That time when Thorin met the inn wench again, while Wren was unsuccessfully trying to hide.
A/N: Well, my lovelies, the story was supposed to be the collection of one-shots of their first meetings, but since several of you asked, and my muse is your b**** :D here we go!
Thank you, GuestReaderA, for the prompt, and I think several other readers are clapping to you right now :)
"Alright, sweetpea, I can explain," she was sitting on his bed, orange curls scattered on her shoulders, over a lacy nightgown that was, to be honest, hiding none of her tempting curves whatsoever, his blanket covering her below the waist. Thorin froze in the door of his inn room, his hand on the hilt of the Deathless.
"What in the Durin's name are you doing here?" It was a dim question, but he couldn't come up with anything better.
"I am hiding, sweetpea. I ran into some unsavoury characters last week, and I suppose they are a bit mad at me," she gave him a fake innocent smile, and he stepped inside the room closing the door behind him.
"Are you hiding a dagger under my blankets, Wren?" He venomously drew out her name, and she giggled.
"I would never," she gracefully pressed her small hand to her chest and battered her lashes. His eyes almost unwillingly fell on her peaks clearly visible through the intricate lace, which he assumed was the goal of her gesture to start with. "And it is my real name, no need to sneer, darling." He folded his arms on his chest and gave her an evaluating look.
"It still doesn't answer my question, what are you doing in my bed?"
"I heard voices on the staircase, they were going up to my room. I had no place to run, so I hid in your room."
"So you just happened to stay in the same inn as I am?" He cocked a brow and slowly approached the bed. His hand was still on the sword, she could have had accomplices, she could be hiding weapons. He quickly recalled whether there was any strange taste in his wine or food that evening. She leaned back on his pillows and smiled to him coyly.
"It is the only decent inn in the town, love. And I do love their sheets," she was purring, and it was working. He approached the bed and firmly grabbing the corner of his blanket he jerked it off her. There was no dagger. The nightdress was bunched up above her knees, showing slender shapely legs and tiny feet with pink toes. She wiggled them and laughed.
"Well, you are not armed..."
"Not all weapons are made of metal, darling," she murmured and swiftly got up on her knees in front of him. He gave her a sarcastic look from under a lifted brow. "I need to stay in your room for the night, sweetpea. I was hoping we can arrive at some sort of agreement." He came up closer to her, and the slender arms wrapped around his neck. The freckled turn up nose was very close to his face, and he smirked. He was a fool that last time not to see it, she was captivating. The lips, the high cheekbones, the strange slanted eyes, confident and laughing, there was an intoxicating originality in her, and he leaned in catching the fragrance of lilacs. His palm lay on her back, just above the enticing pert little buttocks, and she caught his mouth. He realised he remembered right, her lips were magic.
She was pulling him closer, making him step clumsily ahead, his knee pressed on the edge of the bed, and he felt her strong hands roam his body. And then he caught her around the wrist and shook her hand off a hilt of a dagger on his belt. He was going to move away, but she doubled the efforts of her mouth. He quickly decided it was worth it. They continued the dance, where he would be savouring her lips, while at the same time battering her hands off his various weapons. After a while he decided it was easier to remove the temptation and started pulling the daggers and swords out of scabbards and hurling them in the opposite corner of the room. She unclasped his belt.
"Just take the whole thing off. You are distracted," she murmured between little nibbles on his bearded jaw, and he chuckled and threw the belt away.
Her deft little fingers quickly unbuttoned his doublet and pushed it off his shoulders. He cupped the back of her head, tilted it to gain more access to her neck, greedily kissing the delicate throat, when he remembered there was a long narrow dagger hidden in the lapel of his vest. He grabbed her hand firmly but gently just when she was about to pull the blade out, and he flipped the hand and kissed the inner side of the wrist.
"Behave," his voice was low and velvet, and she giggled.
"But, sweetpea, I never do!" He grinned lopsidedly, and the dagger followed the previous items. The vest flew through the room, and he toppled her on the bed. She laughed throatily and wrapped her legs around his hips.
"You are heavy, darling," it sounded like a compliment.
"You are dangerous," he murmured back, and she nodded.
"I know, but wouldn't it be boring otherwise?" He lifted his torso above her on straight arms and gave her a look over. With flushed cheeks, smiling eyes, and a love bite on her neck she looked ever so enticing.
He dove in again, licking her collarbones, hiking up her leg higher on his waist, greedily inhaling her smell. She purred and arched into him, her hand pushed into his hair. The moment when he realised there was only one hand gently scraping the back of his head was the moment when she smashed the water jug over it. The blow was precise and effective. Everything went black.
He came back to his senses to the noise of a sword fight and loud swearing. He sat up and rubbed his head. Surprisingly he quickly realised she was the one swearing. There were two men in his room, and she successfully was pressing both of them back. It probably had something to do with the fact that one of them could hardly see anything from blood pouring over his eyes. Thorin could relate. While she probably held back with him, he just got a goose egg, the bloke had obviously received a full scale blow to the head with the flower vase considering that a poppy was stills sticking out of his hair. The second one was lulling his shoulder. She was fighting with a short sword, Elven craft, light and curved. She lunged ahead, quickly retreated, and followed up with an astonishingly fast volte. The man yelled and jumped back. The poppy one was trying to come around her and received a sensitive blow to his temple with a mug that she hurled into his head with a shocking precision.
She jumped on the table, the only unturned piece of furniture in the room, except for the bed that he was sitting on and staring at her. After placing a knee kick into one man's head, the ale from the mug had blinded him, she turned to Thorin and smiled widely.
"To your information, sweetpea," she beat the second man's attack and dropped her sword's plummet on the top of his head. He made a funny gurgling sound and fell down like a sack of potatoes. "These are not mine. They are here for your sake!" The man still standing turned and looked at Thorin with terrified eyes. He obviously didn't expect the number of his opponents to double. Thorin saw his sword carefully placed near his hand and grabbed the hilt. The man on the floor groaned and lifted his head to see Thorin starting to move off the bed. The men followed the only reasonable course of action and scampered out of his room.
She was standing on the table, breathing heavily, on all her glory, curls in a halo around her head, the sword confidently clenched in her hand.
"Blimey, they ruined my dress," she was looking herself over, and he saw a deep bleeding cut on her thigh. "It will come out of your gold, darling. Since I am not getting the bounty for your head."
He got off the bed and stretched his hands to her. She paced her small palms on his shoulders, and he took her down. Her face ended up very close to his, and he gave her red lips a quick kiss. She grinned.
"I have a headache, little one," he grouched, and she laughed.
"At least you still have a head. There is a pretty juicy price on it, sweetpea. You should be more careful." He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. There were a few bruises and cuts, but the one on her thigh was the worst.
"I have bandages in my sack, it's under the bed." He pulled her sack out and hiked up his brows in surprise.
"A healer's sack?" He asked rummaging through it in search of bandages and balms.
"It's a wonderful disguise, and I do look so very respectable in the robe. And men have a soft spot for a spinster healer, all demure, boring braid and no jewellery, and just waiting to be introduced to the world of sensual pleasures," her voice was sign-song, and he snorted. She pulled up her skirt, and he started tending to the wound. She hissed, and he saw her hands clenched on the sheets.
"Why didn't you agree to share the bounty with them?" He asked without lifting his eyes from his work.
"Maybe I was planning to get it all for myself. You were unconscious, I couldn't have easily gotten rid of them and sell your majestic head to the one who offered most." He looked up at her from under a cocked brow, and she stuck her tongue at him.
"Uh-huh," he gently smeared some balm on the jagged edges of the cut, the thigh tensing under his fingers, "I can hardly see how you could have done it after you put my sword right under my hand."
He quickly wrapped the cloth ribbons around her thigh, tied the knot and placed a small kiss on the round knee.
"All done, little bird." She inspected the thigh and nodded.
"I'm always surprised by the dextrosity of Dwarves, you lot do have deft fingers," she wiggled her brows suggestively, and he sat near her on the bed.
"Well, look what you did to my room," he was aiming for a grumpy tone, and she smirked and bumped her shoulder into his.
"They will think you had a night of wild debauchery, it will only improve your reputation, oh the King Under the Mountain," she murmured and half turned to him. Her hand lay on his chest, and she clawed at him playfully. "I'm sorry I knocked you out."
"No, you are not," he turned to her too and buried his hand in the thick curls at the back of her head. She lifted her face to him in a clear invitation. "What exactly were you planning to do?"
"Hide here for a bit and then escape," she smiled to him, "I was going to tie you down and gag you when they barged in." He threw a look at the floor, a few long ropes were coiling on the wood boards. "I am very good at tying men down to bedposts." He looked into her eyes again.
"You are wounding me. All this trouble just to avoid lying with me," he tut-tutted, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I do not liked to be forced into it, sweetpea, by people or circumstances alike." Her eyes grew serious for a moment, but then the flirty expression was back in them. "I feel no pressure at the moment." She leaned in to his lips, and he tenderly met her in a kiss. He cupped her narrow jaw with both hands, her tongue brushed his bottom lip, and his arousal flared up. There was a fair share of tenderness there too, he noticed with astoundment. He pressed her into him harder, but she seemed to be returning the sentiment. Her hands rushed into his hair, and she moaned into his mouth. After a few seconds he felt her cools palms on his waist under the tunic, and then she pulled the hem of it up.
He carefully picked her up and placed her on his lap facing him, conscious of the bandages and a few angry bruises on her body. She straddled him, her legs crossed behind him, when a loud knock at his door made them both halt.
"We know that whore is there! Open the bloody door!" She looked at him, and he smirked darkly.
"Would you like me to open the door, darling?" He asked in a fake polite tone, and she mimicked his intonation.
"If you don't mind, love. I do feel I need to lie down." He gently placed her on the bed, quickly kissed the tip of her nose, picked up his sword and marched to the door. She tilted her head and purred apparently enjoying the view of his backside. He threw her a glanced over his shoulder.
"Hold the thought." She giggled and curled in his sheets. He couldn't wait to get back between them.