Written by kkolmakov
Although the shadow slipping into Thorin's room moved silently, after years of living in constant danger he felt its presence without opening his eyes. Slowly, without changing his breathing, he slid his hand under the pillow, his fingers closing over the hilt of his wide Dwarven dagger. The stranger moved from the door towards his bed, surprisingly swift in the dark, and Thorin lunged from under the covers, the blade in one hand, near his hip, in a well trained position, from which a short forceful thrust would be most efficient against a tall opponent. With his left hand he aimed at the chest of the person moving between the furniture, estimating where the solar plexus would be. At the very last moment the shadow shrank away from him, and his fist only just scraped what he immediately realized was a cheekbone. The visitor tumbled on the floor backwards, over a low settee, and Thorin heard an undoubtedly female squeak. Still under the intensity buzzing through his veins Thorin leaned in, and since his eyes had already accustomed to the darkness of the room he saw a frail figure on the floor.
"I have to say, honourable King," the healer's voice was sarcastic, "That is not exactly the welcome I expected to receive in your bedroom. I am slightly concerned for our marital life..." He straightened up in shock. She moved on the floor, her arms in white nightdress flailing, visible in the dim moonlight that as Thorin realized was now coming from the window, and he hurriedly stretched his arm to help her rise. Her cold palm lay in his, and he pulled her up.
And then he remembered that he was completely bare. He opened his mouth to warn her, when she stepped to the nearest table and lit the lamp on it. And then she squeaked again and covered her face with her hands.
He made a step back and was pulling a cover off the bed to hide his starkness, when he realized what he saw a second before she covered her face. He immediately forgot the covers and grabbed her wrist. He pulled the hand off her face. A deep bleeding bruise was blooming on her right cheekbone. She blinked under his stare, then her eyes fell down at his naked body, and she hastily closed her eyes.
"You are hurt!" His voice gruff, he rushed to the table by the wall. He dipped a cloth in a basin of ice cold water, and squeezing some of it out he prepared a cold compress. He turned to her again and saw her staring at him with her slanted eyes wide open and twice the usual size. He had no time to deal with her sudden ogling. He stepped closer and firmly pressed the cloth to her face. She hissed and tried to move away. He pressed on her shoulder, making her sit on the settee.
He touched the cheekbone several times and then went back and washed the blood out in the sink again. He thought that his hands were almost shaking, he did not anticipate the cold, petrifying fear that clenched at his heart when seeing her hurt. He came back to her, noticing she was obviously trying to look anywhere but at him. "How much does it hurt, honourable healer?"
"Just slightly," she wrinkled her delicate nose, and he shook his head.
"What in the Durin's name were you doing sneaking into my bedroom?" He looked into her eyes, still holding the cloth to her face, and she blushed and looked sideways.
"I came to talk." He gave her a look over. The nightdress was thin, but demure, covering her head to toe, only tips of her adorable fingers and toes sticking out from under it.
"In this hour?" She was pointedly looking at the ceiling. "Just one more time..." He washed the cloth again and scooting in front of her he pressed the cloth again. "I could have killed you!" Remorse and sudden fear made him sound angry. Somehow the thought of her fragile slender body in pain made him livid.
"Do you always attack first and ask questions later when staying in a friendly house?" He studied the bruise. It was not deep, but she had tender skin. The purple was spreading on her cheekbone.
"I was sleeping..." He sounded grouchy. She gently touched his fingers with the tips of hers.
"I apologise for the intrusion."
"Do not be preposterous. You are not the one who should apologise," he grumbled and got up. His torso in front of her eyes, she inhaled sharply and looked up hastily.
"Would you mind putting something on, my lord?" She asked in a small voice, and he finally smiled. Letting her switch her hand with his and hold the compress, he walked into the other room and found his breeches he had thrown on the floor last night. He bent down and reached for his shirt, but then a mischievous thought flashed through his mind, and he returned to the room leaving other clothing behind.
She lifted her eyes and immediately shifted them on the bed from his naked chest. The new object did not bring her comfort either, and blushing furiously she looked at him again. She was blinking frantically, and altogether he found her endlessly endearing. If he had ever before doubted her virtue, any of those doubts were disappearing quickly. She was obviously unaccustomed to seeing a naked man. At least when not on a surgery table.
"How is your cheek, my lady?" She took the cloth off her face and peeked at it.
"The bleeding has almost stopped," she sighed and shifted on the settee.
"That will teach you to never again enter a man's rooms in the middle of the night," strange giddiness came over him, somehow the thought entertaining him.
"I do not enter men's rooms in the middle of the night!" The indignation in her tone reminded him of their first meeting, and he smiled wider. "You are the only man whose room it ever came to my mind to attend!" She threw the cloth across the room, and it plopped in the basin with astonishing precision. He looked at it in astoundment. She followed his look. "I am rather proficient in throwing knives." He chuckled. She was full of pleasant surprises.
"And what brought you in mine again?" He stood in front of her, and she once again tried to keep her eyes above his neck. She failed.
"I have to confess, my lord, I suddenly felt rather staggered..." Her voice was quiet but firm. "Do not misunderstand me, I am not doubting any of my decisions. But your appearance, the trip, Erebor, the Elves, King Elrond..." She exhaled sharply, and he sat near her on the settee. He was not the most sensitive of men, but even he could understand how such events could be overwhelming. He picked up her hand and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. She took a deep breath in and then looked at him sideways. "As it will always be from now on, you are the closest person to me these days, my lord. I have no one else to go to in my vexation."
"And what vexes you, my lady?" He honestly tried to understand, but he grudgingly thought that he was the last person to come for advice in the matters of feelings.
"I am lonely," her voice was solemn, but though she lowered her face, he thought he caught a strange expression on her face. He was gaping at her like a dimwit. "I left my life behind me, my friends, my practice..."
"You will have new ones in Erebor, and plenty of responsibilities to attend to..." His tone was rather uncertain. Was he providing comfort or aggravating her state? He also felt rather cold. In his attempt to flaunt his physique in front of her he now was feeling rather exposed to the drafts.
"Yes, I am aware of my future obligations, my lord. But I have agreed to go with you for a quite different reason." He screw his eyes sideways and wistfully thought of the comfortable warm covers on his bed. His back was tired from riding the pony all day, and the blankets were so warm and inviting… He willed himself to concentrate on his future wife. He might have been wrong but from the start he assumed she was a sensible woman. Surely, she had come for a reason, and he was to assist her any way possible.
"Indeed, my lady. You have agreed to be my wife, and only secondarily the Queen. It is indeed a rather lonely position, but I will be there to share your obligations." He felt momentarily proud. That surely would console her!
"And the joys too, you will be there to share my joys as well, will you not, my lord?" He froze from her suddenly lower voice and looked at her in disbelief. A narrow hand lay on his thigh, and the strong fingers stroked his muscles. She was still looking down, but he clearly saw a corner of her lips curl up.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Thorin doubted his mind. Was he hearing right? More precisely, was he interpreting right? And then she looked at him from the corner of her eye, and the thick black lashes fluttered. And then she turned to him, her eyes burning, and her palm slid up on his thigh.
"I am feeling very, very lonely, my King. And cold, the rooms are rather chilly, do you not find?" In those few short moons he had known her seven years ago he did not have a chance to hear her seductive tone, and he suddenly felt grateful that he had not. He would have taken her right there, right then, in some perhaps public place, unconcerned with any decorum and very much possible even her desires. In the dim cold room in Rivendell his blood boiled, and he suddenly felt hot. She was smiling into his eyes, and he gulped. He knew her affectionate, he was not ready for the passionate lustful woman that made his member swell and his body buzz with one simple look and one seemingly innocent observation. He had two options, and looking into her warm eyes, her strong fingers stroking his thigh, higher and higher, he realized that sending her back to her room was certainly not the one he was going to choose.
He lunged ahead, pressing his mouth to hers, and he felt her moving into him just as fast. His hand cupped the back of her head, her hands were already exploring his nape and ears, he bit her bottom lip greedily, she moaned and moved onto his lap. And then her hands slid on his chest, and she moaned even more loudly. His greedy mouth jumped on the frantically beating pulse on her neck, and she dropped her head back. Her nails scraped his shoulders, and he heard her mumbling, "Maiar, so good..."
For some inconceivable reason that sobered him up. He gently pushed her off his lap, though he was not able to recollect how and when she ended up on it, and placed his palms on her shoulders. "Wren, we have to halt..." She blinked and stared at his chest. Her look could only be described as hungry.
"We should halt..." She mechanically repeated his words and then looked in his eyes, "Why should we?" He was ready to yell at her. Surely, she should understand. But on the other hand, looking at her swollen lips and lustful eyes he could hardly remember all the reasons he had to impose the postponement. And he already was stupid enough to graze his hands over her breasts and now the memories seemed to be burning his palms.
"We are not wed. I am not lying with you until you are my wife. For once I am to do it right. Not like before..." Should he have bitten his tongue? Perhaps. He looked at her cautiously. She seemed less dazed, curious now, but not judgemental.
"And what was it like before, my lord?"
Thorin sighed, he hoped he would not have to explain Dwarven sexuality to his future wife. "I have known many women and men, Dwarves experience sexual awakening early… I do prefer women though..." He felt he was saying all the wrong things. He clenched his jaw and tried to focus, "I have never loved another. It was… different…"
"Perhaps you should have omitted the first part, my lord," the healer's eyes were laughing.
"I wish you to know me fully, my heart." She seemed to be taking it better than he expected. He exhaled.
"To be honest, I am not surprised." Her tone was suspiciously impish. "You have showed your experience seven years ago, my lord, when you, and I only repeat your words, wanted to have me on a kitchen table to expel your mad craving for my body." The memories made him uncomfortable. He indeed came to the kitchen that night with a determined intention of lying with her to rid himself of his strange infatuation. Last thing he expected was the overwhelming feeling of longing and affection he felt when her body was in his arms for the first time. The healer seemingly took pity of him, and stroking his face she continued in a soothing tone, "I am aware of the Dwarven ways, my lord, I am a healer and a midwife after all. I accept you fully."
She leant in and pressed her lips to his in a decisive kiss. Few very pleasurable minutes later Thorin felt control slipping again. He felt almost angry. She had too much power over him.
"I wish to make you mine, body and soul, but only on our wedding night." He sounded very peevish, he spoke too loudly, trying to overpower the roaring of lust in his head.
She gave him a serious look and sighed. "As you wish, my lord." Her palms were still pressed to his chest. "But perhaps we could still continue a bit..." He guffawed. She sounded like a youngling trying to sneakily lure another one into bed. He had done it himself, he was young once, and she was hardly subtle. He looked at the freckled upturned nose and pressed his forehead to hers.
"Are you trying to seduce me, my lady?" Her lips twitched, and she rubbed the tip of her nose to his.
"Perhaps, just a bit." They laughed together, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I do indeed feel very lonely, they placed me in an enormous room, it is bigger than the whole infirmary I served in. And the bed is certainly made for five people. I thought I would need a map to find my way out in the morning. I got lost climbing out of it. Twice."
"And yet you have found your way here quite efficiently, my lady," utterly surprised he realized he was flirting. That might have been the first time in his life. He quite liked it.
"I was driven," she murmured and suddenly pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Though her skin felt cool to him, her greedy little mouth was scorching. He once again considered sending her back to her room. Self-restraint had never been his forte.
He cupped her face and looked into her wide trustful eyes. She looked at him with artless glee in her eyes, and he caught her mouth. Surely he would be able to stop before it was too late.
He was not. Only when he realized he was bunching up her nightgown around her hips he tore his mouth from hers and exhaled sharply. She immediately used this opportunity to press her greedy lips to his neck. He had no willpower to stop her, and she whined from pleasure. He realized she was pushing him down on the settee, and he shook his head trying to clear his mind. He needed to make decision, because it was quite obvious that if he allowed her to guide what was transpiring on the settee, in a few minutes he would find himself spread under her probably naked body, she did attempt to pull on the lacing of her dress couple times. Once she straddled him, there would be no return. He would be ravished shamelessly.
"We should move to the bed, my heart," he mumbled, the affectionate moniker had appeared some time ago, and he thought it fitting. He did feel as if she was now his pulse. In his head he would also address her in Khuzdul, but whether he was ready to pronounce all those words of his native tongue, he was not sure yet. She nodded and readily jumped on her feet.
He strode to the bed, pulling her by the hand, and finally slid under the blankets as he had dreamed for a while. But the reality was much better than his fantasies. The addition of a small strong body pressed into him definitely improved the experience. She immediately wrapped around him, and he thought he needed to be more cunning if he wanted this night to end the way he planned. He pressed her into the sheets and slid down her body. He picked up the hem of her nightdress, and she readily lifted her hips, helping him to take it off.
There was a definite flaw in his plan. Whatever he had been intending to do to avoid the temptation of bedding her was hardly on his mind once he felt the bare skin of her shapely legs and thighs under his palms. Once his hands slid over her waist and ribs, she moaned loudly and arched her back. He was going to convince her to only achieve her release and go to sleep. That was a good plan. Or was it? He only planned to tire her out and repose. Or did he?
And in what moment had he forgotten that once she was bare in front of him all his thoughts would jumble? He growled and caught her nipple with his lips. She softly cried out, her body jolted, and her hands flew into his hair. "Thorin..." Never in his life had he heard anything more beautiful than his own name falling from her lips in a low sensual moan. "My King..." He switched to another breast, caressing and drinking the smell and the taste of her slender body. One of his palms slid under her shoulder blades, another under her buttocks, lifting her body to his lips, like a bowl of the sweetest of drinks, and his mouth and tongue travelled over her stomach and to her sex. She squealed and suddenly thrashed in his hands. In his completely drunk state he realized she was not accustomed to such open attentions. On the other hand, she was pressing his head down into her body. That was rather hard to misinterpret.
He needed to slow down. Another minute of complete control over her body, with her so openly submitting to him, and he would not stop. He peppered kisses over her clavicles and her shoulders, cooling down, industriously recollecting his genealogy back to Dain I in his head, and she caught up on his mood. Her eyes opened, and she smiled to him.
She cleared her throat. "Perhaps, I could have some of the same pleasure, my lord..." She sounded shy, and he lifted a brow. She giggled.
"Which is?.."
"Exploration." And she rolled him over, her legs surprisingly strong, and here she was, straddling him, and he choked on his laughter. It felt like being under an unblinking stare of a bird of prey. His mind shouted of danger, and he full heartedly agreed. She was dangerous. The small, suddenly hot palms ran through the chest hair, and she purred. It was indeed a soft purring sound, and he stared at her in amazement. He was a very lucky Dwarf, who unfortunately realized very late that the treasure of a wife he had chosen for himself should be restrained if he wanted to save some of the pleasure until their wedding night.
She lowered her mouth on the muscles on his chest and after a few kisses she licked slowly and sensually. Shiver ran through his body. Her hands slid lower, on his ribs, and he jerked. She chuckled, and her hips slid lower, and suddenly he found her center pressed to his bulging erection through the thin material of his breeches. Something had to be done, and quickly.
He rolled her over and firmly kissed her. He splayed his hand on her stomach, enjoying the smooth skin under his pulps, and then decisively pushed his palm down. The tip of his middle finger brushed her clit, and suddenly she cried out and arched on the sheets. That was undoubtedly the most quickly achieved climax he had ever given a woman. She pressed her hands to her face, and he heard strange strangled noises. Was she crying?
"My heart?" She lowered her hands, and he saw that she was laughing. He looked at her in confusion.
"That was the most pathetic attempt in seduction one has ever seen," her shoulders were shaking, and he hesitatingly smiled as well. She laughed louder, "I came to lure you into my net of charms, and I climaxed when you literality put a finger on me." She covered her face again, and he heard her snort. Suddenly he felt very relaxed and content. Somehow it was so easy and fun with her. He kissed her shoulder and leaned to her ear.
"Care to find out if I can do better the second time, my heart?"
"I would say the first time you also did very well, my..." She gasped and choked on her words, when he dipped his middle finger in her wet folds. A low throaty moan fell off her lips, and he pressed an open mouth to her throat. She was so responsive, attuned to him, wet and ready right away, his head was spinning from desire and love. He loved her, to his surprise it was a very simple and easy thought.
He moved his finger in and out of her, listening attentively to her body's reactions, rubbing her inner walls, for once only concerned with the other's pleasure. She climaxed again, her rapture quick and unrestrained, soft moans so endearing that he murmured words of love into her ear in Khuzdul. Common speech would feel too mundane, somehow the ancient language of his ancestors felt more genuine.
She curled into him and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. "I have a confession to make, my lord..." He lay with his eyes closed, surprisingly sated and relaxed despite an almost painful erection of a few minutes ago. He hummed nonchalantly. "I speak Khuzdul..."
His eyes flew open, and he peered down at her. Only her eyes and the tip of her nose sticking from under the blanket, she gave him a playful impish look.
"It is a secret language of Dwarves, my lady. Where would you have learnt it?" Sudden illogical jealousy made him clench his fists. Had she spend some time with other Dwarves? What had transpired between them? A suddenly clear thought that he would kill anybody who would have any claim on her came to his mind. The rage and possessiveness he felt were cold and calculative. He would use his sword but if possible he would crush some bones with his bare hands.
She yawned and nuzzled him. "I found a book in a pawn shop. I spent three years looking, had to travel to Dale for it, but I did." She sounded very proud of herself, and he suddenly returned to his senses. What was that mad fit?! Never in his life had he felt so towards a lover. His independence and the respect for freedom of others had always been crucial for him. Just a moment ago he was ready to kill a person who would somehow steal her attention from him. He looked at the red haired healer with suspicion. He felt so many emotions and with such intensity when near her that he could almost believe that some magic was involved. She yawned again and chuckled. "If your goal was to tire me to hinder my attempts to steal your virtue, my lord, you have been very successful."
He kissed the top of her head. "You should get some sleep, my lady. We have many days of riding a pony ahead of us." Her eyes already closing, she wrinkled her nose.
"My backside is in mourning, my lord..." He chuckled. There was nothing sad about her backside. He felt his member jerk from the memory of her round firm buttocks in his hands while his lips were caressing her stomach. He willed the treacherous organ to calm down. She was all his now, she would be in her body soon as well. He would do it right, and then he would have his whole life to enjoy her. Again and again, perhaps until she would ask for some sleep. She would have to bear with him especially at the beginning. He had imaginative plans for her. Every night and perhaps couple times during the day. His mind full of visions how to ravish her on the table in the dining hall of Erebor, he was shaken out of his daydreaming by her slurred mumbling.
"Can I stay here?.. It is so warm… You are warm..." He chuckled and pressed his lips to her temple.
"Sleep, kurdu," he slipped into Khuzdul and smiled. She spoke his language.
"Men lananubukhs menu, melekhuh," she mumbled obviously in her sleep, and he stared at her in complete shock. Her Khuzdul was impeccable, consonants deep and throaty. His heart clenched. She loved him. On her lips the coarse fierce language of his people sounded so pure and innocent. He moved a curl off her face and pondered the woman sleeping in his bed. His wife, his heart, his gem, his Wren… Strong, passionate, tender, loving… He intertwined his fingers with hers, and she sighed in her sleep. He quickly kissed her lips and closed his eyes. He did well, he did not waste his chance this time. He was taking her home, and she was everything he had ever hoped for. Erebor had a Queen, and he had a wife. And then, just before his sleep took him, he chuckled. Little temptress… That would surely be an interesting marriage.