Y'all are the best readers ever! Thank you so much!
Reminder: this is a mixture of book/movie canon. And AU, of course. Later on might become COMPLETELY AU.
Nori woke first, leg held stiffly out on the bed, propped up on some soft fluffy pillows, and for a moment he couldn't remember where he was. Then it all flooded back and he started to get up. Where was Bofur? They'd seldom been out of each other's sight for several days and he was concerned.
He needn't have been. His miner was sleeping in a chair next to the bed, head propped on one hand and slouched down as far as he could comfortably get without sliding completely out and onto the floor. "Bofur," he called quietly. "Bofur. Wake up."
Bofur stirred and then opened his eyes, which brought a smile to his face when he saw Nori awake. "Mornin, luv," he said easily as he straightened and gave a hiss of discomfort. "How's the leg?"
"Don't worry about my leg," Nori replied with a growl. "Why didn't you sleep in the bed? There was room." He knew Bofur loved him, he'd said it often enough and showed it more, but something was wrong if he wasn't willing to sleep close. They'd been very close to each other since the mountainside and to wake up without his lover had been unsettling to say the least.
Bofur was startled but covered it quickly. "Didn't want t'hurt ye, is all." He slid in next to Nori as quickly as he could with his back so stiff. "Ye were pretty wrecked last night after all that walkin we did." He didn't mention that he'd done most of the work, supporting his love as much as he could. It didn't matter to him. He was glad to do it. "Better?"
"Much." Nori wouldn't apologize for his gruff words, though. Bofur knew how he was, and still loved him. He wrapped his arms around his miner and just held him close for several minutes. "Lean up," he said finally as he tapped Bofur's shoulder. He had an idea. It would be touchy; Bofur might take it the wrong way. It wasn't as if he was courting his miner or anything. He just wanted to fix those braids, make his love a bit more presentable.
Bofur went very still when Nori's hands touched his hair. He knew the thief enjoyed the feel of it; whenever they were together, he had at least one hand on it or more likely tangled into it, holding on. But this was unexpected. Nori's nimble fingers teased the braids loose, working gently through the tangles and snarls to leave it loose around Bofur's shoulders for a moment.
Nori rummaged in one of his many pockets and came out with exactly what he wanted. Then his fingers were back in Bofur's hair, working it back into the three braids his love preferred, one on each side and one in the back. But they were tidier now, lovingly worked, a bit more intricate than the simple plait Bofur had used; and each one was secured with a clasp of wrought silver, carefully engraved with various intricate designs. He wouldn't have his Bofur wandering around with braids secured with strands of his own hair. It didn't look right. Besides, even if it WASN'T a courting gesture, it would let others know that he had a claim on the miner and to stay away.
Bofur nearly held his breath. Nori hadn't just done this, he hadn't. He wasn't courting Bofur. It wasn't possible. No, he argued with himself, it might not be courting but Nori had claimed him pretty openly the last few days, seldom being far away and being pretty possessive at night. And this showed his claim quite well. So even if it wasn't courting, Nori was opening up. There was still hope of having his thief's heart eventually. And even if he never did, not completely, he'd be content.
He felt Nori's fingers on his shoulders, rubbing gently. He sighed and relaxed into the sensation, enjoying it immensely. The stiffness in his back was easing with each stroke and he felt like a contented cat. He thought that if he could purr, he just might. It felt good, soothing, gentle, tender, and most of all, loving. It didn't matter to him if Nori ever said the words. He might've, in the stream, but they hadn't been completely clear and Bofur didn't care. His thief showed him in the little gestures and movements he made that he considered Bofur his, and that was all that mattered.
He relaxed back against Nori, enjoying the feel of it as those talented fingers made short work of the tension in his back and crept around to the front, kneading and flexing and in general making short work of Bofur's tunic laces and dipping inside to touch bare skin. Bofur shivered slightly and gave a hoarse moan as his head fell back against the thief's shoulder. Nori knew just where to touch to get the best reaction and he used that knowledge mercilessly. And Nori's words in his ear, Mahal above, they were so softly spoken, so sensual, he wanted to just wrap himself in that velvet voice and let Nori do anything he wanted. The things he was promising were so decadent that it gave him shivers. Then he was able to focus a bit more.
"Let go, 'fur," Nori murmured as he nibbled on Bofur's neck and ran his hands down lower, touching him and stroking lightly. "Let go. I've got you. I won't let you go, not ever. You're mine, for always. So let go. Let go and let me love you."
That was all it took. Bofur cried out, reaching back to hold Nori close to him, bucking upward as he came explosively. It hadn't taken much – just Nori's touch on him and those words, spoken just where he could hear them, Nori's promise to love him.
He fell back against Nori again, panting and gasping for air, and feeling Nori's arms wrap around him and hold him close. He felt the thief's heartbeat against him, strong and steady. "You didn't sleep well, not in that chair," Nori murmured as he held Bofur close. "Just rest, now. Rest, 'fur. I've got you."
Bofur slept, cradled in his lover's arms, sated and content.
(Elsewhere in the house)
Dwalin uncurled himself from around Ori's sleeping form and rose, going stiffly to the window and looking out. Daylight. So the restriction was no longer restricting – but he found he didn't want to leave this room, not really.
Ori had helped Oin to tend his wounds last night and he hadn't realized there were quite so many. Oh, he'd been stiff, sore, and there were places that hurt more than he thought they should. But he hadn't expected any of them to need stitching.
Ori had been his strength then, in ways he hadn't imagined the lad could be. He'd held Dwalin's hands, though Dwalin was sure he'd nearly broken Ori's with his grip when the pain became too intense. Even Oin's chosen poppy juice hadn't drowned the pain while the healer stitched. And Ori had soothed him, spoken softly to him, choosing soft love words to try and distract him from what Oin was doing. For the most part, it worked, but still the pain was intense. And when it was finally over, Ori had made sure he was as comfortable as he could be, covering him lightly with the sheet and then allowing Oin to look him over as well.
Dwalin had watched, quite relaxed and unable to move due to the medicine, as Oin ran his experienced hands over HIS Ori, trying not to be jealous and failing miserably. However, when the healer pronounced Ori's bruising was no more than that, he breathed a sigh of relief. It could have been so much worse, broken ribs at the least.
But what had surprised him most was Ori then crawling into the bed with him, stating his intention to remain with Dwalin overnight. It touched him that the boy was willing to court his brother's wrath simply to guard Dwalin's dreams. It touched something deep inside him, and he once more blessed his decision to court Ori. There was strength in him, passion, and courage that no one else gave him credit for.
Dwalin knew better, especially now. Ori had held his own in the goblin tunnels, and taken a hefty hurt from it. That he was able to move at all was a testament to his strength.
And the lad was his. Ori was his. Even if they were just courting, it was obvious that Ori wanted to be with him, to stay with him. He'd stayed the night before, just to give him comfort in his pain. That kind of devotion was something he had never looked for, never expected to find.
It was rather humbling.
Ori murmured softly and Dwalin went back to sit on the side of the bed, settling close and putting a gentle hand on his back. "Easy, lad," he said softly.
Ori came up with a strangled scream, nearly pitching off the bed completely before realizing Dwalin was keeping him from it. The warrior's arms had gone around him quickly when it seemed he would fall, holding him tightly and trying to reassure him. Finally he was able to get a little sense out of the scribe, once he'd woken up just a bit more, and he tightened his grip slightly.
"I thought I'd lost you," Ori was babbling as he clung to his love. "The goblins, they had us, they were going to kill us, I couldn't get to you, and then we were outside, and – and – and the Orcs -"
"Easy, lad," Dwalin rumbled quietly. He kissed Ori's hair before tipping his face up. "It'll take more than a few Orcs t'take me from ye. I was more afraid o' losing YOU, ye daft bugger." He pressed a gentle kiss on Ori's lips, intending to reassure him a bit more.
Ori sighed softly and returned the kiss, then pulled back slightly and rose to go to his clothing. "I've something I want to show you," he said softly as he pulled out his journal. He flipped to the back and took out a couple of pieces of parchment, holding them close for a moment before crossing back to the bed and settling down, simply handing them to Dwalin and then waiting to see what his reaction was.
Dwalin didn't even ask about the journal. He knew Ori never let it out of his sight so it stood to reason he'd have kept it close enough not to lose it along with the rest of their things. Then he saw the first sketch, really saw it, and it almost took his breath away.
This was how Ori saw him? The picture almost seemed to breathe, but it wasn't how he perceived himself. There was something in the face, in the eyes, that spoke of gentle feelings and good humor. Things he would never have associated with the fierceness he had cultivated. He'd considered himself rude and crude, though he had a proper upbringing. Balin had seen to that. He was well educated, versed in law and history, and still he thought of himself as nothing more than a warrior.
Ori saw him as much, much more.
Reluctantly he laid that portrait aside and glanced at the other. And then took a closer look.
It was a thing of beauty, and CERTAINLY not what he saw when he looked in a mirror. It had been drawn during one of his practice sessions. His axes, Grasper and Keeper, were prominent as was the rest of his arsenal, but his face, his face was different. There was ferocity there, as befit a warrior, but also intelligence, cunning, and under it all a sense of necessity. It called forth the idea that his violence was only undertaken because there was no other choice, and that he regretted it when he had to call upon it.
It was him, right down to the scars that Ori had faithfully placed into the drawing, the tattoos that showed clearly on every inch of his exposed skin, also rendered into the ink of this sketch.
Ori was watching him closely, trying to get some feel of how Dwalin felt about them. They were the best ones he'd done, and he'd wanted to share them with his love, to let the other know EXACTLY how he felt. Now, he wasn't so sure he should have. Dwalin looked – well, he looked SHOCKED, like he hadn't expected anything even remotely approaching what he saw. Hadn't he liked them? They were well rendered, and they reflected what Ori saw in him. Had he been wrong? Weren't they a true representation? He saw all those things, and he loved each and every one of them.
Dwalin finally looked up at him and Ori was startled to see his eyes were overly bright. "Ye really see me like this?" he asked quietly. "Ori, lad..."
The wonder in his voice let Ori know everything was all right. He sat back down next to his love and put his arms around the warrior, holding him close and resting his head on Dwalin's shoulder. "Yes, that's how I see you. Kind, gentle, but fiercely devoted to Thorin and his nephews. You don't fight when you don't have to. And even when you DO fight, you try to make it quick. Oh, I'm putting this badly, but yes, it's how I see you. Courage, honor, kindness, devotion... all of it. And I'm flattered that you chose me to court. That you chose me to be part of your life."
Dwalin pulled the boy across his lap, mindful of the bruises, and kissed him deeply. His hands moved over his scribe, committing the feel of him to memory, learning each spot that made him sigh, and moan, and squirm, before finally breaking the kiss and staring down at him. "Much as I'd like t'finish this, Ori, I can't," he murmured as he rested his forehead against Ori's. "We're both too hurt right now t'really enjoy it, an I want it t'be somethin special fer ye. Give it a couple days an then I'll love ye somethin fierce. But ye need t'heal a bit first."
Ori nodded in defeat. Then there was a sudden panic in his eyes. "Dori. He's going to kill both of us. He already thinks we're moving too fast. That I spent the night here-"
"Let me handle yer brother," Dwalin said firmly as he helped the lad to sit back up and smiled slightly. "Right now, let's find some food."