet wider on the floor, steadier, his hands lay on her thighs again, and he pushed her legs together, locking her around his girth. He then rolled his hips into and over her, sheathed into her his whole impressive length, in a slow gradual caress, and she moaned loudly. He set a deep, determined rhythm, listening to her gasps and soft cries, watching her fingers curl on the table, and soon he found that very movement that seemed to make her whine just a bit higher and her red lips open, and he rocked into her again and again, until she screamed in her rapture, her hands thrashing on the wood, nails scraping, and then she stilled, breathing loudly. He had never in his life felt so triumphant after satisfying a woman.
"Can I move?" He also had never asked permission before.
"The table is etched into my thighs," she spoke in a shaky voice, "Do you think you would be inclined to continue in a slightly different position?" She was still wordy, but he now realised nothing could probably hinder her eloquence.
He stepped back pulling out of her, and she whined in a high pitched voice. The view was very enjoyable, her perky bottom sticking up, propped for his taking, but he could imagine the purple bruises a firm edge of the table was giving her. He leaned in and picked her under her knees, she fell in his arms, and he quickly placed her on the bed. He was hurried, trying to seize this commonly considered romantic gesture, as well as to thwart the strange pleasure of holding her small body in his arms.
"Take off your garments," the command came out harsher and ruder than he planned, but he was trying to avoid any sort of mawkishness. She gave him a calm attentive look and quickly pulled off her undergarments. She was taut and fluid, and in the dim twilight her skin seemed to glow.
She lay on his bed on her back, and he clenched his teeth. He didn't want to remember this view and knew he would. He felt angry, it wasn't supposed to affect him this way. He stepped to her, but she suddenly sat up and pressed her palm into his sternum.
"Don't get angry," her tone was soft, "I will not come back, I don't need anything from you beyond today." Her eyes were gentle and understanding, and he felt worse. "I can turn away if you don't want to see my face." He was indeed apprehensive of her eyes, they were perceptive, bright, seeing too much, and he felt distressed. He shook his head chasing away ridiculous sentimentality. He reminded himself, he couldn't care less about women's eyes.
"Lie on your back," he softened his tone, and she complies. He took her slender ankles in his hands and pulled her to the edge of the low bed. He knelt in front of it, and she readily spread her legs. He took his time this time, enjoying the clenching of her quim and bringing them both to the completion at the same time. He fell on her body when his rapture took him, and without thinking he peppered her chest and neck with small kisses. She was still making the small mewling noises he was already familiar with, her hands roaming his shoulders, and they quieted, breathing deeply.
He was fighting drowsiness and knew he was losing. Every muscle in his body was demanding the repose, he could almost imagine crawling in the bed, under the covers, but he was resistant, because somewhere deep inside he knew he didn't want to lie there alone.
"Do you want me to leave now?" Her tone was lazy, and he lifted his head. She was staring at the ceiling, one of her hands running through her orange curls, scattered on his sheets, and another one was on the side of her body, right in front of his nose. The hand was small, long strong fingers with short nails, and a delicate wrist with round little bones. He ground his teeth, he lost the war.
"No," he grumbled, "I might not be done." She snorted and lifting her head slightly looked at him.
"Should I sit in the cool cellar for a bit, like an unfinished dinner?" He met her smiling eyes and didn't manage to suppress his own grin.
"Get on the pillow," his own tone was way too affectionate. She moved, sliding off his length, and deftly crawled under covers. She hid there, only her eyes and a mop of copper curls sticking out.
"As soon as you are off me, I'm freezing. Is there a furnace inside you?"
He honestly didn't want to get all… cuddly with her under the covers, but he told himself he was cold too, although he never was. She didn't move into him, but he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her towards him. She curled into him, her narrow hand lay on his chest, and she nuzzled him. He realised he didn't even object to this and frowned.
"Do not get comfortable," he grumbled, but then felt he had gone too far and added turning his previous phrase into a joke, "Two times are not enough for a Dwarf."
He realised she was asleep because she jerked when he spoke, and then she slightly rose on her elbow and yawned. He was staring at her pale throat. He wanted to kiss it, just for the sake of it, to taste her skin, and rub his nose to it. She met his eyes and smiled.
"Why don't you just try to enjoy it without questioning your every action?" She suddenly lifted her hand and ran the tip of her index finger along the bridge of his nose. "I already told you, you will never see me again." She swiftly moved and straddled him, keeping the blankets wrapped around her like a cloak. She looked adorable. "How about this?" She leaned in, and one slender arm snaked from under the blanket. The hand stroked his beard, fingers curled into the black whiskers, and she licked her lips. "I promise I will not stop here on my way back in a month, and you will stop being prickly." He cocked one brow at her, and she giggled.
"Prickly?"
"Uh-huh, all cold and grumpy," she shook the blanket off her shoudlers and leaned in again. Her hands lay on his pectoral muscles, she kned them, her fingers just as strong as he expected, she treaded them through his chest hair, running them lightly over his skin afterwards, dipping them in the hair on the sternum where it was the thickest, "Never like hairy men..." She mumbled thoughtfully, and he guffawed. She laughed too, and kissed him on the lips. It was deep, passionate, fair and square, and he let her. More so, he cupped the back of her head and made it worthwhile for her. Soon she was moaning and panting in his arms, while he was thrusting his hips up on the bed, supporting her bum suspended in the air. She tossed her head back, her hands kneading her breasts, and he growled. He released into her again but not before he brought her over the brink once before his seed hit her inner walls and made her climax again. She fell down on him, limp and warm, making a small noise, very remisniscent of purring, and he pulled blankets over her.
She mumbled something that sounded like "don't let me sleep," but he stroked her hair and heard her sniff softly, her legs and arms hanging on the sides of his body completely relaxed.
He woke up in the middle of the night and brushed the sheets near him. The bed was empty, and he felt cheated. She could have said goodbye. Her clothes were gone from the floor, and he rolled on his side and told himslef he didn't care. He did. And then he heard some rustling in the kitchen, and he didn't know himself why he rushed there so quickly. She was sitting at the table, chewing a piece of bread she took out of a small parcel from her sack, a book open in front of her on the table. He shielded his eyes from the light of the candle she was burning. It was also her own.
"I'm sorry," she sounded remorseful, "Did I wake you up? I couldn't sleep, and I decided to leave, but then I thought I didn't know what was apporpriate to do in these situations, and you were sleeping, and I assumed you were tired, and I had never had such nights..." She was blabbering nervously. He strode through the kitchen, picked her up under her arms and pulled her into a deep greedy kiss. She reciprocated, her arms around his neck, and then she jumped up wrapping her legs around his waist. He rumbled and started greedily kissing her jaw and neck.
"What? Again?" She asked laughing, and he threw her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bedroom.
He took her on her back, watching her face lit up with passion and pleasure, her mesmerizing eyes sparkling in the moonlight, her red lips half open, and he covered her face with kisses, thrusting into her almost tenderly again and again. She whined in her climax, and he followed quickly after.
In the morning he woke up after her again and found her in the kitchen just as before. This time she was sitting without a book in front of her, her eyes fixed on an empty spot on a wall. He came in and leaned on the door frame.
"I won't stop on the way back." Her voice was hollow.
"I would like you to," he gave in. He couldn't fight it anymore. She blinked and looked at him. Her eyes were sad.
"I know. But I still won't. It is just not for me." She gave him a small joyless smile. "I am horrible at promiscuity. I'll get attached and will suffer. And as grumpy and cantankerous as you are, you will suffer too. You will feel sorry for me and angry with yourself. Am I right?" There was no point in arguing, and he nodded.
She quickly picked up her sack and left. He would remember her sometimes, sometimes there would be dreams, but she was after all one of many.
A month after that night he found himself sitting in the common room of the inn by the road, watching every person who would come in, lying to himself he wasn't looking for a small figure with flaming locks. She didn't come, he spent three days in there, getting more and more drunk with each passing night. He dragged himself home the morning of the forth day and told himself that the story was thusly concluded.
Two months later he was talking to a client in his forge when the door squeaked, and she came in. She was thinner than he remembered, she was nervous, biting her bottom lip, and fidgeting with the strap of her sack. She saw he was busy, mumbled something, and dashed out. He finished the conversation, allowing the client to pay less that it was at any rate appropriate and didn't even notice it. He pushed the man out and stopped in front of her. She was sitting on a bench near the forge, one foot tucked under her the same way she was sitting in his kitchen both times he found her there. She tried to smile but her lips were trembling too much.
"I got delayed in Ithilien, it took longer… I wasn't going to come but..." Her eyes were pleading, but he was frowning, studying her. She dropped her head and whispered, "Either send me away now, or let me stay… But I won't be able to leave in the morning."
He reminded himself he was a Dwarf and that he was a King, but it was final. He had chosen her. She lifted her eyes at him suddenly, burning and defiant, and he saw her jaw set stubbornly. "If you tell me to stay, I will never leave. And you will neither. And you will swear me by the honour of your people that I am your wife now. I am no Dwarf but you will give me all the respect and reverence your wife is to get. Choose now." She was shaking, he could see it, but he also saw a will of steel and honour and dauntlessness.
He stretched his hand to her and softly said, "Come,Wren." She met his eyes and smiled weakly. Her small hand lay in his, and he pulled her up and into his arms. He pressed his lips to her hair, feeling her let out a shuddering sigh, her hands clasping the tunic at his back, and he whispered, "Stay with me."