Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely recognizable in this story. JRR Tolkien, New Line Cinema, and a LOT of other interests with a LOT more money than I have do and I'm just borrowing to have a little fun. Everyone will be put back when I'm finished (maybe a little the worse for wear) and I'm not making any money off this so please don't sue me.

THIS STORY CONTAINS SOME PRETTY SERIOUS SEX OF THE SLASH PERSUASION. If same sex couples bother you or you object to homosexuality, give it a pass. You've been warned. Flames will be saved for this winter to heat the house with.

Author's note: This story is NOT beta'd. I accept responsibility for any and all mistakes contained herein. If you'd like to point one out, and will do it nicely, you're more than welcome to do so via PM. If you just want to bitch, take it out the door please.

Author's note the second: This is a big departure from my comfort zone. PirateColey asked me for some serious Dwori smut and this is the result.

Dedicated to: My darling AJ, whom I still miss terribly and always will. A piece of my soul is with her where she waits for me. She would have loved this story. And to PirateColey, for pushing me outside my comfort zone and making me deliver what I think is some of my very best writing.

TWO

Dwalin had been training, yet again, in hopes of wearing his body down at least enough for him to sleep. Thoughts of Ori wouldn't leave him alone, plaguing him at all hours of the day and night, thoughts of what his scribe would look like naked, flushed with passion. And there it was again. He ran another pass with his axes, unaware at first that he was being watched.

Ori simply stood and stared for a few moments. Dwalin was a treat to watch any time, but this, this was torture. The warrior had stripped down to train, leaving his breeches and boots on but little else. The rest of him was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, clearly defining each tattoo and scar and leaving little to his fevered imagination. He had the very clear thought that this might have been a mistake, but if it was, he would accept it. He had to know.

Dwalin stopped suddenly and his axes dropped to his sides. "I know yer there," he rumbled. "Come on out, then."

Ori stepped forward into the torchlight and swallowed heavily. This was going to be difficult. For someone who worked with words, who used them for effect, he was certainly not able to find the right ones for this situation. All he really wanted to do was to touch those tattoos, those scars. To touch HIM.

Dwalin stared for a moment. That look on the lad's face, the expression there, it shocked him into immobility. He'd never seen that kind of hunger, not directed at himself. That raw, aching need. He had to stop this NOW or he was going to take what was clearly being offered. "Was there somethin ye wanted, Ori?" But his voice was soft.

"Oh!" Ori seemed to come back to himself a bit. "I just wanted to return your hammer," he said evenly. He was a bit proud of the fact that he seemed to have gotten the words out in more or less recognizable order and pressed on. "And to ask if maybe you would teach me how to use it." And those were guaranteed to get an answer from Dwalin, though maybe not the answer he was wanting. It wasn't just the hammer he wanted to learn from Dwalin, but maybe it would be best -

"Aye. Come here, lad. No time like the present." Dwalin knew it was a mistake but he'd make it gladly. His scribe wanted to learn to defend himself without that bloody sling and that was worth a lot to him. That he hadn't been able to make the offer seemed a bit ridiculous to him now. On the other hand, having the boy so close, that was going to be pure torture.

Ori moved closer. Mahal, this was going to be difficult. And he still didn't know how Dwalin truly felt! Was he merely responding to Ori's request for training, or was there something more? He couldn't tell and it was maddening.

"First, ye have to learn how to hold it," Dwalin remarked as he reached around Ori's waist to grip his hands. "Don't clutch so at the haft, lad. If ye grip too hard, the first blow will numb yer hands and ye'll lose it. Ease up a bit."

Ease up. Ori couldn't loosen his grip if he tried, or he was going to drop the hammer and grab Dwalin. This had been a bad idea. Having the warrior so close was having an unfortunate effect on his thoughts and in truth, his whole self. He was trying desperately not to tremble, and certainly that wasn't a little sigh of desire escaping? He blushed as his fingers loosened slightly and he heard Dwalin rumble something approving behind him.

"Good." Dwalin let his own grip gentle a bit. He'd heard that sigh and it stoked the fire in his blood, the fire his scribe had lit and wasn't about to go out now. No, if anything, it burned hotter. And the feel of the lad in his arms, Mahal, it felt so good. "Here." He moved a bit closer, pressing up against Ori's back, not above a little teasing. "Raise it like so, and swing."

It was a passable swing, even though it wouldn't have done much damage. That would come later, when he had more strength to his arms. For right now, it was perfect for several reasons. One, that he'd actually managed a decent stroke, and two that it brought him into sharp contact with Dwalin's chest.

Ori's eyes glazed over. That was it. Either Dwalin was teasing him (not likely) or he'd completely misread the situation. He didn't really care. This, he would have this to remember all his long life if nothing else came of it. Then he felt Dwalin's hands leave his and only just managed to stifle the whimper of loss the feeling gave him.

Dwalin tucked his fingers under Ori's chin and turned his face sideways to get a better look at him. Yes, that was his scribe, looking more than a little disturbed at his attentions. He felt the boy move, felt him swivel to have his front now against Dwalin's, and he said nothing, simply staring into those deep eyes that saw everything.

Ori had dropped the hammer when Dwalin's fingers touched his face and it was all but forgotten at his feet. Instead, his hands moved upward to lightly touch Dwalin's in turn, soothing the wicked scar that ran from his head all the way down across his nose. He could have died from such a thing and Ori was suddenly very, very glad he hadn't. "This is beautiful," he murmured. Then he blushed. He hadn't meant to say anything to break the mood and he was afraid he had.

Dwalin groaned and then crushed Ori to him, kissing him wildly. His scribe, his Ori, thought something about him was beautiful. No one had ever said such a thing to him and with what he already felt, as much as he already wanted the boy, it was too much. He wanted to do everything he'd thought about, had considered and rejected, had forced from his mind from a sense of responsibility. He no longer cared. Ori wanted HIM as much as he wanted the scribe and that was enough to steal his reason completely.

Ori opened his lips to Dwalin, responding to that wildness, that passion, in the only way he could. There was no conscious thought to it; he was going on instinct. It felt right and Dwalin obviously approved, if that rumble in his chest was anything to go by. His hands clutched at Dwalin's shoulders, seeking purchase and finding nothing but sweat slick skin.

Dwalin finally pulled back, his face full of need. "Not here, lad," he said, his voice laden with regret. "If you're serious about wanting this, best we be discreet." He felt Ori's slight body against him and almost, ALMOST decided he didn't care that they were in a public area. But he wouldn't shame his Ori that way. "Come to me. Tonight." He watched Ori's face, hoping to see some sign that he would be there.

Ori nodded, not trusting his voice. He didn't want to leave Dwalin's now loose embrace. He didn't want to lose that contact with the warrior's body. But Dwalin was right. There was too much chance of being seen here. And while their – association – wouldn't be remarked upon by their fellow Dwarves, Men seemed to take exception to things of this nature. No, better to be, as Dwalin had said, discreet.

Then he stepped back, already missing the warmth of Dwalin's arms bout him.

"After dinner," he promised softly, finally able to find his voice. Then, with a quick kiss, he was gone.

It took several minutes for Dwalin to calm his racing heart and pick up the hammer. If this was the reward he got for trying to teach his scribe, he'd have to do it more often.