A/N: Thank you, deareader, for the prompt!
Than time when in Mirkwood Wren hallucinated they were married, while Thorin seemed to think they were King and Queen of Erebor.
The air in Mirkwood was heavy and foul, and Thorin felt his boots weigh him down. He kept on walking, his mind muddled, and his garments suffocating him. Nori ahead was mumbling something about the cursed Elven path, and Thorin looked back to see other Dwarves look no less pale and sickly. He was trying to count them, when something hit him into the chest. He blinked several times to clear his vision and focused on a petite redhead in front of him. First, he couldn't quite place her face, it was odd and angular, but strangely alluring, and then he realised it was Wren, his little bird, and a wide idiotic grin spread on his face.
"Thorin, I am worried!" Her voice was like a song, like springwater sensually murmuring in the stream, her lips like petals of a poppy, her neck… Thorin shook his head. Something was confusing his mind. He tried concentrating on her face, but it helped little. His eyes roamed the high cheekbones, the delicate nose, adorable freckles peppering it, his will wasn't strong enough, and he stared at the red lips again. "Thorin, something isn't right! I think we are walking in circles!" He picked up a run away copper curl and twirled it his fingers.
"Kidhuzel..." Gold of gold. He murmured, and she punched his shoulder again. So that was what the blow was. He chuckled. There was no malice in it this time, not like those times she clobbered him to the head. He frowned but then smiled again. Whatever preceded the blows was worth it. He remembered her spread on the bed, his hands sliding on her delicate shoulders, only the thin chemise covering her breasts, and he pushed his hand in her hair at the back of her head.
"Thorin..." She started protesting, but he cupped the back of her head and stroked it sensually. Her lashes fluttered, and she swayed. "What are you doing? It is hardly the time for..." She slightly dropped her head back, quite clearly fighting the effect he was having on her, and he smirked ferally.
"Not that long ago a small bird told me it was always the time and the place..." He purred, and she inhaled loudly. He pulled her closer, she resisted, but then Balin who was passing them by, they had stopped in the middle of the path, slightly pushed Thorin, making him step ahead. Or perhaps she did, it was hard to tell, but the feeling of her silky skin and the fragrance of lilac that he finally caught made him rather uninterested in the mechanics of what was transpiring.
Her cloak and coat were open, and he hungrily looked down at the row of small buttons on her doublet. She saw him looking and inhaled deeply, her chest rose, and he licked his lips. He did remember her small peaks quite well.
"Thorin… There is something wrong with this forest..." Her voice was breathy, and she tried to step back, but he held her tight. He scraped the back of her head gently, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. "Maiar help me..."
"Pundurul..." Just like a cat. He considered his observation a compliment. And then he remembered her fluid cool body, the way it stretched and moved in his arms, so feline and sensual, and he rumbled low in his chest. She purred and stepped closer to him. She pressed her head back, into his palm, he leaned closer, without touching, and mesmerized he watched her slowly open her eyes. There was longing and desire in them, and he cocked one brow.
Her arms hung along her body, and he placed one palm on her shoulder. He slowly ran it down her arm, keeping their eyes locked, her lips slightly opened, he knew without looking, he felt the soft fur on her coat cuffs, and then finally his fingers grazed hers. He intertwined them, and she moaned quietly.
"Hurus..." Hot. She breathed out. "This is not right..." He started pulling her closer, and she allowed, pliant and warm. "This is not right, something isn't..." Her body finally touched his, and she gasped. She jerked her hand out of his, their fingers previously intertwined, his thumb caressing her palm, and before he could protest her arms went around his middle. She pressed her face into his neck and exhaled loudly. "Findu… Ughlakh…" Wide. The best.
There was something not quite right in what he did next but he pushed the thought at the back of his mind. He cupped her face and caught her mouth in a heated deep kiss. She moaned in his mouth, and her knees buckled.
On one hand, the two of them probably had more important matters to attend, on the other hand why couldn't he kiss his wife when he felt like it? Wasn't it the point of marriage? There was something once again erroneous in this argument, but she grabbed his ears and opened his lips with her tongue, and he decided that thinking was overrated.
She was pressing into him more and more firmly, grinding her hips into his, her hands greedily grabbing his shoulders and hair, and he groaned. She was mumbling in at least four languages he knew and three he didn't, and he heard a lot of compliments to his taste, technique and beard. The beard ones were mostly in Khuzdul, his lips received praise in Sindarin, and the Common Speech parts made him very uncomfortable in his trousers.
"Thorin, shouldn't we be going?" He heard the voice of Bilbo and growled in irritation. What in the Durin's name was the halfling doing in the royal bedroom? Didn't he know the King and the Queen were never to be disturbed in their halls? There was always a great chance to run into them in a compromising position. Thorin did bed his Queen at least thrice a day, and those were restrained days. "Thorin?" Bilbo's voice was demanding, and for an instant Thorin remembered where he was.
The redhead in his arms apparently didn't. One slender arm was wrapped around his neck, while the other deft hand had already reached his belt. The buckle clicked.
"Guchiruh," she whispered sensually. Master mine, the common appellation for a husband made him forget about the halfling, and he looked at her, "Surely a small rest is in order? Perhaps the company should stop for a bit, over there, near those shrubs? Nice, thick shrubs, nothing to be seen behind them..." She pointed at some bushes, and he licked his lips. The shrubbery was indeed thick and could conceal them quite efficiently. His member, already painfully turgid, twitched. Her, on the ground, her attire in disarray, copper curls splayed on the ground, him between her legs, thrusting… "Although perhaps the company should set a camp a bit at a distance," her face was pensive, "I am quite a screamer."
That was his undoing, and he shoved her into the nearest tree, pushed his knee between her legs, lifted it, making her straddle it and jerked the collar of her doublet. The small buttons scattered, and she loudly moaned, "Finally..."
"Don't do that!" The halfling squealed, "The forest is sick! It won't take kindly to such obscene dalliances! Don't you hear the trees moaning?"
"Oh there will be a lot of moaning now," Thorin growled through his teeth, and she mewled approvingly. She rubbed herself to his knee sensually, while sucking on his neck, and he started pushing the coat off her shoulders.
"I've missed you, oh my darling..." She whined and started peppering him with kisses, her hands in his hair. "Don't leave me for long like this… It was a torture! It is like I can't even remember your body on mine anymore..." Her voice was raspy, and it caused some sort of fireworks in his head.
"Never… never..." He jerked the collar of the tunic he found under her double and sucked on the muscle between her neck and her shoulder. "I'm burning for you, yasith..."
"And I for you, guchiruh… Azyungeluh, zabaduh, mekekuh..." My love, my lord, my half…
"Oh I can't watch this!" The hobbit pressed his hand across his eyes, and for a second Thorin tore his mouth from her collarbones that had been visiting him in his indecent adolescent like dreams and snarled at the hobbit.
"Then don't. Make yourself useful! I don't know, climb the tree to find the path, or something!"
The hobbit seemingly scampered, the Dwarves were wandering around, and perhaps she was right and they were walking in circles, but at the moment all he cared about was her body pressed into his and her lips on his neck. Something stirred in his mind, and for some reason he needed to make sure.
"Wren, Wren..." She moaned to show she was listening, although he doubted she was, and he moved away from her. He pressed his forehead to hers not letting her catch his mouth again, and she whined in disappointment. "Wren, uh?" Mine?
"Nul, Thorin, nul." Yours. She whispered ardently. Her eyes were suddenly unclouded, earnest, and he sealed the strange fluttering in his chest with a kiss.
That is when the spiders attacked. He heard a screech, let her go and swirled. She fell on the ground, her backside sensitively landed on a root, her head swung and bumped into the tree she had been pressed into, and she hissed.
Two furry paws went around his shoulders, the cowardly monster attacked from behind, and before the world grew dark and the suffocating viscid wed covered his shoulders and face he saw her lunge into the nearest shrubbery, her Elven blade in her hand, and for a moment his mind cleared. What in the Durin's name was that? A sheer thought of a petty thief as the wife of the Heir of Durin? Absurd!