A/N: Thank you, GuestReaderA, for your prompt! And even when you can't sign in, I still recognise you :) I love having you here, please, stay even if there is a technological glitch :)
A/N#2: I know you might be slightly confused by this chapter, my lovelies, but bear with me :D
That time when Thorin was finally acting like a true king, while Wren was suddenly having second thoughts.
4 years later...
"I'm having second thoughts..." Wren's tone was pensive, Thorin rolled on his stomach on the rumpled sheets and looked at the small thief. She was staring into her travel sack, frowning and tapping her foot. It looked especially adorable considering she was completely bare except for a heavy pearl and ruby necklace on her neck, her hair dishevelled, curls sticking out in all possible directions.
"Second thoughts about leaving?" He tried to keep hopefulness out of his voice, but it seeped in. She shook her head absentmindedly, but then she noticed his tone and tore her eyes off the sack. Her slanted amber eyes met his, and she smiled softly.
He sat up on the bed, leaning on the headboard, folding his arms on his chest, feigning indifference, and she walked to him, climbed on the bed and started crawling to him, like a silky golden cat, taking her time, her bum sticking up. She was quite obviously manipulating him, but Mahal help him, it was working.
"Is someone grumpy today, sweetpea? You have known I'm leaving for weeks now. Is the severe King Under the Mountain not content with it?" He sighed. Her purring was tickling his spine, and the predatorial glimmer in her eyes made him squirm on the bed. And again, the wiggling of the delicious backside was just something he could never say 'no' to.
"I'm not grumpy..."
"Are you not now?" She reached his sheet covered legs, got up on her knees, and kept on moving along his body, her little fingers marching along his limbs. Tip-top, tip-top, she tickled his thighs, her body already very close to his face, and to his lips, but he remained motionless, very much enjoying her cajoling. "Then what is this?" A little index finger brushed the crinkle between his brows, bright red lips puckered, and then her deft little tongue darted to lick them. He was an instant away from grabbing her and ravishing her in the already mussed up sheets, but he knew how enjoyable her tricks could be if he let her guide what was transpiring. She was still kneeling right in front of him, her shapely legs on the sides of his hips, and he lifted his face to meet her eyes, though tearing his from her perky small breasts was a laborious task. "Do we need to address the King's mood?"
"We might have to," he rumbled back, and a ravenous lopsided grin jerked at the corners of her lips.
"Oh, I have just the thing..." She deftly turned around, his eyes immediately fell on the gorgeous curve of her waist, lower back and the unquestionably most perfect line in all Arda, the pert small buttocks of his mistress. She bent forwards, and his breathing hitched. She was pulling on the sheet, uncovering his lower half. It took longer than one would expect, firstly, because the sheet caught on his raging erection, and secondly, she was quite obviously stalling, teasing him with the view that opened to his eyes. The sheet was finally off, and she sank on his member. He groaned, she hummed appreciatively, his arms went around her middle, and he pulled her into his body.
"Maiar, I love the hair," she purred and rubbed her shoulder blades to his chest. He placed an open mouthed kiss on her shoulder, a merry orange curl got into his face, and he blew it away. She giggled and started slowly rocking her hips.
"I'll be back in four moons," she murmured, her head dropped back, and he caught the little burning ear between his lips. "You won't notice I'm away..."
"Oh I will," he rasped into her ear, and a slender arm went back and around his neck, her hips moving rhythmically but unhurriedly. She loved this position, and he had no complains either. She had peculiarly curved quim, and this position created magical friction for both of them, since his member had a tendency to point towards his left shoulder when he would get especially aroused. "Last time, by the end of it I had obscene dreams… seemingly even when I was awake..." She chuckled, her walls clenched, and he nipped her shoulder.
"I will have to agree with you..." He saw her lashes flutter, she was starting to breathe heavier, her body trembling from acute pleasure, "This part of being away was… inconvenient..." He bucked up his hips, and she gasped. "Alright, I'll say it, it was a torture..." He grinned arrogantly and licked her nape. He knew all the best spots, this move gained him a low moan deep in her throat. "The agreement stands though..." Her second arm wrapped around his neck, she was arching her back, her hips moving more and more forcefully, she was approaching her release, "If you change your mind, put a banner on the Erebor Gates… And I'll know our association is over..."
They had long established that either of them had the right to cease their liaison if such were their will, she was to send him a letter, he was to place a banner over his gates telling her she had no place in his house anymore. They had also agreed that faithfulness was expected from both of them, since they eventually had to accept that they did indeed love each other. If either was to feel an urge to get involved with someone else while apart, it was expected that they would be honourable enough to either restrain themselves, or let the other one know and abandon their relationships. As libidinous as both of them were, they felt the rampant, exuberant time they spent when reunited was compensation enough for months of abstinence. Erebor knew by then that when the small, black clad figure of Barazninh, Bahinh Khazad, red head set proudly and a travel sack behind her back, would appear in Erebor, the King was not to be disturbed for up to two weeks. Most courtiers and servants also tried to avoid the part of Erebor Halls where the royal bed chambers and bath chambers were located, unless they wanted to hear loud screams and sounds of toppled furniture as well as graphic descriptions of the King's anatomy and talent between sheets, proclaimed in at least five languages.
"And you send me a letter..." He rasped into her skin and felt her inner walls convulsing. She bent backwards, pressing her head into his shoulder, her body strained and loud moans falling from her lips.
"Ne, Thorin, ne…" Never, Thorin, never. "Ame, ame, izul ame." Mine, mine, only mine. She was chanting, her climax took her, and her words slurred, turning into the adorable mewling and soft gasping he loved so much.
She started sagging ahead, but quickly pressed her hands into his knees, she took a deep breath in, gathering her wits, and her hips jumped up along his member. He moaned loudly, dropped his head back, his arms releasing her and flying to his hair. She added a twist into the movement of her pelvis, her walls massaging him, and he roared releasing into her. She shriekily screamed again, either in another climax, or in the continuation of the first one, and then she fell on her side, like a ragdoll, her arms and legs suddenly floppy, and he started guffawing from sheer delight and the waves of pleasure running through his body. She looked especially endearing, he was watching her by half-lidded eyes, she rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling.
"Well, now I need a nap," she yawned widely, and he chuckled shakily. The clarity of thought hadn't returned to him fully yet, and he slid under the covers pulling her after him. She was warm and kindred, nuzzling his neck with a happy sigh, her hands stroking his body tenderly.
His eyes were closing as well, and he mumbled half asleep, "What were the second thoughts about?"
"I need better ropes and gear..." She was also falling into slumber, her small hand curled into his chest hair, leg wrapped around his, "King Thranduil's treasury turned out a bit taller than I remembered..." He smirked without opening his eyes.
The wood wimp would never admit it, but she did indeed manage to sneak into his precious halls five times in the course of the last four years. She was of Men and the mistress of the Mountain King, the Elf would never reveal that she had managed to outsmart him, and he paid for it dearly. Thorin thought of the Elf's humiliation with especially vindictive pleasure. Elrond at least had enough gallantry to offer remuneration for the goods stolen from his house. He was gracious enough to make the bounty known publicly, so that when he left the assigned amount of gold for his heirloom in the right location, he found his belongings returned to him a week after. Thranduil was puffing and huffing and throwing hints around. That only led to an obscene, though artful drawing to appear on the wall of his bedroom. The little thief had little patience for his conceited pomposity.
She left the next morning, and life in Erebor returned to its mundane everydayness, which meant only one thing for him. Boredom. Major renovations had been almost complete in the Mountain, forges worked day and night, trade was flourishing, and Thorin felt blase.
Two weeks later he found himself in a council hall, trying to keep his eyes open during a long and convoluted speech of one of the Elders. Still, he was the King of Erebor, the Heir of Durin, born and raised to take the throne, he had impeccable command over his face, looking stern and attentive while his mind wandered. He lazily pondered dinner, then his thoughts moved to the conversation he had with Fili the day before, about some new patterns of banding and mottling on the blades forged in Ered Luin, and Thorin reminded himself to go down to the armoury to look at them. He sighed and went back to listening to the speaker, though he knew he hardly missed anything of importance.
The day dragged on, he spent three hours after dinner in his study, attempting to handle the correspondence with Thranduil and Bard, but he was distracted. The letters were dull and uncritical, and he spent most of the time trying to convince himself to finally finish reading them as opposed to playing with his letter opener.
Yawning and rubbing the back of his neck he dragged himself into his bed chambers. He was pulling off his doublet, opening the door with a shove of his shoulder, when he found his little thief on his bed. He froze and blinked several times in astoundment. It had only been two weeks, previously she had never returned earlier than she would have claimed. She was also wearing one of her special attires. He would say often they were to be the death of him, and to be honest he wasn't exaggerating. He quite clearly envisioned, of course if they were still to continue their association, as he sincerely hoped, his death to come from a heart attack from the view of one of her friend Thea's creations. Her mastery of lace and silk was unsurpassable, and Thorin often thought he was not young anymore, one day they'd find his corpse on his bed, with a happy grin and a raging erection still in place. Not the worst way to go, to think of it. Thorin's favourite though weren't the most seductive ones, given a simple thought of some of them could ensure him a painful erection for hours, his most cherished were her black lace trousers she had a habit of wearing in his bedchambers. In a lacy tunic and nothing underneath them, she would be lying on her stomach, eating an apple and reading a book, and he would lose all control over his desire for her. She of course knew the power of the lace trousers.
This time she wore a long tunic, similar to a Haradrim robe, with intricate and positively obscene cut outs and lace inserts, the silk smooth and glossy, black feathers on a stand up collar. She wore black at all times, probably as a homage to her burglar outfits. Her hair was pinned with a pair of diamond pins he gifted her in her last visit, diamond and opal earrings heavy in her lobes, her eyes shiny and mischievous. She was sitting, her legs tucked under her, the robe arranged on the bed, one end of the belt on the edge of it in a clear invitation. He threw the doublet on the floor, stepped to the bed and picked up the silk ribbon. She smiled to him and bit into her bottom lip flirtily.
"To what do I owe the immense pleasure of seeing you so soon, my lady?" His voice was low and coarse, his eyes roaming her body. Indeed Thea knew her craft, a diamond shaped lace insert between the thief's breasts made Thorin pull at the belt with double eagerness. The two halves of the robe fell open, offering a stripe of her pale skin to his eyes, and he purred. She smirked but said nothing and beckoned him with one finger. He chuckled and lunged at her.
Three hours later he was spread on his bed, in a uncanny semblance to a seastar, the small thief lying across him, on her stomach, her breasts pressed to his abdomen, her hair in a heavy curtain scattered over his body and the bed.
"I have news..." Her tone was lazy, and he hummed noncommittally and blindly pushed his hand into her mad curls. He adored the hair, soft and heavy, running between his fingers like liquid coppered gold, he felt warm and sentimental, and didn't mind it. "I am staying for longer this time..."
"Magnificent..." His eyes were closing, and he battered the bed without looking, searching for covers, "For how long?"
"Well, if you were a Man, I'd say about nine months."
Thorin's whole body went rigid, he blinked two times, and then sharply sat up. This action threw the small thief off him, and she reacted to tumbling on the bed with an irritated "ooph." He grabbed her under her arms and pulled her to his face. His eyes searched hers, she smiled widely and sunnily, and Thorin felt so happy that he didn't know whether to dance or weep.
"Are you certain?" She laughed and nodded. "A babe?" She nodded again, smiling even wider, and he pulled her into him. She squeaked, he did squeeze her excessively tightly, but he never felt more in love with her, and it was a babe, and he just didn't know what to think and to do. She relaxed into his arms, rubbed her cheek to his and stroked his hair.
And then she suddenly grabbed his ear and jerked it sensitively. "What are you supposed to say, my lord?"
"Akminruk zu." Thank you. He eagerly proclaimed grinning like a dimwit, and she nodded loftily.
"Yamal, Thorin." You are welcome. Her tone was haughty, and they both roared with laughter and fell back into the sheets, kissing and caressing each other, happy and safe in each other's arms.