A/N: Not part of the game, but I hope you'll like it :D
Wynni asked me a question, and this happened, took 15 min to throw this together :)
You rush into the flat, shaking off your court shoes and throwing the handbag on the key table. "John!"
"In the kitchen!" You jump on one foot, one of your black stilettos isn't cooperating. Your old pot is cooking. Oh, you love a cooking John, rolled up sleeves and a ponytail. He leans in to help you snog him, he is a big bloke, and you plop on the bar stool.
"How was your day?" He is slicing a tomato, and that's a mesmerizing spectacle. You tear your eyes off the rhythmical movements of the knife and smile to him.
"Nuh, had better ones. Usual barney. But listen, a very odd thing happened at lunch." He slightly lifts his brows to show he is listening.
You pull out your mobile out of your pocket and ask, "Do you know what fanfiction is?" He pops a piece of cheese into his mouth and chews thoughtfully.
"It's when they write porn for women with literary characters thrown in? That stuff you read about Loki. Which is not bothering me in the least." He is smirking lopsidedly, and you stick your tongue at him. He wiggles his eyebrows.
"So, what happened is at lunch Thea was telling me about this Hobbit smut she read with Fili and Kili and another chick that they first share, and then it turns out she is not a sub and she shags Kili's brains out, withholding his orgasm five times..." John is chewing another piece of cheese thoughtfully.
"I'm worried about you, Wrennie."
"Oh shut up, that's not the point of the story." You steal a slice of cheese as well and throw it in your mouth. No, nothing special, you just don't get cheese. He chuckles and gets back to his vegetables.
"You were saying..."
"So I found this other chick writing, I mean they are almost always chicks, and she has Thorin Oakenshield, and he has a wife, a woman named Wren." John hums noncommittally.
"It's a beautiful name, love."
"That's not the point. Have you read the book?" He looks at you and scratches his long nose with the handle of the knife.
"I guess… At school. Oh, yeah, we had a play at school. I played an Elf." You giggle.
"Did they give you a long wig?" You are momentarily distracted by a thought of John in some sort of Medieval costume.
"Don't get any ideas, little one, and no, there was no wig." You chuckle.
"Anyroad, so I read a couple of the stories by this chick, they are all about the King Under the Mountain and his wife, they have like six sprogs or something, there is a lot written, like seriously, she definitely has no life. Probably some sad spinster with eight cats… Oh look at me, I'm bitchy!" You pause and squirm on a chair upset with yourself.
"You are just hungry. You are always slightly stroppy when you are." He pushes a plate with mozzarella salad to you. You blow him a grateful air kiss, quickly run to wash your hands and dig in.
"So, there are these stories..." You are mumbling with your cheeks stuffed, and John puts a wok on the stove. "And if you remember the book, Thorin is this old man, very grumpy, talks a lot, bores everyone to death… Bilbo even stops retelling Thorin's speeches after a while, and he is the oldest of Dwarves. So now listen to this..."
You quickly click your mobile and read off the screen, "There is a Dwarf in your bed, a gorgeous, sleeping, naked Dwarf. Black strands splayed on the pillow, lush thick lashes, prominent straight nose, luscious beard and of course, the lips… His sensually curved, soft lips, that performed the most enticing acts all over your body last night… Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain is in your bed, in a deep postcoital slumber."
You look up and see John hardly suppressing laughter. "Really, Wren?"
"Oh do shut up!" He smiles wider, all white teeth, and you throw a bunch of cilantro into him. He picks it up and chews a leaf thoughtfully.
"Alright, so? I mean, a bit too much in the sensual department, but could be worse… At least she is not talking about his pecker..."
"She is! Wait…" You scroll down. "People should be shouting about it on every corner, proclaiming the glorious cynosure that is a Dwarven phallus and sing praise to Mahal, the Maker, the Father of Dwarves, the Smith of the Powers!" John is mouthing "cynosure" and snortles. "Alright, so that was fun, but then I read more, and it started being a bit creepy." You frantically scroll through the texts.
"Creepy?" The wok is ready, and John throws his stir fry in.
"OK, firstly, Wren is a ginger. Like a proper ginger, like me, all "unruly curls" and "copper mane," you know…" You see him shrug his shoulders.
"Makes sense, if that chick turned the grumpy old dodger into a dark haired hunk, it makes sense to give him a redhead. For colour coordination." He is swirling hissing and spitting vegetables in the pan.
"Hm, I haven't thought about it… OK, but listen! She is short, skinny, has green slanted eyes, he is dark haired, blue eyed, large bloke, wide shoulders, long nose..." John peeks at you over his shoulder and cocks one eyebrow.
"OK, let me get this straight, are you hinting that they look like us? Is that where you are leading with all this discussion of his sensual lips and the cynosure that is his penis?"
"First of all it was "phallus", and yes, that's exactly where I'm leading."
"I don't have a long nose, Wren." He looks slightly haughty and quickly checks his reflection in the kettle. You are giving him a sceptical look. "Well, alright, it is not stubby..."
"Uh-huh… And he loves cheese. Wait, I had a piece about it… Here, You watch your older son meticulously chew a piece of cheese. Thorin picks up another one from a platter for himself. They both share an immense fondness for it. Like two giant black mice, they devour it before you can say 'cantankerous Dwarf'. What do you think now?"
He laughs, "Many people love cheese..."
"Not the way you do!" He opens his mouth to argue but has to turn back to the wok.
"OK, look at this then," you clear your throat and read expressively, "The King's hot heavy body collapses on yours, all muscles in it trembling, his breathing laboured, and he is mumbling in your neck. You are stroking his shoulders and start laughing. A few seconds later, seemingly having recovered from his climax, he lifts his face. "How did I manage to amuse you this time, my Queen?" He rolls on his back and presses you into him. The King Under the Mountain is surprisingly affectionate after lovemaking. You settle on his chest and smile into his bright blue, joyful eyes. "Do you realize, my Lord, that you swear in Khuzdul after your release?" His brows fly up. "Pardon?" "You swear. In Khuzdul. After your spill your seed. Very seldom, but I learnt to understand it as a sign of an especially enraptured release for you, my Lord."
You are quiet, letting the info sink. John's back is tense, and he is stirring the food. "That doesn't prove anything..." He turns around and points at you with his spatula.
"Oh really, how about this, He presses more kisses, each next one even more reverent and gentle than the previous, and she sighs. He traces the line of elegant shoulder blades, and murmurs, "Like an apple tree in bloom..." She turns and looks at him in surprise. "Pardon, my Lord?" "The colour, it is white but there is this pink tint..." He chuckles, "I am afraid eloquent compliments are not my forte, my Queen, as you no doubt have discovered over the years." She smiles to him, and he strokes her back, seemingly absorbed in the sensation of the smoothness and glowing softness. You said exactly the same thing to me on our honeymoon!" His stirfry is burning. You decide to finish him off. "And her best friend's name is Thea."
"Give me this!" He grabs the phone from your hands and pushes the spatula towards you. "Stir!" You snort at his commanding tone and take his place at the stove. He falls on a stool and is quickly scrolling through the texts. "What the actual?.."
"His penis has a curve, John." You can't see him but feel his frantic movements behind your back. "I'll give you one attempt to guess which way his todger is pointing."
"No way in hell… What the… Have you seen this?!" He reads, "Thorin is ticklish. The ribs, the sides of his stomach, the feet, under his knees. Weirdly enough, the inside of his wrists. You sometimes crawl up to him when he is sleeping and gently kiss the skin there. His fingers twitch, and he clenches a fist. You totally do that! You kiss my wrists!"
"I know… Why do you think I was so spun out?"
"Wait, are you taking a piss out of me?" His tone is suddenly suspicious. "Did you write this?" Oh silly man!
"Look at the date of publication, John, we haven't met then yet."
"Bugger..."
"Yep."
"Wait..." He apparently has a new theory. "Did you use this a manual? Were you doing all this to match the stories?!" You turn and give him a stare. He looks slightly panicked but then returns to his senses.
"Yeah, sorry, that was a mental idea."
"Exactly, love. How would I have bent your magnificent penis to match the stories?" He is still reading.
"Oh bloody hell… He is still panting, his clammy forehead pressed to the back of your neck, and you giggle. "Do I dare ask what is so funny?" His voice is grumpy, and you giggle again. You have missed the tone. "Do you not remember? I laugh when I am aroused." He chuckles and kisses your neck. "Are you already? I still have not gotten my vision back."
"Oh, yeah, my giggling is there too. And he has a glorious hairy chest." That distracts your husband from the phone for a moment.
"What about the chest?"
"Seriously, John?" You add the chicken and give him a look.
"Oh she is also unhealthily obsessed with his chest!" You hurl an oven mitt into his head.
"I am very much healthily obsessed with your chest, thank you very much! But your freakish love for my shoulder blades is there too, don't worry!"
"They are beautiful!" He sounds defensive.
"Thorin says they look like folded wings of a delicate bird," you pronounce in a sing-song voice, and he suddenly blushes. Oh? Someone is a closeted romantic, are we? Interesting… You take the wok off the stove and come up to him. You spread his knees and press into him. He looks alarmed. "Do you think that my shoulder blades are like the wings of a delicate bird, John?"
"No..." He is shifting his eyes. You press into him harder.
"Hm… So you also don't think this..." You pull the phone out of his hand and read, "She is his, submitted to him, her body supple and tender. His competitiveness and possessiveness are mollified, he is mostly worried how he performed, but he is ecstatic, she obviously enjoyed him. She is so small and fragile, but also strong and responsive. He has seen how she looks at him, and he hopes it is azyungel, and for him it is all or nothing, black and white, the world is simple, and she is his."
"I do not worry about my performance!" Yeah, John, that totally didn't sound squeaky!
You read another piece, "He is intimately familiar with her sex, hours and hours have been spent looking, touching, licking, sucking... He adores how her folds warm up, welcoming his caresses, and how the colour changes from pale pink to almost red. Never under the most horrible of tortures would he confess but every time when his fingers and lips slide between her spread legs he thinks that it is like a flower, blooming and fragrant, opening up just for him. But no, he is not some mawkish dimwit to come up with poetic comparisons for his wife's quim!"
You lift your eyes at John, there are feverish spots burning on his cheekbones above his beard. He has a strange facial expression.
"Should I worry about my psychological health if I find this mildly arousing?" You ask, waving the phone in front of his nose. He grabs it, throws on the counter and pulls you into a deep kiss.
You two are snogging, and it's definitely at the stage when it should be taken to the bedroom.
You tear your mouth off his, "John, so what are we thinking about this?" Men are one-track mind creatures, and right now all his blood has travelled away from his brain. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and yes, Thorin in those stories does it too.
"We'll think about it later, and consider this," He leans in and catches your ear with his lips, "We have our own bespoke written porn. How ace is that?" You laugh, and he picks you up under your arse to carry to the bedroom.
Later that night you are straddling him, in the buff, and murmur in his ear, "Read to me, love."
He picks up the phone and in his low, velvet voice, that always turns you into a puddle of adoration, he reads, "Never before had he wanted to be tender with a woman or a man. Passionate, inventive, even considerate of their release, yes, but overwhelmed with some piercing, almost painful tenderness, that came with her. Sometimes he runs his fingers through her hair, lulling her to sleep, attentively watching the small changes in her face, lashes fluttering, eyes moving under delicate lids, lips relaxing. Thorin is madly in love with his wife."