Hobbit 1. Chapter 1

**A/N: In anticipation of cooperating with the glorious RagdollPrincess on a sequel to her story "What the Future Brings" (check out the story before her and I venture into writing it, but remember this story can be read INDEPENDENTLY, since it is just pure, honest SMUT:D) and with the gratitude to her for bequeathing me with her HOT, LECHEROUS, EXPERIENCED THORIN, I present you with little something I drafted on a ride on the posh express train from Moscow to my native St. Petersburg. Note that it is 7,389 words in four hours. I miss Thorin that much :) **

**Note that it is a different Thorin (darker, sexier, oh poop!), slightly different Wren (from Bree, not Dale, but the character is more or less the same), and their backstory is slightly different (I'll be posting a prequel to our sequel soon:), but this piece is just happy smut! Enjoy :)**

To say that Thorin is irritated is to say nothing. He is so irked that he is grinding his teeth and has already broken two quills. The cursed letter to the cursed Elvenking just would not take form. Formidable pointy eared bastard! Thorin just wants to throw the damn quill in the furthest corner of his study, push the paper into a drawer, and go to bed. And he curses himself. Why did he even think about the bed? The soft sheets, a faint smell of some flowers, everything in his life now smells so fresh and sweet, pillows of just the right firmness, and the small warm body... He clenches his fist and groans. No, he will finish the letter, and only then... He imagines shedding the layers of velvet and silk and sliding under the sheets in the buff. And the delectable small buttocks that he will find there. Curse the letter! Curse the Elf!

There is a polite knock at the door, and he does not need to lift his eyes to know who it is. Light steps in the leather night shoes, familiar fragrance, gentle smell of those bushes with bunches of white and purple flowers, coming from her skin, and this funny tender feeling in his chest he gets every time she enters the room. "My lord? Are you still working?" The tone is gentle, concerned, and if he is not wrong, and he rarely is with her, she is so kindred and warm, slightly playful. He hums in agreement.

Do not look at her, not even a glimpse. One look at her, and no work will be done tonight. She is probably in a nightgown, one of those flimsy lacy dresses that are driving him mad. He suspects that such is their purpose since they hardly provide any warmth. Then again, who knows, she rarely ends up wearing them long enough to find out. She does not seem to mind, claiming that his body provides enough heat. She often falls asleep sprawled on him and wakes up curled into his side. He likes the feeling of tightly holding her small body and the pleasure that floods him even before he opens his eyes. Her skin feels cool to him, and right now he wants nothing more than to press every inch of his body to the smooth, pale, glorious... No, Thorin Oakenshield has some willpower, he is not lifting his eyes. And although there is probably a demure robe on her, he knows what is underneath. Oh Mahal, how much he enjoys what is underneath!

If the hair is loose, he might not even manage this paragraph. Soft, glowing like gold, like fire, long waves running between his fingers, playful little curls on her temples... He suddenly clearly recollects them wet, sticking to her skin after especially rampant release, her eyes closed in ecstasy, a blue vein beating under pale skin on her temple.

He gives up. Curse the Elvenking, curse the negotiations. He looks up and freezes. The hair is indeed loose, luscious curls on her shoulders, and as he knows covering her back, a few long locks soft on her chest. But there is no robe. And the night dress is strange. Although the more he looks, the less adequate he deems the word "strange".

At the front it only reaches her knees, but it is longer at the back, the colour is one of those that women give elaborate names to, slightly green, or perhaps blue. Her skin is glowing, soft and even, and he gulps. There are no sleeves, just straps of lace on her slender shoulders, and the bodice is lacy. He can see the pink peaks of her breasts, already pebbled, and he thinks it might the most provocative attire he has ever seen on a woman.

All her curves are open to his eyes, but the gentle tinge of colour from the gown somehow makes them even more enticing, somehow new, although by now he feels he has studied every inch of her. He made it a conscious effort, sliding his calloused palms over her even skin. Sometimes she is reposing on his chest, and he is stroking her hip and lower back, his eyes closed.

He smirks. The dress is useless, it does not hide anything, does not provide any warmth, so the only goal is to lure him. That is ridiculous, he can hardly keep his hands off her when she is bundled in heavy velvet attires. His study is adjoint to their bedchambers, but the thought of her walking around in this gauzy scrap of material makes his member swell, and he shifts in his chair uncomfortably. She is so demure and decorous in everyday life, but he met his match in the bedchambers. Once she whispered into his ear during an official dinner with Dain Ironfoot that she was not wearing any drawers. He tried to get this thought out of his head during several hours of feasting, but it was too much for him. He dragged her into a passage and proceeded to investigate. She did not lie, and he turned her to face the wall and bunched up her skirts. He had just a few minutes, but her sucking and biting on his fingers, arching her back and pushing her delectable small bum into him in return did the trick.

It takes a lot of effort to tear his gaze from her body so clearly seen through the transparent fabrique, but he manages to look into her eyes. They are shining, the everchanging colour is dark and brilliant tonight, and he recognised the expression. He is going to be shamelessly ravished. He cannot wait.

"The bed is cold, my King," certain parts of his anatomy jerk in anticipation. "Come closer, kurdu," he stretches his hand to her. With all honesty he cannot even remember what he is doing at this table. He just needs to eliminate the distance between their bodies.

She tut-tuts and turns around. Oh Mahal, the buttocks. Small, round, made especially for his palms... "I am going back to bed, my King," the voice is tilting, and colourful plans form in his head. One time this way, then to flip her over, lift her leg on his shoulder... "You are joining me soon, are you not?" She throws him a look over her shoulder, and he dashes towards her from his chair. The ink bottle topples, and the unfinished letter is ruined. He honestly could not care less.

She is very swift, shapely legs and tiny feet, and she manages to escape his grasp with a throaty chuckle. The tail of the dress, and Mahal, there are definitely no drawers underneath it, swooshes in the air, she turns a corner and disappears in the bedchamber. He abruptly halts and starts walking slower, stretching the sweet anticipation.

That is the best part of his new life. She is. And the knowledge that she is not going anywhere. And any time he needs her, she is exactly where she should be, always with the right word for him, calm and confident, her small hand to caress if he craves warmth, reassuring when he is doubtful. She is attentive, considerate and gentle. She is strong too, stubborn and willful. There is just the right amount of challenge and riddle in her to keep him interested, to keep him on his toes.

And then he feels like a fool. There is a half naked woman waiting for him in that room, and he is standing in the middle of a passage, mauldin like a foolish youngling. He enters and locks the door behind him.

She is sitting on the bed, pose relaxed, one of the straps slipped off her shoulder, and he can almost taste the smooth skin. He comes closer to the bed and smiles to her.

"We have a matter to discuss, my lord," her tone is business like, but it hardly matches the impish expression. And she is playing with a ribbon that is laced between the two halves of her bodice. He presses one knee into the bed. "And what is the matter, my Queen?" He likes calling her that, he likes the thought.

"Before we proceed," she is pulling on the ribbon now, and he is very uncomfortable in his trousers, "Today is a fertile night, my lord." The meaning does not register right away, and then he tears his eyes from her fingers on the lace and looks in her eyes. Mahal, he is so in love with her.

"But since we decided to wait for me to finish my course of herbs, and I cannot take the ones that prevent conception, we might want to avoid certain activities." He blinks. She is wearing the most provocative attire and is currently drawing swirls on her hip with tips of her fingers. Surely she does not suggest they chastely go to sleep!

And then he laughs at the thought. He remembers how shocked and, let us be honest, pleased he was to find out that his blushing bride, practically a virgin on their wedding night, is endlessly lustful, indecent and insatiable.

"That certainly limits our choices, ghivashel," he unbuckles his belt, quickly takes off his doublet and pulls off his tunic for good measure. She is so obviously ogling his chest every time she has a chance that he decides to use it as an incentive. She hikes her brows and murmurs, "Or we can use this opportunity to widen our horizons, try new approaches, explore new locations..."

His hands are on the strings of his breeches, and he freezes. They have been married for four months, and they have been very, very busy. On top of his head he can think only of one thing they have not tried. Surely she does not suggest?..

She is obviously aware of the physiological side of it, she is a former healer after all, but he suddenly wonders whether she understands how such actions are viewed by other women. And how such pleasures most often are available for men only in exchange for a monetary fee. And then he assumes she does, again having little practical experience herself she is highly knowledgeable and worldly.

Unexpectedly he feels bashful. She is his wife, his Queen, and this image just seems too... obscene. There is regal air about her, has always been, even when he saw her in a simple robe of a healer in Bree, her hair in a plain braid around her head. She is dignified, noble, and suddenly performing such act with her makes him feel unworthy. He is fond of it, obviously, and like most men when lying in such way with a woman he mostly enjoys exactly the forbidden lecherous nature of it. He realizes that he has been frozen in front of her since she spoke last, and that her eyes are intensely scrutinizing his face. He swallows. She is waiting.

He knows he wants it. Mahal, now that he has thought of it, his mind races. He is intimately familiar with her sex, hours and hours have been spent looking, touching, licking, sucking... He adores how her folds warm up, welcoming his caresses, and how the colour changes from pale pink to almost red. Never under the most horrible of tortures would he confess but every time when his fingers and lips slide between her spread legs he thinks that it is like a flower, blooming and fragrant, opening up just for him. But no, he is not some mawkish dimwit to come up with poetic comparisons for his wife's quim!

He has studied her sex so well, every inch of her skin dear and beautiful for him, and of course his thoughts have strayed a bit... back as well. He might have gotten carried away a few times and slid his finger to her other hole. She would yelp, and her whole body would jerk. And still he thought it was more a reaction of surprise than pleasure. And here she is sitting in front of him, her body covered by a thin gauzy gown, nothing hidden, let us be honest, and seems to be suggesting... what?

And he is worried. Are the two of them speaking of the same thing? He frantically starts recollecting but it seems that the rest has been already explored. What if they are not? He might insult her, and he feels even more of a fool. How can you ask your wife if she has just offered you...? And then he realizes he does not know a proper expression for it. And shortly wonders if there is a proper expression for it. Offensive ways to ask for it, that he knows. Making sure you are not going to shock your wife by suddenly proceeding in a wrong direction is quite a different matter altogether.

He sits on the edge of the bed and picks up her hand. Mahal, this is awkward. He lifts his eyes at her and suddenly feels so much better. What is he so apprehensive of? She is his wife, it is her, his Zundushinh, his beloved. Surely they can converse openly.

And then he notices blush spreading all over her small body. And he feels even better. She is as embarrassed as he is. And he shortly feels surprised but it is true, he is embarrassed. She probably knows nothing about it, he knows way too much. He gently squeezes her small hand in his and then pushes her into the sheets with his weight. The green, or are they brown, eyes widen, lips slightly open. The slender arms wrap around his neck, and he smiles into her lips.

"Have you ever tried what you are offering, my heart?" The lashes flutter, and she bites her bottom lip. "No, and I am aware of how it is perceived... But I thought we could..." She stutters, and the cheeks are burning, "I thought we could try... It is after all just another way to enjoy each other..."

"Oh Mahal, I am a very lucky Dwarf..." He blurts out and then bites his tongue. Thinking it is one thing, he does every day, but he just confessed his sentimentality. He hides his embarrassment by kissing her jaw. She laughs, "Because I suggested such act?" His lips slide down her neck. "No, because this is how you see it... You and I... Enjoying each other..." Mahal, he is going to do everything possible to ensure she is enjoying it!

He is caressing her neck with his lips, intertwining his fingers with hers, sliding the tip of his nose up and down her throat. She is tilting her head, her breathing speeding up, her slanted eyes closing in pleasure. "How much do you know, zundush?" She tenses, though only an instant ago her small body was soft and pliable under his lips and roaming hands. "Men like it, most women do not. Many have never tried it. And it hurts, at least the first time. And later as well, if a man is not careful. And I am certain you do not want to know the medical side of it, my lord," she speaks quickly and curtly, and his lips halt on the collar of her gown. He lifts his upper body slightly and cups her face.

"It only hurts if a man is forceful, some women love it, and I do not wish to know the medical side for certain," he smiles to her, and her lips twitch. "Do you trust me, my heart?" That finally brings a smile to her lips. "Completely," she kisses him shortly, and then giggles. She always giggles when she is aroused. It drives him into sensual frenzy. Once he managed to pleasure her into laughing during her release. He endeavours to repeat such success many times in the nearest future.

She is worrying her bottom lip, and he understand there is bit more talking required before they start. He is slowly unlacing the front of her gown, slightly caressing her skin with the tips of his fingers. Never before had he wanted to be tender with a woman or a man. Passionate, inventive, even considerate of their release, yes, but overwhelmed with some piercing, almost painful tenderness, that came with her. Sometimes he runs his fingers through her hair, lulling her to sleep, attentively watching the small changes in her face, lashes fluttering, eyes moving under delicate lids, lips relaxing. Thorin is madly in love with his wife.

"What is it, azyungel?" She is gives him a shy look. "I... I liked it, when you would touch... I just did not know how to ask for more..." A wrinkle appears between her brows, "Is there even a proper way to ask for such... attentions?" Thorin guffaws. He laughs a lot with her, she makes him laugh more than he can remember laughing in his whole life.

"Would you like to come with a poetic name for it, my lady?" He already pulled the ribbon out and lowers his lips on her breasts, "If we ever decide to repeat such act." Her answer once again reminds him why he fell for her. She is endlessly practical and sober. "Well, that is just foolish. If people partake such activity, they might as well call it as it is." She sounds disdainful, and he guffaws again. He has moved lower and is bunching up her skirt. She lifts her hips to assist him.

"And what would that be exactly, my oh so not romantic Queen?" "The proper term for it would be sodomy, my lord." Her tone is stern, and he lifts her upper body with one hand, sliding his palm under her shoulder blades, and deftly pulls off her night gown with another.

His mouth is pressed to her soft stomach, and he hums into her skin. She arches into him, she likes the beard. She apparently likes all of him, which she also likes to tell him, mixing kisses and bites with feverish words. He never gave it a lot of thought before but the fact that she actually enjoys how he looks is very gratifying. Especially considering the way she chooses to express her appreciation. He had not cared for bedroom talk previously, and especially for this sort. With her he sometimes even asks for clarification, although he never had expected to care for compliments to his physique. Perhaps the fact that they are accompanied by enthusiastic caresses of small strong hands and mixed with licks and bites made him crave them so often. She says she cannot help it and blushes furiously. He also knows openness takes effort, and he tries to reciprocate. Perhaps, tonight he should try harder.

She is bare, spread in front of him, and just as always in the last few months he is overwhelmed with desire to throw all caution aside and bed her and spill his seed into her without restraint. But they have decided to wait, and he knows the decision was right. No one has ever heard of a half-Dwarf child and what would such parturiency do to a body of a woman of Men. They have to be careful. They have to be prepared. But the idea of planting life inside her is driving him mad. His child growing inside her... He gently bites into her stomach, and she moans.

She is very vocal, and after the first few times he thought that perhaps someone had told her that it was a compliment for a man and she should endeavour to show her appreciation. To his shock not only was she not putting up a show, she was not aware of the noises she makes altogether. She got endlessly embarrassed when he made a comment. And it took a lot of convicting and a few interesting efforts for her to stop being conscious. She did indeed try to restrain her moans and yelps for a while afterwards, but three of his fingers buried in her to his knuckles were too much even for her iron will.

Her will is one of many things he admires about her. She is indeed the perfect wife for him. He loves watching her during councils. Her slow, as if delicate bending the elder Dwarves to her will, her cautious but decisive words, polite smile and cold eyes, and imminent getting what she deems necessary. After the councils he beds her especially fervently.

He slides his palms under her buttocks and lifts her to his lips, opening her up, her shoulder blades on the sheets, her back arched. He covers her sex with his open mouth, and a raspy half-scream falls from her lips. He slowly caresses her with his tongue, encircling her entrance, spreading the folds, and then he shifts her pelvis, supports it on one of his large palms, while he pushes the index finger of the second one inside her. She is chanting something incoherent, he is dipping the finger deeply into her. He pays special attention to the back wall of her quim, in the anticipation of what to come.

"Move it there… I want it there..." Her voice is raspy and to his immense pleasure rather commanding. He slowly pulls the finger out of her and presses it into the other entrance. It is pink and tight, and he rubs it, spreading her juices. She is moaning, and there is a note of impatience in her voice. And then he splays his free palm on her stomach, and a fluid movement he flips her. She arches her back, pushing her buttocks up, and he is kissing and nipping on the round flesh.

"What is this fragrance, my lady?" He pushes two fingers into her, once again rubbing her walls, while his thumb presses into the other hole. "It is… Different herbs..." She is panting, "I took a bath, um… Oh more… A special bath in anticipation… Oh Mahal, Thorin..." He bites into her bum harder, and she is quite obviously rubbing her clit to the sheets. "I appreciate the smell of those flowers on your folds as well, my lady..." "It is lilac… Oh Maiar..." With the thumb and the fingers of his other hand he spreads her buttocks and presses a kiss on the pink hole. He sees her hands grasping bunches of sheets.

"Do not rush, my Queen, we cannot have you satisfied just yet. You need to be willing, hungry, craving…" She whimpers. He smirks, he needs her as aroused as possible. His voice is gruff, "Wet, quivering, yearning…" He licks her hole and then slightly pushes the tip of his tongue in. She squeals and pushes her bum up to his mouth.

"Tell me, my reasonable Queen, how else did you prepare for such lecherous acts with your husband?" He is rubbing her orifice, more and more forcefully, with the pulp of his index finger. "You took a bath, chose an absolutely indecent attire, have you tried touching yourself there?" She is moaning in her full voice now. "Have you pushed your adorable little finger into yourself, my Queen?" The noises she is making could be understood either way, affirmation or negation, and he gently pushes his finger inside, just the very tip.

"The balm..." Her voice is choked, and he leans ahead, sliding his open mouth along her spine. She shudders and moans his name. "What was it, my lady?" He whispers into her ear. She is battering her hand on the sheets, and he realizes she is pointing at a table near the bed. There is a jar on it.

"Oh Mahal, you have prepared," he chuckles darkly and releases her. Her pelvis falls into the sheets, and she is whimpering from relief and disappointment at the same time. And then she deftly starts rubbing herself to the sheets, and he presses his large hand on her lower back halting her. "No, none of that. I need you starved, my Queen." She tries to shake him off, but he has already reached for the jar. He dunks his finger in the viscid balm and then deftly slides it from her tailbone down to her perineum.

She groans and spreads her legs wide. In decisive circular movement he warms her up, and then slowly and gradually he pushes his finger into her, only a half, his lips and tongue caressing her buttocks. "More..." Her tone is assertive. He chuckles and slowly turns the finger. "Patience, my heart, you need to get accustomed to the intrusion." His finger moves in and out, each time a bit deeper, and he is thoroughly enjoying the tightness around his digit.

At the same time, he is worried. His member stretches her to the limit, and that would be her quim, which is actually made for it. She is just so small. He will hurt her. He momentarily cowardly considers suggesting pleasuring each other with their mouths. Their heads in the opposite directions, her graceful narrow feet with pink little toes dangling in the air, his hands supporting her pelvis above his mouth, they spent a lot of very enjoyable hours this way…

And suddenly, while he is momentarily distracted by his fainthearted doubts, she slowly but decisively pushes her hips towards him, and his finger slips into her fully. "Oh, Maiar, that is so sweet… Why have we not done that before, Thorin?.." She is sobbing on the sheets, and he is staring at the elegant back of his wife in complete shock.

He slides on the sheets near her and kisses her shoulder blades. They are delicate, one of his obsessions, and he licks the smooth fragrant skin. His heart suddenly clenches with a feeling that has nothing to do with carnal hunger, and to his own astoundment he feels his eyes sting. The acts they are involved at that moment are favoured by men for the feeling of dominance, but he feels humbled and vulnerable and presses his cheek to her cool skin.

He slowly pulls out his finger and continues caressing her back with his mouth. As always she is so attuned to his moods that she relaxes on the sheets, abandoning the sensual frenzy of just an instant ago. She lowers her head and sighs softly. Cursed tears would not retreat, and Thorin presses his forehead to her lower back. His palm is stroking her hip, and her slender arm snakes back, and she intertwines her fingers with his other hand. He murmurs the words of love in Khuzdul, and he knows she is smiling into the sheets. He wills himself to quit this sentimentality, but then he remembers that he is safe with her.

He flips her over and looks into her eyes. They are smiling, loving and unguarded. He rolls over her, and she opens her legs, accommodating him. Their lips meet, and he pushes his forearms under her shoulder blades. She sighs into his lips, their lips caress each other, and he feels the hunger rising again. She is his, completely his, but he again craves more, more possession, more abandon, more submission… She arches into him, rubs her center to him, and then sliding her mouth on his jaw she bites into his beard. "You are overdressed, my lord." One of her hands slips on his buttock, and she squeezes. He chuckles.

Pushing off the bed, he rises on his knees and then quickly divests himself of his trousers. She is lying on the bed, her eyes narrowed, salacious smirk on her lips. He momentarily wonder, as hundreds of times before, how can his demure and noble Queen be at the same times so wanton and lewd? Her eyes scrutinize his member, erect and twitching, and she licks her lips. Oh these lips… Never in his life has he had such flagrant releases as with her. Even at the beginning, when she was lacking in experience. Before him she had never performed oral acts on any man, but the first time her pink lips locked around him he had to push her off himself in just a few moments. When his first release hit the back of her throat, he thought he almost lost consciousness. She also turned out to be a quick and enthusiastic learner, and he would laugh that the feral smirk skimming her lips before she would take him into her mouth was truly terrifying. If she endeavoured for such acts to become her establishing her power over him, she succeeded. He would be sobbing and shaking under her small strong hands caressing his testes, her swift pink tongue licking off his seed from his member, and she would purr…

"How shall we proceed, my lord?" He grabs her ankles and pulls her to himself, spreading her legs at the same time. "You need to be prepared, my lady, stretched..." "Mmm, that sounds delicious. How are we going to achieve this, my lord?" The corners of her lips curl up, and he is worried they might not have time. If she continues giving his these looks, he is going to lose control and fuck her into the sheets. He places one of his hands near her shoulder, lowers his mouth on hers, and his other hands slides between her legs. It is the same hand he has used on her orifice before, and he knows it cannot come into contact with her sex.

He gently bites her bottom lip and then tears off his mouth from her, "I need you to spread some of your juices, Zundushinh." She was supporting her upper body on her elbows, to meet his mouth half way, and she falls back into sheets. She gives him a lazy sensual smile and lifts her hand. It does not lie on her folds though, she starts with her breasts. She catches her nipple between her thumb and index finger and gently twirls it. Then she cups her breast, in an obvious offering, and he lowers his open mouth on it. They are so small, that he sucks it into his mouth almost fully. He used to be fond of generous bosom, but Mahal he has never loved any part of female anatomy more that the perky, graceful, tender teats of his wife. Oh wait, her backside though, or her sex, or her legs, or her lips, or her strong little fingers, or… What is the point to muse? All of these are his to enjoy, and he has all the time in the world to pay homage to all of them.

Her hand slides down her stomach, she mimics walking with her fingers, and he chuckles, and then her tiny index finger reaches her curls. With the pulps of her index and middle fingers she gives her clit a decisive but gentle swirl and then pushes them inside. He is sucking on her other breast, and she moans raspily. "What are you thinking about when your fingers are inside you, kurdu?" She chuckles, and he looks up at her. Her eyes are closed, her fingers slowly moving, and one corner of her curved lips is lifted. "Herbal medicine, obviously." He is staring at her. She opens her eyes and then gives him a wink.

He laughs. She makes him so happy! He moves a bit lowers and watches her fingers. She is very gentle with herself, and then she slides her fingers to her other hole. The digits are moving in the circular movements, and then she pushes her middle finger in. He kisses her ribs and mumbles into her skin, "Add another, azyungel..." She complies and moans, "How many will I need?" "I will replace your hand after two," he is kissing her hip, "Now move them like scissors, stretch yourself..." She complies again, and then she makes a frustrated noise. "I want you… I want your fingers, Thorin..." "They are much thicker, haban..." She pulls hers out sharply and flips on her stomach.

"Do it already," she is so irked that he guffaws. He takes some more of the balm she has prepared and slowly pushes two of his fingers in. She tenses, and he rubs the tip of his nose to her back. "Relax, my heart, you need to relax… You are so tight, so innocent, untouched there..." She raspily exhales. He is peppering kisses on her lower back. Bedroom talk is not his forte, but, Mahal, for her he will do his best.

"I love it that I am the first in there, I love exploring you, my heart… You are driving me mad with desire, azyungel, ghivashel, haban, kurdu..." He switches to Khuzdul, his head spinning, and he moves his fingers, his erection painful, and she raspily cries out. "You are so beautiful, my Queen, all of you, your glowing skin, your small fingers and toes, your delicate teats, your curves, this curve..." He draws a swirl on her hip with his tongue and gently bites into her flesh.

"More, Thorin, you can add more..." He scissors his digits in her, and she tenses again. "See, your little hole is not ready yet… But it will be, I will prepare it for me, and then you will spread your legs for me, my Queen..." She moans and suddenly her whole body jolts and shudders in a release. She screams into the sheets, grabbing handfuls of them, her back bending, and she is sobbing, chanting his name, and as he realizes something in Khuzdul. "_Malal… Ursel..._" He hums into her hip.

Her body sags, and she is taking short shallow breaths. He puts his head on her buttock and closes his eyes. To his own surprise he feels almost satisfied. If she wishes to go to sleep now, he will probably agree and… But then she slightly shifts her hips and in a low voice murmurs, "You are not moving, my lord." He chuckles and continues his ministrations, carefully watching her reactions. She seems to be immediately recovered and starts arching her back anew. Insatiable woman!

He shakes his head in disbelief and adds another finger. "Oh yes, Thorin. So much better…" He spreads her walls, paying attention to what seems to bring most pleasure, and then he slows down. "Are you ready for me, my heart?" She lifts her head, props herself on her elbows and looks at him over her shoulder. "I cannot wait."

He pulls his hand out and shifts his weight. He adds more balm, generously smearing it on his member and her entrance. Then he aligns their hips, his erection brushing her delectable buttocks, and she spreads her legs.

He supports his weight on one straight arms, and holding his member in his hand he pushes the tip into her orifice. She gasps. "Relax, my heart, you need to take deep breaths..." He pushes a bit deeper, moving slowly, but she whines and he can see her shoulder blades are tense. He is very large, Dwarves are. The width of their build is reflected in their phalli, and he is also long. He halts and lets her take a few breaths. And then he proceeds, but with each half inch he is more and more doubtful.

Suddenly she growls, "Would you stop worrying already?" Her tone is grouchy, and she looks at him over her shoulder. Her pupils are so large that he cannot see the ember irises. "I appreciate your gentleness, but I have to say I am rather impatient." He cocks a brow, and she licks her lips. He pushes in, almost all his length disappearing in her, and she screams. He freezes, but her breathy "Maiar, so good..." is rather reassuring. He starts rocking his hips, and she is mewling appreciatively.

He finds the rhythm and after a few gentle gradual movements he is fully buried on her hole. He is stroking her back, feeling goosebumps under his palm, and she exhales loudly. "You can move..." He chuckles, "And what would you call what I did before?" "Snail pace?" Her voice is mocking, and he guffaws. And thrusts in her, though the swing of his hips is moderate. She gasps and tenses. He hisses, she is choking him. "Relax, zundush, you are cutting my blood circulation..." She answers in an intricate swearing in Khuzdul. He did not know she was even aware of such words. Somehow it spurs his desire, and he thrusts again.

"More..." He doubts he heard right, but then she repeats, her tone insistent, "More, Thorin..." He places the second hand near her body stretched on the bed and slightly lifts his hips. "Put your legs together, azyungel..." She mewls, he realizes she is hardly conscious enough to understand him, but then her legs move, and she squeezes him even more, her small firm buttocks locking on the base of his member. He groans, and suddenly understands he is close to his release. He needs to prolong it, make it worthwhile for her.

He shifts his knees, moves then ahead, almost straddling her, and supporting his weight on straight arms he pulls almost fully out and then thrusts into her forcefully. She screams, and small fists are battering on the sheets. He repeats the maneuver, and then he leans down to her ear and asks, "Would you like more of that or should we go back to more shallow movements? I need you to enjoy this, my Queen." She is whining, shaking her head. "Choose your pleasure , my Queen." "More of the deep..." Her voice is raspy, and he moves his knees wider, aiming for more swing. His first thrust makes her emit a shrieky scream. And then again, and again, each next one no less volatile, choked sobs falling from her lips, until he can see her sagging, her fingers uncurling, and he slows down.

"Perhaps I even need you to climax like that, my heart. I might have to ask you to slide your fingers under your sweet little quim." She moans. "I know you are tired, my heart, but you need to try..." He lowers his lips to her shoulder and swirls his tongue on her skin. She shudders, and he can see her hand slide underneath her pelvis. "Curl up your fingers inside yourself, zundush. You know the spot… That little patch of skin… I want you to rub it gently, imagine it is my finger..."

Suddenly he feels the tips of her fingers brush the base of his cock, and he jerks. She repeats the actions, this time much less feathery, her short nails gently scrape his skin. And then she arches her back to get more access, and her fingers slide inside her sex. She starts rubbing his member through her wall. He growls. "Slow down, zundush. I am close..." He sees the corner of her lips curl up in an impish grin, and suddenly she squeezes him inside, both her holes constrict, and her fingers press into her wall into his cock.

"Stop it!" She looks at him over her shoulder and bites into her bottom lip. She is obviously enjoying his facial expression. He adjust his arms for more stability and pounds into her. She screams but does not lessen the pressure. He lifts his hips higher and thrusts into her. They both slightly bob on the mattress, and he speeds up, using the momentum of the bed. She is mewling, and he feels her fingers curling in her sex.

"Come for me, zundush, please..." He does not notice when he started asking, instead of ordering, "Please, my heart, please..." She suddenly jerks her hand out, pushes her palms into the sheets and he understand she tries to rise on all four. His bloods boils up, and he shifts.

He suddenly finds himself kneeling behind his wife, on all four, his cock in her sweet pink hole, and it unhinges his mind. He grabs the buttocks, most likely bruising and hurting her, and he pushes into her, his testes slapping her with a loud obscene sound. She moans but it is an obvious encouragement, and he start pumping into her. The copper curls swing in the air, and he is growling. He is far too gone for any coherent words. And then she shatters, screaming his name, the name of all deities and the dirtiest of swears. She is keeling, and he releases with a gruff scream. Her quivering hole is milking him, and he is groaning, new and new waves of pleasure flooding him, blind and deaf to anything but the hot white rapture and the feeling of the woman he loves.

They fall into the sheets on their side, he pulls her to his chest, crushing her, his forehead pressed to the back of her head, half choked sobs erupting out of him, and he is mumbling the words of love, gratitude, and devotion. He never confesses his love in Common Speech, such words too mundane for him, only in Khuzdul, always _"Men lananubukhs menu",_ addressing her "azyungel", "haban", "yasith", "kurdu", _my love_, _my gem_, _my wife_, _my heart_, but he realizes he is repeating again and again, "My love, my love, oh my love..." She is panting, and her slender arm flies back and lies around his waist. Somehow this additional contact with her skin makes him choke on his words, strange knot in his throat. And then she returns it up front and covers his hand on her middle. She picks it up and presses the inner side of his wrist to her lips, his arm limp and heavy. He exhales into her hair, the caress so familiar, so her. He presses his face into her locks, closes his eyes, piercing happiness and completeness flooding him.

For a few moments they are silent, busking in the afterglow, little swirls of pleasure tickling his whole body, and he nuzzles her nape. And then he reaches for covers and pulls them over both of them. He notices she is nodding off, and he kisses her ear. "Zundush, we should take a bath..." She moans and shakes her head, "I am perfectly content here..." Her voice is sleepy, and he chuckles. She is always immediately drowsy after her release, and he finds it endearing. Her warm body near him is relaxed, and his own lids are heavy. He shakes his head. "You will regret all this untidiness tomorrow yourself, my heart." "Nothing untidy… Just our love..."

Thorin is lying in his marital bed, his wife sleeping in his arms, his softened member still inside her, and he sends every possible prayer to Mahal, the Maker, the Smith of Powers. He fervently thanks him for his wife and asks for forgiveness for ever having doubted the wisdom of the Maker, assigning the small girl from Men to him, making her his One, intertwining their destinies. When there was no hope for them, when he left her in Bree, the immense, unimaginable pain tearing at his heart, wrecking his body, tormenting his mind, he would ask what crime he had committed to be tortured thusly. He opens his eyes now and gazes at the peaceful face of his yasith. The lashes lie under her eyes, freckles peppering her nose and cheekbones, and he clenches his jaw. Even in his mind he has no words, not even well formed thoughts to express his love and his happiness. She makes him complete, light, careless, she has taken any pain he has ever felt in his life, he cannot remember the darkness and the despair in him, the angry, brutal savage he was before her. Nothing matters anymore, and everything does. The food has taste, the wine is only for joy, the sleep is free of nightmares… Noble Dwarven warriors do not cry, and Thorin pretends he does not notice his own tears… He closes his eyes and pulls the former healer from Bree to his chest even tighter, though it is hardly possible. Sleep envelops him, and he dreams of two blue eyed and dark haired boys, a small girl bobbing on his lap, and another boy, red haired, with her eyes and mischievous smile. Thorin sleeps, and his world is tranquil and harmonious.


	2. Chapter 2

One thing could be said about Thorin Oakenshield. He had always been considered capable to think fast on his feet. Perhaps sometimes too quick to judge and condone his kin and too fast and furious towards his enemies, he was hard to surprise and take at unawares. And still, he froze in the doorframe of his bedroom and his jaw even might have slacked a bit when he was faced with an astonishing apparition on his marital bed. It was a gorgeous, half naked woman. And it was definitely not his wife. The guest, relaxed and somewhat provocatively stretched on his bed, half lying, half sitting, her voluptuous curves covered in a gauzy green night dress hardly reaching her knees, was as far from his wife in appearance as possible. Though also short, she was curvaceous, her skin tanned, giant dark eyes, heavy ebony strands in an intricate do, showing her long neck and round shoulders.

Thorin let his eyes roam the stranger and smirked darkly. "Have you walked into the wrong door, my lady?" She smiled to him, her lips plump and pink, and he quickly considered how to grab her better and how she would feel in his arms. Because as clearly as day he understood that the next thing he was going to do was to pick her given gorgeous body up and throw her out of his bedroom her backside first in the most humiliating way.

"She has not," his wife's voice made him jerk his eyes from the woman on the bed. He looked up and that was when his jaw definitely dropped. His demure, decorous Queen stood by the bedpost of their marital bed in a nightdress, the exact replica of the one hugging the generous bosom of the brunette on the bed, though the Queen's attire was of a slightly different tint. A confident lecherous smile was playing on her lips, and Thorin felt heat licking the back of his neck. Surely, he was wrong in his assumptions…

Both women rose, the Queen walked towards him, his eyes immediately glued to her hips, while the brunette walked around him, and without tearing his eyes off his wife, Thorin understood that their guest closed the door behind his back. The Queen stepped closer, her slanted green eyes burning, and her narrow palm lay on his chest. "Here are the rules, my King," she licked her lips, and his stare shifted onto her mouth, "We will move to my parlour. A comfortable divan has been brought there, and I do not wish another woman in my marital bed," her delicate index finger lay on his lips, "You are not to kiss our dearest guest. And nothing but your hands touch her body. You can ask but you do not order. And most importantly," she lifted a brow, and his pulse quickened, "Both our guest and I get to enjoy ourselves as fully as we desire."

Thorin noticed she did not ask for his agreement. He was already hard when the first suspicion rose in his mind as he saw his wife and her attire, but by the end of her speech his head swam from suffocating, almost painful arousal. Assertive and confident Queen Zundushinh made his body burn and mind rail. He gently kissed the little finger pressed to his mouth and nodded.

The Queen stretched her hand to him, and he let her lead him to the parlour. The brunette was already sitting on the divan and rose when they entered. She stepped closer, and he finally had a good look at her. "Have I chosen wisely, my King?" He felt a shiver run down his spine from the pure obscenity of the tone and the meaning of his wife's words.

Because she did. She had chosen a woman that he would have picked had he not been married. Striking features, dark eyes and hair, plump lips, and most importantly glorious full breasts and curvy hips. Exactly the woman Thorin of the past would have found most appetising.

While the brunette unbuckled his belt, he felt his wife's presence behind him. Her strong fingers unclasped his collar, and once the belt had hit the floor, the familiar small hands pushed his vest off his shoulders. The brunette unbuttoned his tunic, picked up the hem of it and pulled it off his body.

He felt the Queen's hot mouth pressed to his spine, between his shoulder blades, her palms stroking his shoulders, and then she slightly pushed him towards the brunette. "What is her name?" Thorin's voice was gruff.

His wife tut-tutted, "What discourtesy, my lord! Our guest is in the room, and she is not an object. Address her personally and with respect, please," the Queen's arms snaked around his waist from behind, and she started unfastening his breeches.

"What is your name?"

"Huld," her voice was low, fruity, and he lifted his hand and touched her cheek, her skin warm and radiant, amber and honey just as her voice. His trousers half open, he felt his wife continue kissing his back, her hands caressing his waist and hips above his breeches. He cupped the back of Huld's head and pulled her towards him. When her face was close to his, he felt the Queen's short nails dig into his skin.

"I remember the rules, my Queen," he chuckled. She snorted and gently bit his upper arm. Huld smiled as well and placed her palms on his chest. She treaded her fingers in his chest hair and clawed at him a bit.

"He is delectable, is he not?" He heard laughter in his wife's tone, and he cocked a brow. He was certainly not used to being appraised like a bloodstock pony. He slightly turned his head and looked at the green eyes of Queen Zundushinh. She lifted a brow in an obvious taunt and suddenly licked his shoulder.

"Indeed he is," Huld raked her nails down his chest and gently scraped his stomach. His abdomen muscles jerked, and she gave out a throaty chuckle. The women's hands met on his waist, and he saw their fingers intertwine. "And so is his Queen," the brunette murmured, and the eyes of the two women met over his shoulder. Huld smirked and unwrapped the Queen's arms from around his middle.

Thorin found himself standing in the middle of the parlour, while Huld led his wife to the divan and they sat in front of each other. Mesmerized, he watched them slowly lean towards each other, the long lashes of his wife fluttered and finally the two sets of soft lips met. He sucked the air in. Seeing the Queen kissing someone besides him was the strangest and surprisingly alluring picture. She was obviously savouring the caresses, her mouth opening slightly, and then he saw a glimpse of her pink tongue darting and sliding over the full upper lip of the brunette. Thorin's cock jerked. The women unhurriedly embraced each other, hands sliding chastely, first on the shoulders, then necks, cupping each other's faces. He saw the fingers of the brunette slide down on the Queen's collarbones, and he smirked. The pulps of her fingers slid, stroking the tender skin there, and he imagined how it felt. The delicate clavicles of his wife were among many favourites of Thorin Oakenshield. Huld tore her lips from his wife's and lowered her face to where her fingers were a moment ago. He saw her tongue slide along the delicate bone there, and the Queen dropped her head back. Her lips slightly opened, and Thorin took a big step ahead, bent down and caught her mouth.

Queen Zundushinh smiled into his mouth, and her slender arm flew up. She cupped the back of his head, and for a few moments she was enjoying the double caresses bestowed on her neck and lips. And then her hand moved to his naked shoulder, and she slightly pushed him away. He looked into her eyes, and they smiled to each other. The King stepped back, and the women embraced again, this time their movement more heated, more passionate. The Queen was the first to touch the brunette's breasts, cupping the generous weight there, her fingers brushing the nipples. Huld reciprocated, and they fondled each other's peaks for a bit. The Queen leaned in and sucked on the brunette's neck. And then she looked at her husband askew, her mouth still pressed to the glorious skin of their guest.

"I think it is time you join us, my heart," the Queen's voice was raspy and playful, and the women moved away from each other, giving room for the King to sit between them. They both knelt on the divan, and while he cupped the back of his wife's head and pulled her into a deep passionate kiss, Huld's hands stroked his shoulders, and then she pressed her hot mouth to the side of his neck. And then she slid behind him, her bosom pressed to his back through the thin material of her gown, while his wife suddenly moved away from him and stood in front of him. She deftly picked up her dress, and in one swift movement she pulled it off. His eyes roamed her naked body, pale radiant skin, small peaks, pink taut nipples, red curls between her legs, and he gently placed his palms on her waist. He pressed a kiss between her breasts, and she arched into him.

There was a movement behind him, and he heard the Queen chuckle. He lifted his eyes from her beloved body and saw Huld pass his wife the other nightgown. The scorching skin of the second naked woman pressed to his back, and he smirked. Huld's hands slid over his shoulders, fingers ran along his clavicles and then up, and rubbed his ears. She leaned in, and he felt her breath near his lobe, "Your wife told me your ears and beard are exceptionally sensitive, my lord." He felt her tongue run along his helix, and he shivered.

"What other knowledge has my Queen shared with you, Huld?" Both women chuckled in unison. The Queen lifted his chin with her index finger, and he looked into her eyes.

"We were mostly talking about my pleasure, my lord. Men are simpler to satisfy." His eyes widened. This new lecherous, demanding Queen was both intimidating and endlessly seductive. He momentarily thought that perhaps he had never desired and loved her more than at that moment. In a forceful movement he grabbed her neck and pulled her in a searing kiss. While her lips and tongue were dancing with his, he felt her stretch her arm, and with a corner of his eyes he saw her pulling Huld to climb off the divan.

Both women stood in front of him, and suddenly the Queen knelt down in front of the brunette. She pressed a kiss to Huld's flat stomach and then gently touched the dark curls at the bottom of her stomach. Thorin was frozen on his divan, eyes glued to his wife's face. She licked her lips and then her tiny index finger stroked the folds of the other woman. "I have to say our guest is in anticipation," she slowly pushed the finger into Huld, who closed her eyes and moaned. Thorin's eyes darted between the two faces. And then the Queen tilted her head and licked Huld's clit in a confident slow movement. The King could not hold back a raspy moan.

"Are you not uncomfortable, my King?" Huld's voice was low and throaty, her eyes half lidded, her body trembling from the Queen's ministrations. The King saw his wife's small hands cup Huld's magnificent perky buttocks, and then she rubbed her nose to her curls.

"Perhaps, you should undress, my husband," the Queen murmured without tearing her eyes from the other woman's center. Thorin jumped up and pulled his trousers off, keeping his eyes on the Queen. Making sure he was comfortably seated, she moved her hand between Huld's legs and splaying her fingers slightly pushed her thighs apart. Huld shifted her feet and opened up. The Queen dove in and in astoundment Thorin watched his wife vigorously lapping on another woman's sex. Huld throatily moaned, and Thorin saw her knees tremble.

"I feel rather left out, my heart," the King complained in a light tone, but his wife ignored him.

"Perhaps you can use your hand so far, my lord," the brunette's words were slightly slurred, the Queen was very thorough. But then she tore her face from Huld's body and turned to her husband. Her red lips puffed and moist, she was so delectable that Thorin had to grab the edge of the divan not to pounce on her.

She swiftly rose to her feet and smirked darkly. "Do not worry, my King, you will not be forgotten." She stepped closer and looked down at him, "I just wanted our guest to feel welcomed." She turned her back to him and sat on his lap. His cock trapped between their bodies, her firm little buttocks pressing on it, she slowly moved up and down his length, and then she spread her legs, supporting her weight on straight arms pressed into his legs. Huld knelt in front of her, and he saw over his wife's shoulder how a gorgeous brunette started licking on his wife's glistening folds. Her tongue would move up, and the Queen would arch her back, transferring the movement, rubbing her glorious backside to his girth, and then would slide down, pressing further into him. Her head dropped back, on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips to her ear, sucked her lobe into his mouth, gave it a gentle bite. His hands grabbed her breasts, and he palmed her nipples.

The King pressed one of the Queen's teats between his fingers, Huld met his eyes and gave the Queen's clit a tight swirl. They coordinated their movements. Twisting her nipple he started sucking on the Queen's neck, while Huld pushed two fingers into her quim, setting a forceful dizzying rhythm. He felt his wife's body sagging, her breathing increasingly heavier and deeper, her eyes rolling back. Suddenly she jerked and pushed away from him. Huld moved away, and the Queen tut-tutted. "You two are too good, I forgot the point of today's evening." She rose and affectionately stroke Huld's hair, the other woman still kneeling on the floor.

"Which is what exactly?" Thorin asked, enticed by his wife's burning eyes. She smirked, one corner of her perpetually curled up lips lifted, and knelt near his feet as well. Her small strong palms stroked his inner thighs, and then her fingers encircled his base. She slightly moved aside, and Huld leaned in. Before Thorin had a moment to realize what was happening the brunette's lips closed around his head, and she gave him a tight forceful suck. Having guided him into another woman's mouth the Queen let him go and cupped his testes. Her tiny fingers moved, she knew exactly how to massage him best. He groaned, and his hand flew up. He pushed his fingers into his wife's springy curls. He pulled her hair back making her look into his eyes. She was smiling, while the second woman was bobbing her head up and down his length. The Queen's second hand lay on the back of her head, she grabbed a handful of dark curls and slowed Huld's movements.

"Slowly and deeply, my friend. At least at the beginning." Huld complied, switching to Thorin's favourite proceedings. He closed his eyes and leaned back on his straight arms. For a second he felt his cock cool in the air, and then a pair of lips locked around it again. Without opening his eyes he recognised his wife's mouth.

Her tongue ran around the ridge of his head, in an unhurried caress, and he peeked. Her eyes were closed, she often told him she especially enjoyed such acts. And then she moaned, and the vibration transferred into his member. Huld, stroking her back with one hand, slid another one between her legs from behind and was gently caressing her folds. Her long strong fingers dipped in and out of the Queen who arched her back.

"I am afraid the Queen's juices are dripping on the priceless carpet," Huld pressed her lips to the Queen's shoulder blades. "No wonder, there is such abundance to enjoy." The Queen straightened up releasing him and chuckled.

"I have nothing to compare it with, I am afraid, but I would assume there are few to match," she pressed a kiss to her husband's chest, and he smiled into her eyes.

"I do have some knowledge, and I envy my Queen," murmured Huld, and her hands suddenly cupped the Queen's face. She sharply pulled her to herself, and Thorin saw her tongue dive deeply into the Queen's mouth. Their bodies intertwined, his knee pressed between their warm stomachs, and he pushed his hands into red and black hair. His wife blindly pushed her hand down and stroked his member, while her second hand cupped between Huld's legs. The brunette returned the attention. For a while they moved in silence, the women moving their hands, Huld greedily kissing the Queen, Thorin sucking on his wife's neck, familiar intoxicating taste flooding his senses.

The Queen once again shifted first. Releasing Huld she turned to her husband and pushed his knees wider apart. The women smiled to each other and dove down together. Two sets of lips and two hot deft tongues slid up and down Thorin's cock, and he growled. He looked down, and his member jerked from the view of his wife and another woman sucking on the sides of his cock, their tongues meeting, Huld then sliding closer to the root while the very tip of the Queen's tongue was caressing the small entrance in his head. Neither was using their hands, their movements surprisingly coordinated. He lifted his eyes and could not suppress a moan from the view of their hands pumping between each other's legs.

"I need it deep… One of you has to take it in deep..." Both women stopped, and Thorin exhaled sharply. The Queen tapped his tip with her finger, and he clenched her jaw.

"You do not have much power in this situation, my lord. Perhaps you should learn to ask politely," she licked her lips. "And be more specific. Which one should take your cock into her throat?"

Thorin gulped. "Please, my heart…" She nodded and questioningly lifted her brow. "Perhaps, Huld..." The Queen let the brunette take her position, while she herself got up and sat near him on the divan. He gladly pulled her to him, and their mouths met.

His head swam from the feeling of two wet mouths caressing him, the endlessly delicious taste of his wife, her small hot palms stroking his face, the beard, the cheekbones. He cupped her breast and played with her nipples. She moaned into his mouth, and suddenly he dropped his head back and laughed out loudly.

The Queen lifted her brows, and he gently placed his hand at the back of Huld's head. "Huld, please, stop..." The brunette released him and lifted her eyes at him. He could not stop chuckling, surprised by the strange sensation he found in himself.

"Is something not to your liking, my lord? Should we change positions?" The Queen's voice was surprised and almost apprehensive. She was obviously aroused and slightly impatient. The King cupped his wife's face and quickly kissed the corner of her lips.

"Everything is wonderful, my heart. But perhaps Huld could go," without looking at the brunette Thorin smiled to his wife. "As wonderful as such present was," he kissed her jaw, her eyes wide open and stunned, "You are all I need." The Queen wrapped her slender arms around his neck, and he leaned in to kiss her. Her fingers treaded into his hair, and half consciously he noticed the door open and close.

He pushed his wife down on the divan, and she spread her legs. He lifted his hips, and his tip brushed her folds. She moaned and murmured something. "What is it, my heart?"

"I love you, my King," her eyes were warm, laughing and still slightly disbelieving, and he pushed into her.

"And I you."

And Thorin Oakenshield made love to his wife, gentle and deep, her body burning in his hands, arching into him, her soft sighs and moans more eloquent than any words of love, her palms sliding on his skin. His lips caressed her neck and her breasts, their love and tenderness flooding and filling them, their release united and concurrent. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. That was indeed a surprise to him that he had halted the act that he had always been so fond of, but he thought with a smile on his lips that nothing had been the same since a small red haired healer sauntered into his life. Perhaps one woman was indeed enough. It just had to be the right one.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: More fluff than smut. But I felt sentimental :) Also, my lovelies, remember how it all started with "Thorin's Morning After"? Good old days... Ahhhh... :)**

**Another Thorin's Morning After **

Half awake, Thorin stirs and stretches his arm to his right. The other side of the bed is empty, and he opens his eyes. The sheets are cool, so she left a while ago. He rolls on his stomach and buries his nose in her pillow. The faint smell of what he now knows is lilac tickles his senses, and he smiles into the soft fabric. At that moment something falls on the floor in the next room with a loud jangle. The servants must be preparing a bath. Thorin does not want to start his morning yet, and he nests into the covers, light and soft, nuzzling the sheets, still bearing the fragrance of her skin.

There is a determined knock at the door of the adjoining parlour, and Thorin's mood immediately drops. There is only one person allowed to knock at that door. He rolls off the bed and pulls on his trousers. He searches for his shirt, but it seems nowhere to be found. There is a corner of some garment sticking out from under the bed, and Thorin pulls. It is her tunic, and he straightens dangling it on his finger. For an instant a warm familiar feeling that he has no name for floods his chest. Even in the solitude of his bedchambers he feels embarrassed to admit his mawkishness, but then he chuckles. There is no shame in being in love with one's wife. He presses the tunic to his cheek and inhales the same sweet smell.

Then he carefully places the tunic on the bed and continues searching for his. It turns up on the window sill, and he lets himself indulge in pleasant memories for a moment. Her legs crossed behind his back, little fingers pulling his tunic up, short nails scraping his skin, treacherously tickling his ribs, her white teeth worrying the plump bottom lip impishly… The shirt is off, she catches his mouth, and the tunic is taking to the air in a flamboyant wide gesture of her slender arm.

He pulls it on and opens the door. Fili is bubbling with his usual energy, but an uncharacteristic wrinkle is laid between his brows. He is holding a pile of papers and rolls of parchment, and Thorin groans internally. "It is beyond early, Fili. I have not partaken my breakfast yet," Thorin's voice is peevish. Fili looks at him in confusion. He probably stayed up all night.

"I have the forges schematics, Uncle..." Fili pushes the papers towards the King, and the latter sighs and gestures him to proceed to the dining chambers.

He is closing the door behind him and notices something green on the floor. He bends and picks up a ribbon. He remembered pulling it out of her hair last night, and without thinking he twirls it around his index finger. It is silky, and he continues playing with it, following his sister-son.

Fili is talking, gesticulating, and Thorin is listening absent-mindedly. She was upset with him last night, and he remembers her pensive tense shoulders, while sitting in front of her vanity she was brushing her copper hair. To think of it, the Dwarf mumbling into his left ear was exactly the reason of his wife's displeasure. Thorin cannot stand even the slightest umbrage for his wife.

They enter the dining hall, and both of them sit at the long wooden table. The breakfast is served, and Thorin lifts a lid from a large platter. Several types of cheese are arranged on it, with a pile of freshly baked fragrant bread in the center. Another platter contains meats, pickled eggs, and vegetables, and he picks up a slice of lamb. Fili is still droning at the background, and Thorin halts him raising his hand.

He remembers his wife's soft tone last night, her hand slowly moving the brush down the flaming waves, "My King, I am concerned for your older sister-son..."

"And I am concerned that you are still not in bed, my Queen." She slightly turned on her chair and gave his an appraising look over her shoulder. It was rather haughty, and he chuckled.

She pointed at his raging erection with her brush, "If you were planning to shock me with the view of your bare body, my lord, you should have chosen a different position to display yourself. I could clearly see your preparations in the mirror."

"So you were looking, my Queen." She snorted and turned back to her vanity.

"Perhaps just a little..." She picked up a comb now, and he groaned.

"You are still not in bed, my heart..."

"I have been there twice already, my King, I have to tend to some of my needs now."

"Come to bed, and I will tend to them."

She tut-tutted, "If only you were talking about assisting me with my hair..."

"But I am," he shifted closer and stretched an open hand to her. "Give me the comb, kurdu." She complied and moved onto the bed, turning her back to him. He gently ran the comb through her locks a few times, and only them he allowed himself a small indulgence. He pressed his lips to her shoulder and then, since self-control had never been included in the sum of his virtues, he slid his hand around her middle and covered her breast.

"Behave yourself, my lord." Her tone was stern, and she battered his hand away.

Thorin, not used to being refused such pleasures, kissed her shoulder again, accepting that she was indeed vexed. "What about Fili, zundush?" She turned around, and his eyes fell on her breasts. She was bare head to toe.

"Thorin," her voice was reproachful, and she lifted his chin with her tiny index finger, making him look into her eyes. He did, but Mahal, he was distracted. She sighed and pushed him back into the sheets. They were rumpled from their previous two bouts, he especially liked the second one, her graceful ankles on his shoulders, loud screams of pleasure falling from her lips, her strong fingers kneading her breasts. And now she straddled him, and his member slid in her like Orcrist in its sheath. She forcefully clawed his chest, and he growled. "But then we will talk about Fili, will we not, my lord?"

He nodded, hardly understanding what she said, his thoughts jumbled as she was already clenching him inside, her hips moving following that glorious lemniscate that always turned him in a trembling dimwit. She dug her nails into his pectoral muscles, and he grabbed her delicious buttocks. She was moving faster, her strong thighs squeezing him, her back arched, salacious moans loud and throaty, her hands flying to her orange mane, and she was chanting his name. She is commanding, mesmerizing, mind blowing, purposeful, her quim caressing him and this night she was decisively aiming for her own release, and then she bent backward, and her hot palm cupped his testes. She bent further, supporting her weight on her other arm, her flexibility yet another treasure in this marriage, her hips pumping him, bending his cock backwards with the sweetest of pressures, and he lifted his head and was presented with the view of his wife's folds sliding up and down his member, glistening with her juices. And that was his undoing. He came with a roar, thrashing underneath her, and she climaxed as well, grinding her pelvis to his, all soft mewling sounds and satisfied moans.

"Uncle?" Thorin realizes he is frozen with a piece of cheese dangling from his fork, and he shifts his eyes at Fili. To cover his distractedness the King stuffs the cheese in his mouth, but once he starts chewing he is even more distracted than by his indecent thoughts of a few instants ago. The cheese is exceptional. He is staring at the platter. He just cannot help it.

"What is this cheese?" He asks a servant refreshing his mug.

"It is the special kind the Queen orders from Ithilien, she specifically sent three boats for it. It is supposedly the best in the Eastern Gondor." The servant's voice is laced with pride, the household adores their Queen. In a few short moons after the wedding she turned each servant and guard in her staunch supporter and a loyal zealot. They would wound, maim and kill for her without a minuscule of a doubt.

The King puts down his fork, and twirling the green ribbon in his hands he turns to his nephew. "Fili, would you like to pass the overseeing of forges restoration to Gloin and take charge of trade and the guard accompanying the merchant companies?" Fili freezes with his mug pressed to his lips. Thorin does not require his answer, he can see it in his widening, suddenly brilliant, exuberant eyes. Thorin shakes his head and chuckles.

To his own shame he had not given it much thought. He gave Fili the hardest of the tasks the current state of affairs called for, and assumed his sister-son would consider it an honour. He remembers his wife's little hand stroking his chest last night, delicate fingers treading through his chesthair, and she is nuzzling his skin. It is cooling after their fourth round, and he is running his fingers up and down her spine. "Do you think, my lord, that Fili might be slightly happier if you put him in charge of the growing trade contacts of Erebor?.. All those dangerous travels, the guards required for it, the weaponry… The excitement of the road, the news and turmoils of the life of merchants..." She yawns. He hums nonchalantly. She does not insist, she curls into him, and he feels her warm breath on his side. He intertwines his fingers with her graceful little digits and smirks. She is asleep already, and he is looking at the canopy above their bed and thanks Mahal for bestowing him with such wife.

After breakfast with Fili who is so elated by the end of it that he can hardly sit still on his chair, Thorin returns to his bedchambers and passes into the room with the bath. He quickly shreds his tunic and trousers and sinks into the hot water already prepared for him. An unfamiliar fragrance fills his nose, his muscles relaxing, his joints suddenly forgetting the old injuries, and he closes his eyes in the bliss. The knee that is always bothering him, bearing the injury from the Battle of the Five Armies, can only be pacified by her small strong hands and some balms she keeps in her study. She rubs them it, humming under her nose, and he is staring at her gentle jawline and a little pink ear.

A servant knocks at the door, and Thorin allows him entrance. "Is there something new with the bath?" He asks in a lazy tone, without opening his eyes.

"The merchants from Mirkwood delivered some new herbs by the Queen's request."

To Thorin's slight apprehension there is a constant exchange of letters between his wife and the cursed Elvenking. At the moment though he appreciates their sharing of knowledge of herbal medicine. The knee is at peace, and he shifts his shoulders, noting the pleasant looseness of muscles. He smirks and muses that he still should complain in the evening. She starts fussing around him, pulling out corks from vials, fragrant oils rubbed between her palms, and then the hands start kneading his muscles, eventually attending to every inch of his body. The tips of her fingers trace his scars, and it is surprisingly easy to tell her of the wounds. She is endlessly sober and reasonable, listening quietly, and every story he tells becomes one less nightmare, another of them never returning again. Soon enough he stopped seeing the death of his brother and his Grandfather in his dreams, no more waking up with a jerk, his hands grasping the sheets, teeth clenched, his throat painfully dry. These days he sees Frerin and King Thror alive and smiling, Frerin sometimes just a boy, like that one day when they put a frog in Dis' shoe, or when they were punished for sneaking into an armoury.

Something is bothering him, not allowing to relax fully in his bath, and he searches his mind. It is the Elvenking... and the letters. A pile of them is stacked on the corner of her desk, the seal of the abdominal Elven bastard taunting him, but they are open, sometimes not even folded, and Thorin berates himself for unreasonable jealousy. The two Kingdoms have a mutual goal, the same territory to look after, the trade growing exponentially, and besides once he gives himself a moment to think of it, he does not doubt his wife. He is no fool and understands her well.

He is also a Dwarf, and there are things he just cannot give her. As content and satisfied she claims to be in her life in Erebor, he understands she has sacrificed a lot for her position as his wife and the Queen. Living in a mountain, surrounded by stone and fire, away from her trees and grasses... He admires her calm and determined efforts to preserve her nature and interests, and simultaneous adjustment to her new role. The books flooding her study, and even her side of their bedchamber, the dried herbs in a room adjoint to her parlour, regular visits to the Erebor infirmary, he can hardly presume how she finds time for all her responsibilities, considering the active role she quickly started playing in governing the life of Erebor. As much as he is irked by her correspondence with King Thranduil, it plays the crucial role in the relations between the two Kingdoms. And if she requires conversing with the pale, pointy eared wimp about herbal essences to feel more comfortable in her new life, Thorin can swallow his pride and possessiveness. He is prepared to do much more to ensure not a slightest doubt in her choice comes to the red head of his yasith.

The green ribbon is still in his hand, and he lifts it to his eyes. He loves her hair, a cascade of mad orange curls. Scattered on the pillow, falling like a curtain around his head when she is straddling him and lowers her lips to his, heavy decorous braids through the day… He thinks of the morning after their wedding night, when reposing in bed they led quiet conversation, more for the sake of hearing another's voice than actually discussing anything, and absent-mindedly he picked up a few heavy silky strands. His fingers moved in mindless sequence, braiding the copper locks on the side of her face, and he realized that she had stilled and quieted and was attentively looking at him. She might not have understood the meaning behind his action, but her intuition allowed her understand the intimacy of the gesture. That morning he allowed her wash his hair for the first time. Her strong finger ran through his strands, careful and thorough, her face serious and concentrated, and the smell of some herbs and flowers filled his nose. He leaned at the rolled up towel on the side of a tub and closed his eyes. There was a determined rightfulness in what was transpiring, and both of them were quiet, almost afraid to scare off the perfection of the moment.

Thorin slides under water, allowing the heat and the essences seep into his hair, and then he straightens up, spitting the sweet fragrant water like a pony, and shakes his head. Baths are boring without a small body sleek and hot under his hands, and a pair of strong hands running through his strands. He quickly finishes washing and goes to the dressing room.

Everything is organized, sorted out, his attires attended to, clean and pressed, and he chuckles. Her voice is ringing in his head, while he remembers her fingers buttoning up his doublet. "I am certain you would not want King Thranduil to see you in disarray, my lord."

The cursed Elvenking was visiting Erebor for the first time after the fallout with his grandfather. Thorin grabbed her around the waist and gave her buttock a firm squeeze. "Maybe I want him to feel jealous. He would not be in disarray after a thorough tumble with his wife in a closet." She snorted but then frowned.

"Be considerate, my King. He has been a widower for so many decades, but I am certain the pain is still fresh in his memory. He is an Elf after all." Thorin was gently biting on her ear, and his mouth halted on the little burning lobe.

"To be honest I have never considered it..." The thought of suddenly feeling empathy towards the Elf was preposterous, but Thorin could not help it. Losing one's wife, the one you fathered a child with, the queen of your people, must have been devastating, perhaps almost impossible to bear. He screwed his eyes at his Queen busy with the clasp on his belt, and a piercing emotion flooded him. Some jumbled fears and tenderness mixed in his mind, and he pulled her into him, tightly embracing her, she squeaked but immediately relaxed into his body. She pressed her temple to his clavicles, and he felt her strong palm rub his upper arm. He was grateful, he obviously needed a moment to recover from sudden sentimentality, and she was still, allowing him his dignity.

He picks up a tunic and pulls it over his head. The clasp on a belt clicks, and he is ready to leave the room, endless list of matters to attend waiting for him. And then a sudden childishness comes over him, and he dashes across the room, into his bedroom and jumps on his bed. He plops on it flat, on his back, closes his eyes, arms stretched like bird's wings, and he laughs. It is a strange mood, but he allows himself a moment of unrestrained freedom. He has been Thorin Oakenshield all his life, stern, severe, the King, the Heir of Durin, the leader of an exiled people, the uncle and the guardian, and for once he just wants to let it go. He does not know what it is that he is feeling and wanting at the moment, but somehow the soft fragrant sheets are the place where he feels most himself. He slides his palms up and down the sheets, and his fingers catch on her tunic he placed on the bed earlier. He lifts it above his face and swings it from side to side. In the sheets he is just a husband, and it is surprisingly enough.

The door creaks, and he sharply turns his head. There is a flash of green velvet and orange curls in the air, and she jumps at him, her hands pressed on his upper arms, pinning him to the bed, and the greedy hot mouth is on his. He moans into her scorching demanding kiss, and she straightens up, eyes laughing and red lips smiling. "I have but a moment , my lord, but I thought I should remind you that you actually have a wife. In case you have forgotten."

He is staring at her, as if seeing her at the first time, in all her glory, curls run away from her do, slanted eyes loving and brilliant, and he is painfully in love. She pecks his lips couple more times and jumps off him. He hears quick pitter-patter of her tiny feet on the floor, and the door bangs closed. He is lying on his bed, small smile playing on his lips, surrounded by the warmth and peace of his marital life. Thorin does not want to conclude his morning just yet.

**A/N: That is the last of the fics I squirreled over my trip to Muzzuh Rushuh. So what should I do now? Somehow Alfirin is my girl these days :) And science officer Leary on USS Enterprise :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I got bored on a long bus ride. Yep, pretty much just a wee bit of mindless smut. I feel slightly ashamed of myself, but a girl does need to vent, right? :)**

The heavy Erebor Gates close behind the small company of Dwarves, their ponies stammering, white foam covering their sides, the garments on the riders dirty and drenched. Thorin jumped off his pony and patted the tired animal on the neck. Dwalin slid off his saddle on the ground and grunted. Thorin heard him swear under his breath. Two weeks of patrolling the lands, killing Orcs, sleeping on the hard ground, he felt they were too old for such expeditions. He shoved the reigns in the hands of a squire quickly running up to him, when the doors on the side of the gates burst open. He lifted his eyes and smiled for the first time in a fortnight.

His Queen rushed through the courtyard, her tiny feet swiftly pitter-pattering on the wet stone, and her small body slammed into him. She acted much freer that she normally would, but he assumed two weeks were too long for her as well. He pressed his forehead to hers, and her hands slipped into his hair.

Grime and dust had never bothered him before, cleanness an unrealistic luxury for one living on the road, but his wife established rather prescriptive customs of bath taking in his life now, and he easily submitted. Every morning a bath would be waiting for him, water fragrant from herbs and oils, his clothes always washed and pressed, his hair and nails tended to. The last two weeks he did not have a chance to shave, and suddenly he realized that he was smearing dirt over her face. She pressed closer to him and nuzzled his jawline. Her pale blue dress was increasingly wetter under the drizzling rain, while her skirts were quite obviously covered in muck where her legs were pressed to his.

"Azyungel, I am muddy from the road, and..." He had no chance to continue, her mouth suddenly pressed to his greedily, and he quickly forgot what he was to say. His hands tightened around her waist, and she moaned into his mouth. And then she remembered herself and stepped away.

He grabbed her hand and strode towards the entrance to the passage, blatantly ignoring the other Dwarves in the yard, who were obviously trying to look anywhere but at their royal couple behaving endlessly inappropriately.

Thorin ran up the stairs, leaving dirty footprints behind him, shedding his coat and brigandine of the way. He suddenly stopped in the middle of a staircase and pulled his wife flush to his body. She whimpered, and he caught her mouth. Standing two steps higher, he had to bend down, and he wrapped his arm around her ribs. He jerked her towards him, and she moaned. Staying in the frequented passage was preposterous, but he could not move. He placed her at the same level with him and then pushed her into the wall. She seemed unconcerned with their unfitting location, and suddenly jumped up, and her legs went around his waist.

"Please, my lord, I am burning..." Her voice raspy and demanding made his already turgid cock jerk. He ground his hips into her center, and she bit his ear. He could swear he heard sand screech on her teeth, but yet again she seemed indifferent to his state of dirtiness. And that would be the woman who would check for dust on every windowsill in their chambers and made sure he wore a clean tunic every morning!

He stepped back, and she slid on the floor ungracefully. He rushed up the stairs again, dragging her behind him, and finally pushed her into their chambers. While he turned away to lock the door behind him, she was apparently very busy, since when he finally looked at her, the dress was pooling at her feet, gauzy undergarment hiding nothing of her delicious slender body. Her peaks taut and dark pink, the bright orange curls between her legs, her chest heaving, she stepped out of the dress and stretched her hands to him.

Feeling suddenly dizzy, he balled his fists. "Stop… Do not come closer..." He realized he was snarling, but he seemed to be unable to unclench his jaws. She froze, her eyes wide and shiny. "I need an instant… I will not be able to be gentle..." His erection was painful, his heart booming , blood roaring in his ears. He would certainly hurt her, he would… She was so gentle, fragile, he would not be able to control himself…

"Thorin, I do not wish you to be gentle…" She licked her lips and lifted a brow. He growled, she did not understand.

"I could harm you… I do not want to..." He took a sharp breath in. "Just do not move, keep your hands down..."

Something must have showed on his face, since she halted and actually lowered her arms. They hung along her sides, and he exhaled. He jerked his waistcoat off and hastily pulled off the doublet and the tunic. Her eyes roamed his bare chest, and he saw her throat move.

"Close your eyes, yasith..." Her brows hiked up, but then she complied. His hands shaking, he shedded the boots, armour legwear and his trousers. His breeches slid down, and he hissed from the fabric brushing on his erection. After two weeks of unsatisfied craving for her body and cursed erection every morning, he was oversensitive. Freed from his garments, his cock sprang up, and Thorin welcomed cool air on the overheated skin.

His wife stood in front of him, her breasts rising from her shallow breathes, and he stepped closer. He did not dare kissing her, she would reciprocate, and he would push her on the floor, spread her legs and take her rudely and forcefully… He berated himself. As if he needed additional stimulation, he was no concupiscent youngling, he did not need to indulge in fantasies… He needed to slow down. She was small, narrow, he was not careful before. Several times she bled when he would lose control over his urges. She never blamed him, but he could not forgive himself. Her suffering was unbearable for him, he spent sleepless nights, hating himself after those incidents.

He stepped closer and pulled her into him, hardly controlling himself. She did not open her eyes, remaining still, but not rigid, her body softly molding into his. He pressed a kiss on her neck, and she tilted her head. He moved lower, on her throat, the muscle between the neck and the shoulder. His senses caught her usual sweet clean smell, lilac and her soap, and he pushed his nose behind her burning ear. He felt her breathing hitch, and it spurred him. His teeth sank into her shoulder, and she gasped. He closed his eyes, trying to restrain himself, words of apology ready to slip off his lips, but he realized she did not move, her eyes still closed, her arms hanging along her body passively.

He took a few deep breaths and picked up her hand. He led her to a wide arm chair, her following his blindly, and he sat down positioning her between his knees. He bent down, and his fingers encircled her graceful ankle. "The shoes..." She slightly lifted her foot, then another, helping him to take the leather slippers off.

Her stomach was in front of him, and he pressed an open mouthed kiss to it through the thin gauzy material. She remained silent, but he felt the muscles on her abdomen jerk. His hands cupped her buttocks, and he continues caressing her with his mouth. And then again, his passion unbridling, he bit into her hipbone. The fabric softened the assault but he could immediately see a bruise forming on her pale skin. He lifted his eyes and looked at her face.

The red lips were half open, moist, features clouded, she was frowning. Was she angry with him? The suspicion cooled him down a bit, and he pressed his cheek to her stomach. "Forgive me..." He rasped out and felt her hand gently stroke his hair.

"For what?" Her voice was indecent and coarse as well. "I am not displeased… I have yearned for you too." She opened her eyes, and he saw them dark and mad. She licked her lips, "Please, my King..."

He grabbed her around her waist and forcefully turned her around. She allowed it, and he growled when presented with the view of her small round buttocks. He hiked up her skirt and jerked the drawers down. They fell and remained around her ankles. Keeping the skirt bunched up with one hand, he pushed the other between her legs and cupped her sex from behind. She cried out, and he pulled her towards him. Skipping kisses, he bit into the firm pink flesh and she screamed again. It was not enough. He moved his face to the other side, scraping her with his beard, and sank his teeth mirroring the first bite. She jerked and tried to move away from him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down. Her ankles constrained by her drawers, she swayed and had no other way but to fall seated on his lap. She groaned, and picking her up, his fingers digging into her waist, he lifted her again, just enough to position her above his member.

The head pushed into her, and she hissed. She was tight for him any other time, but after two weeks of his absence she would have had to be prepared, stretched, he should have caressed her with his tongue and fingers first… He would castigate himself later.

She moaned and it was more of discomfort than pleasure. He groaned and pressed his face to her nape. He felt momentarily remorseful, he hardly said a word to her since he arrived. He placed a kiss on her skin, planning to ask for forgiveness again, but her walls clenched around him. He moaned and thrusted his hips up. She squealed and pressed her palms into his thighs. He abruptly thought that perhaps she was trying to slide off him, but his consciousness slipped, lust overcoming him. He grasped his large palms around her waist and started bobbing her, filling her up, pushing into her all the way up.

Her body lost its rigidness, she sagged, and her head fell back and on his shoulder. She was breathing in sharp loud gasps, her eyes rolling back, her mouth half open. The copper hair escaped a do and scattered on his chest. He growled and thrusted into her again and again.

And suddenly her fingers curled up on his thighs, and her nails dug into his muscles. Her back arched and she climaxed, violent shudders running through her. He should have slowed down, letting her ride the waves of her release, but he was so close himself… He wrapped one arm around her, pushed another one under her buttock, and spread his knees wider. She sank on him taking him in even deeper, and a weak whine escaped her lips. He lifted her up, only his head remaining between her folds, and then he jammed her down onto his length. She screamed shriekily, and he spilled into her. He kept on pressing her down, one of his hand on her shoulder now, spurts of his semen hitting her walls again and again, his cock jerking inside her.

She started keeling ahead, and he pulled her into himself. His head was swimming, the world around him blurred, and he felt almost nauseated. Perhaps he needed water. And then he thought of the woman in his arms. He shook his head, but before the first clear thought formed in his mind, he heard her voice, hoarse from screaming and the overall strain she put on it, "Do not dare feeling guilty… It was endlessly pleasurable..."

He frowned. She sat up straighter, still shaking, and dropped her head on his shoulder. He could see one green eye, and she definitely looked sated and in no way upset. "I have missed you, my King… Slow tender loving would not have quenched the thirst I had had for you..."

The meaning of her words reached his dazed mind, and he hiked up his brows. "I have not taken a bath..."

She chuckled. "I would not have given you any time for such postponement, my lord." She stirred and started rising. He hissed when his softened member slid out of her. She stood up and turned to face him. Her eyes brilliant and gleeful, she stretched lifting her arms above her head and purred, "The two weeks were a torture, my lord..."

He was staring at her in disbelief. Her undertunic rumpled, stains of their juices mixed on it, dirt and grime obviously smeared over it, her hair in disarray, she looked endlessly happy and satisfied. She leaned in and quickly kissed the corner of his lips. "I will see to the bath, my King..." She turned around and left towards their bedchambers. He stared at her leaving figure when he felt a wave of heat lick at the back of his neck. Through the thin fabric of her undertunic he saw two angry marks on her buttocks. Purple growing around them, he could not tear his eyes off two clear teeth marks he left on the pale skin of his wife.

A few minutes of sitting alone in the parlour, his naked backside on an uncomfortable chair and no strength or desire to move, he heard her opening the door into the bath chambers. "The bath is ready, my lord," her voice rang, and his member rejoiced. The tone was so suggestive that only an imbecile would misinterpret the invitation. He jumped on his feet, swayed from sudden ringing in his head, and rushed to her.

He did need to wash. And perhaps he still felt he needed to do some groveling. Perhaps he could pleasure her in a few of her favourite ways to certainly ensure she did not feel offended. Or perhaps, just because he loved seeing her collapsing in an unrestrained rapture while his fingers were buried in her down to his knuckles, his mouth sucking on her delectable small breasts. Perhaps, the second reason was closer to the truth.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Smut, smut, baby, smut! :) Please, sing copying Vanilla Ice's intonation :D**

**The idea came when rereading RagdollPrincess's "_What the Future Brings_." Seriously, Thorin2 is as hot as... ahem... as a Thorin can be :) Have you read the description of the threesome in her story?! My oh my, hot!**

Thorin comes with a low groan, his hand buried in the curly mop of his wife, her head rhythmically moving between his legs. Her small hot mouth is milking his release, ickle strong hands stroking his thighs, and he feels her tongue swirl around his cock's head, licking the seed off. He lets go of her locks and falls back on the bed. Something cracks in his back, and he hears the Queen snort.

"Should you lie down next time, my lord? Does sitting put too much strain on your spine?" He guffaws.

"Insolent woman..." She kisses his inner thigh and gets up from her knees.

"And you love it," she picks up the pillow she was kneeling on in front of the bed and hurls it into his head. It hits him to the face, and only a moment after he weakly waves his arm in the air as if in a late attempt to batter the pillow away. It is obviously done to entertain her. The jest elicits another snort out of her, and she leaves for the bathchambers.

Thorin is staring at the canopy above the bed, absent-minded listening to clanking and water pouring in the other room. His thoughts start to stray towards the matters to attend the next day, when she returns, a dogwood twig in her hands. She is holding a few leaves of mint and black currant. His eyes run over the robe she threw over her shoulders, the belt tied loosely, the hollow between her small breasts peeking out.

"Are you readying for bed already, my Queen?" She hikes up a brow.

"Are you not done with me, my lord?" She makes a sarcastic face, but the corners of her red, curved up lips twitch. He silently stretches his hand to her, and she moves on the bed, the teeth brushing twig carelessly thrown on the bedside table. He pulls her to him, positioning her on his hips. She chuckles and catches his mouth shortly. Her breath smells of mint. "And I would assume four times would be enough even for you, my lord." She brushes a mint leaf on the tip of his nose, and he catches it with his mouth. Her lips slide on his jaw, and she is kissing it, while he is chewing the fragrant leaf. He tilts his head, her mouth sliding on his throat. She trails the lower line of his beard with the tip of her tongue. She helped him shave and trim it this morning, straddling him, a blade in her deft fingers, foam on her small palms. They ended up on the floor, suds smeared all over their bodies, her legs tight around his waist, her whole body shifting on the floor from his forceful thrusts.

His fingers pick up the ends of her belt, and he whispers into her ear, "The last two do not count, my Queen. As much as I appreciate your talented mouth, nothing compares to your tight hot quim, my heart." He falls back to bed, her robe open, and his eyes roam her perked up teats. He puts his arms behind his head and smirks. He loves taunting her, it produces the most delicious of results. Giving her commands and treating her as if he is entitled to her working really, really hard in the bedroom is his favourite teasing ploy. Since it is so different from his usual activeness in their marital loving, she makes him pay for it, both of them endlessly enjoying this game.

She shakes her head and pushes the robe off her shoulders. It is thrown on the floor, the leaves following it, as well as the comb from the Queen's hair. The curls splay on her shoulders, covering her peaks and run along her narrow back. She is growing her strange flaming hair out for him, it reaches her waist already.

"Bare your breasts for me, my Queen." She moves the heavy strands over her shoulders and rises slightly. He is already erect, her hot folds pressing at him left him turgid and moist. She helps herself with her hand, and his member slides into her. She drops the head back and sighs. Her hips start moving, a slow mesmerizing rhythm, her small body arching, additional twist added to the movement of her pelvis. She slightly shifts, and he realizes she is exploiting the curve of his member. Since it is slightly bent towards his left shoulder, she keels on her left, making his head rub on her walls harder. He really appreciates her inventiveness.

"Tell me, my lord..." Her voice is lazy, eyes closed, her fingers drawing unhurried patterns on her own thighs.

"Anything, my lady… Move your hands higher, my heart…" A small smile tugs at her lips, she splays her fingers on her stomach, draws intricate patterns and slides them higher, onto her ribs.

"Tell me what it is like to share a woman with another Dwarf." He has to give her justice. Her hips do not stutter for an instant while she voices her question. His eyes at the same time widen, and he is momentarily distracted from the sweet fire she awakes in his loins. She opens her eyes and gives him a blissful smile. "You do enjoy such act, do you not, my lord?"

Jealousy rises in him, and he anticipates it. But what he is not ready for is its overwhelming, burning ferocity. "Would that be something you would enjoy, my Queen?" He intends to control his voice and hide the raspiness and rage in it. He fails.

She chuckles. "Maiar forbid, of course not. A thought of another man's hands on me is repugnant." She tilts her head, studying his face. He feels the rage retreat. And then he guffaws. His little Queen has played him. He pulls his hands from under his head and sits up. His arms go around her, palms stroke her shoulder blades, and she purrs from his attention. He pushes his hands into her hair, her back supported on his forearms, and he leans her back. She relaxes in his arms, her legs go around his waist, and she strokes his face with the tips of her fingers. They start moving together, keeping the initial slow rhythm, enjoying the deep gradual sliding of his member in her center.

He pulls her into him and catches her mouth. She opens her lips, his tongue sliding inside, running along her even teeth, brushing against hers, and she sucks on his bottom lip. Then she gently bites into it and suddenly grabs handfuls of his hair. She pulls his head back and attacks his neck. Her teeth audibly scrape on the beard, and he rumbles. Her inner walls clench, and she pushes him back on the bed. She shift her knees, preparing to get more momentum, and then her nails dig into his pectoral muscles. He growls.

"You have not answered my question, my King." She punctuates the respectful moniker with a tiny jump, his cock clenched inside her, flesh slapping on flesh, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through his body.

"What would you like to know, my lady?" He smirks, and she jumps again. She is very small, and she is indeed riding him. The bed rocks under his heavy body, adding another dimension into his pleasure. His Queen also has very strong shapely legs, and she is in control of rocking at the moment.

"All of it. Does it give you more pleasure? Would not sharing a partner take some of it away? Considering how possessive you are, my King, I do not see how you," she sinks on him exceptionally deep, and he groans, his hands flying to her hips, "would be fond of such act."

He strokes her smooth skin, his thumbs brush her delicate hipbones, pondering his answer. She stills, and he cocks a brow. She mimics the gesture. The message is quite clear. Movement for words. Thorin chuckles.

"The fact that a woman is shared..." She twists her pelvis, and he chokes on his words, "She becomes less of a person, more of a vessel of carnal pleasure. You share pleasure with another man, it is bonding..."

"Have you shared women with your sister sons?"

"Many times," he smirks, suddenly remembering a few most opulent times, and her small hand smacks his chest.

"Do not dare thinking about other women in my bed!" Her brows are drawn, and he guffaws.

"You have started this conversation, my lecherous Queen. And you are not moving again." She renews her rocking, aiming for light strokes, pleasurable but not enough to bring him release. He does not mind, they have nowhere to hurry to.

"I do not want to know of other women, I want to know what you enjoyed in it..." She brushes her fingers on the downsides of her breasts, and he lick his lips. His little Queen is so enticing… He looks into her burning, slanted eyes and smiles widely to her.

"I enjoyed being in charge, my lady..." She snorts.

"Of course you did..."

"In this case a woman matters less, the power such acts give is more important. It is less personal, more lecherous..." Her inner walls clenched, and he smirks. She is more affected than she shows. "I always prefer to be the one here..." And he suddenly lifts his torso and grabs her buttock. Her eyes open wide. He brushes the tip of his middle finger on her other hole, and her whole body jolts.

"Why?" Her voice is raspy, and she clears her throat.

"Because then the woman cannot see my face, and the moment of weakness before the release. And the other men last less than me... I need more stimulation not to be left behind." His innuendo makes her inhale sharply. He watches her eyes darken, and her hips start moving faster.

"But I thought you are fond of looking in the woman's eyes through loving..."

He smiles to her. "Through loving," he emphasizes the word, "yes, and if we talk about the woman," his fingers brush her delicate tits, "then yes again, but we were talking about lying with a random woman and another Dwarf."

She smiles back and tilts her head. "Should I feel flattered that I am The Woman for you, or should I wince in disgust with the thought of all those poor women you bedded?"

"They did not complain," he chuckles.

"Of course they did not. I bet they came back for more." She shifts and presses her palms into his chest. The angle of their movement change, and he feels her pelvic bone press into him. She knows it makes it more thrilling for him, but also postpones his release. She is apparently not done talking. "Have you bedded more than two people at the same time?"

"Repeatedly," he gives her a dark smirk. "Although too many participants muddle the experience. I prefer it limited to three. My choice of who to bed at all times, obviously."

Suddenly she stops moving, and he sees her eyes widen. He face loses the dark lust of a moment ago, and at once she look very young and vulnerable. She ceased her movement, and suddenly her eyes are full of tears. Thorin feels panicked. He sits up and cups her face. She is unsuccessfully trying to blink the tears back, but they spill and run down her narrow face.

"Kurdu, what is it?" Terrified thoughts rush through his mind. Is she hurt? In pain? Disappointed in him, disgusted?.. And then an even more disturbing thought comes. Is it guilt in her eyes? Is she going to confess lecherous past of her own? Infidelity?

"I am sorry, I do not know why I am crying..." She wipes the tears with her small fists, and it makes him feel only worse. Her slender, fragile physique and the almost childish gesture make his breathing hitch.

"Kurdu?.."

"It is the time of the moon. I am sorry, I am unreasonably emotional… And I will stop..." A sob bursts out of her, and she covers her face. He considers taking her off his body, but strangely enough she continues clenching him inside her. "I am so sorry..."

He is on the edge of tears himself by then. The most logical for him reaction follows. He gets angry. "Would you explain already what is wrong, my Queen?" She jerks and cries harder. He thinks he hears her mumbling apologies between her loud sobs. He sits up and awkwardly rubs her upper arms. "My heart, you have to explain to me, I do not understand..."

"I am not enough!.. I will never be enough..." She wails and loudly snuffles. "No wonder you bed me so often… How can I compare..."

He is staring at her in astonishment. He honestly does not know whether he should laugh, or yell. Is she honestly crying because he lies with her often? He is especially vexed since everything seemed so well just a few seconds ago. Thorin decides he does not understand women. She sobs several more times loudly, each time her inner muscles clench around him, and that does not help him reign his erection. He is frustrated, aroused and apprehensive. She sniffs again and lowers her hands. Her eyes and the tip of her delicate nose are red, giant tears are still glimmering on her thick lashes, and her eyes are very sad.

"My heart, I just..." He has nothing. If only she would behave the way she normally does, his sound reasonable Queen. In the matters of feelings she is the person he goes to for advice. Whom is he to ask now? She wipes her eyes again and then tries to shakily smile to him. Her lips are still trembling, her narrow face devastated, and he feels like a brutal animal.

"Forgive me, my lord, that was… Horribly irrational… My nerves are all over the place these days..." She exhales through rounded lips and touches his jaw with her hand. "Forgive me?" He feels peeved. She throws a tantrum, literally with him still inside her, and now she seems back to calm and composed demeanour.

"Will this behaviour persist?" She lowers her head and shakes it, her unruly copper curls bouncing around her head.

"I am sorry, my lord." But if Thorin learnt anything in the months of being married to her, such wifely obedience is never a good sign. She is either plotting a revenge, or there is something eluding him. She has nothing to avenge, meaning she just dismissed him as he obviously does not understand something. He does not like the feeling.

"What called for it? And what was this trumpery about you not being enough?" She gulps and finally looks at him. She looks utterly miserable, and he feels guilty. And immediately feels his temper rising, he has no blame on him.

"I was curious about your previous habits… And I did not judge, do not take my words in a wrong way… And I thought it would be an exciting topic to discuss in our bedroom… But then I thought it must be so boring to you now..." Her face scrunches again, and she bites into her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. "I am sorry… It is the nerves..."

"It is not boring for me now..." He sounds lost. What is he even to say to this? "It is very interesting." Mahal help him, what is he saying? Eloquence has never been among his talents. And it started so nicely… She nods, but he can see the conversation has not brought any relief to her distress. He does not understand, she has started it, how can she be upset now?

His erection forgotten, he sighs and wrapping his hands around her waist he takes her off his body. She allows him, her body limp and passive. He climbs off the bed and leaves for the bathchambers. Only when the door closes behind him, he realizes he has nothing to do in here. He just ran like a coward from his own marital bed. That makes him even more annoyed. He angrily picks up a dogwood twig and shoves it in his mouth.

There is a gentle knock at the door. He momentarily considers ignoring it but then scolds himself. That would be childish.

"Yes?" She enters the chamber, a sheet wrapped around her body, dragging behind her on the floor. He turns away from her and stares at the mirror. He knows he is being unwise and cruel, but honestly, how much patience can one show in such bothersome situation? A warm cheek presses into his nape, and she sighs.

"I am always worried that you will get bored in our intimacy, my King," her voice is even and quiet, "I am indeed emotional today, and I am sorry for how I expressed it, but the fear is always here... I was practically a virgin when we wed. I have no knowledge and skills. I know you are too noble to be unfaithful, but I do not wish you to be unsatisfied. You have seen it all, tried it all, men, women, several at the same time… I am just one girl from Bree..." Her voice breaks, but when he tries to turn to her she presses her palms on his back, halting him, hiding her face between his shoulder blades. "I know you love me." Her tone is firm, and he attentively listens to this new, decisive manner of speaking. "I know you would never hurt or betray me. I know you enjoy our love. But… I wish I could give you more. And do not say you do not need anything. I know you hold yourself back sometimes..." She takes a shaky breath in. "But I will not share you. Never… You are mine."

He swirls and pulls her into him, his lips crash into hers, fiercely, greedily, and he can almost taste blood. She is clawing at his shoulders, whimpering, biting his lip in return, and he growls. He needs to tell her that she is all he ever wants, that he would not even consider any other way, that nothing has ever brought him more pleasure than her slender, responsive body, that he is happy and grateful, and fully satisfied, but his thoughts jumble, and words have never been his forte.

He picks her under her round buttocks, the sheet having slid a while ago, and he slams her back into the wall. She gasps but only clenches her arms and legs around him tighter. He slightly shifts, and his cock slides into her. She cries out, loudly and triumphantly, and he thrusts into her. He presses one hand into the wall, supporting her on the other one, and his pelvis starts pounding into her. She screams his name, pulling on his hair, pain mixing with pleasure for him, and he bites into her shoulder. She screams louder, and her nails rake his back, surely drawing blood. It makes him slam into her harder, and she climaxes. Tears burst out of her eyes, and he roars, his own release flooding him. For an instant they are frozen, and then he starts kneeling, dragging her back along the wall, and she wails. He clumsily turns and slumps on the floor. She ends up stretched on him, both of them breathing heavily, as if after a combat.

She returns to her senses first and sits up with a groan. He looks at her lazily, hardly capable of any coherent thoughts. "My back hurts," her voice is uncertain, as if she is not quite sure where she is and what has happened.

"Mine too," he shifts on the floor, the marks from her nails sensitive on the wooden floor. She is studying him with a strange expression on her face, brows hiked up, white teeth worrying her bottom lip. He lifts his arm and pulls her down, on top of him. His fingers tangle into her hair, and he presses her head to his chest above his heart.

"I am satisfied..." He hopes she understands he is answering her previous statements. He has no strength to elaborate. "I hold back when I have urges… The carnal hunger, it is dark sometimes… I hold back because it is you, and you are my wife..." Her body tenses, and he understand he is saying it all wrong. He gathers his will and rolls her underneath him. Every muscle in his body hurts, but he needs her to understand. He smiles into her cautious eyes. "I hold back because I do not need that lechery anymore. Because I have something better… You love me," he cups her face, and laughs. It is still a wonder for him. "You love me, and I know you would give me anything I asked for, but I swear to you in the name of Mahal and the Seven Fathers I do not need anything else. Just you and I. Whatever happens in our bedroom is enough." She is still frowning, and he gently kisses her lips.

"Do you not miss other things?.." She suddenly blushes, and he guffaws. After what has just transpired she is bashful.

"Such as?.." She gulps but then looks at his eyes firmly.

"I know there are things some people enjoy in bed. Bondages..." He cocks a brow and then chuckles.

"Never have been fond of them." He realizes that they are talking and feels relieved. Perhaps, they should have started with this.

"Blindfolding?"

"I prefer to see you."

"Bondages and blindfolding on a woman?" Her cheek is again pressed to his chest, and he cannot see her face, but does he detect a hint of hope in her tone? He strokes her hair.

"We can try all of it, if you wish, my heart."

"And other things..." She lifts her face and stares at him. She is stunning, eyes bright, lips swollen, and he smiles to her.

"We can try anything and everything, as long as it is just the two of us." She ponders it for a moment and nods. She seems to be harbouring a thought but he is too sated to inquire. "But even if we never do, I am content." She nods again and pecks his lips. She gets up, wobbly on her feet, and picks up the sheet from the floor. He sees that her back is indeed scratched. A tinge of guilt brushes his mind. She looks at it in the mirror and suddenly smiles wide.

"I love such bruises. Like battle scars…" He stares at her in complete astoundment. She picks up a jar of balm from a shelf and starts walking to the bedroom. "But you will have to tend to them now." She waves the hand with the jar into the air. "And I will return the favour. I am certain your back is in a much worse state."

She disappears into the doors, and he is staring at the ceiling. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms and yawns. He should move, but he is so satiated that even the hard wooden floor seems comfortable enough. The next question from the bedroom makes his eyes fly open, and he lunges to the bedroom, as if invisible springs propelling him towards his wife.

"Does spanking actually hurt, my lord?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This story will at some point have Part 2. It is also linked to certain events that happened/will happen in ****RagdollPrincess****'s **_**What The Future Brings**_**. None of that is actually important, since at the moment this is a one-shot that can be read ****independently****.**

The night when Thorin Oakenshield found out his wife's secret was cold and windy. He and Kili were returning from a trip to Dale, when the younger heir of Durin saw a small figure slipping through the back door in the Northern side of the mountain. Had it not been for the unusually high flood that year, they would have taken a different road and would have stayed in Dale longer, but the weather made them return earlier, to Kili's relief. His brother and family an irresistible magnet in Erebor, he welcomed the early return. Though externally apprehensive and peeved Thorin was happy to see his wife soon as well.

"Is that the Queen?" Kili asked and then bit his tongue. Had he not said it, Thorin, lost in his thoughts, wouldn't have noticed her. The King jerked his head and saw a small figure, in a long dark cloak, disappearing behind the trees of the forest surrounding the mountain.

"Why would you assume it was her?" He looked at his nephew, who was already regretting his loose tongue. It was quite obvious that whatever the Queen was doing, she prefered it to stay known to nobody. The cloak was simple, dark, hiding her dress and hair, and she was in a hurry.

"I didn't… I don't know why I said it..." As loyal as Kili was to his uncle, Queen Zundushinh had become a dear friend to him. He felt he was betraying her trust. Thorn jerked the reins, stopping his pony.

"Kili…" Thorin's voice was menacing and hollow, and Kili tensed. The King's temper was violent and short.

"I thought I saw red hair… I don't know why I said it… There are plenty of maids in the castle that have red hair." Thorin frowned and looked at where the small figure disappeared. Kili was waiting, holding his breath. If the King saw what he did, there was very little doubt in who was trying to slip out of Erebor. The Queen of Erebor and wife of Thorin Oakenshield was no Dwarf, to confuse her frail buildfor a Dwarven maiden was impossible. After an instant of hesitation, Thorin jumped off his pony and handed Kili the reins.

"Uncle..." Kili's voice was full of doubt. "I am certain it is nothing..."

"Take my pony back to the castle, and don't wait for me." Kili internally swore. The look on his uncle's face didn't allow for any argument. His heavy brows frowned as he wrapped into his cloak and followed in the same direction he suspected his wife went.

In a half an hour he caught up with her, though unnoticed by her. She walked hurriedly, and when he saw the quick movement of her small feet he had no doubt that he indeed was looking at his wife, the former healer from Bree, and a woman of Men. She had a distinct manner of walking, her back straight in a regal, dignified posture, her step light but energetic. At some point he caught a glimpse of her flaming strands slipping from under the hood. She could never keep her unruly curls under control.

She crossed a small grove and stepped out of the trees. Keeping a sound distance from her, he stopped behind a tree and watched her impatiently look around. A small carriage appeared around the curve of the road, with two horses of regular size in front of it. It was one of those wooden boxes on wheels that do not allow one see who sits inside. Unlike the vehicles of Dale and Esgaroth merchants who would decorate them with their family seals, this one didn't carry any distinct markings.

The door opened, and the Queen climbed in, someone's hand helping her as she was too short to enter the carriage comfortably. She said something and softly laughed, probably jesting regarding her height, and another voice answered. It seemed to belong to a woman as well, but Thorin could not tell with certainty.

The carriage moved, the driver upfront also clad in a dark cloak not allowing any recognition. Soon, they disappeared around the curve of the road, and Thorin stepped in the path. He quickly followed, soon understanding they were heading to Dale.

He couldn't keep up with a two horse carriage, but their tracks were easy to read on the wet ground. Once he entered the city though, his pursuit became more challenging. As few people and horses as there were in the streets, he quickly lost the carriage among the narrow intertwined streets. The silver from his belt pouch though untied tongues of vagabonds with ease, and after another half an hour he was standing in front of a large house, surrounded by a tall fence. Through the bars he could see the carriage half hidden in the bushes behind the house.

The silver he spent also allowed him to find out the rumours surrounding the house. According to the locals it was occupied by the woman whose reputation he was familiar with but never had a chance to meet in person. Her name was Vera, and she was the Madame. By the time Erebor was reclaimed, Thorin had no interest in harlots available in Dale and Esgaroth, as his mind had already been set on going back to Bree and pursuing the woman who had claimed his heart seven years before. Nonetheless, he knew of the semi-mythical figure of the woman whose net of influence spread over Esgaroth and Dale, both cities quickly recovering and rebuilding, bursting with trade and industries. There were also much darker whispers surrounding this woman, some even concerning the Elves of Mirkwood, as well as women and men brought from all over Middle Earth.

Thorin walked around the house, staying in the shadows, evaluating the approach. There was a back door, a tall large figure of a man lingering near it. The King was certain that one would need either an invitation or a token of belonging to the club to get in. The front doors seemed locked. The problem that even as if he could enter the house, he didn't doubt his combat skills for that, what would it look like? The King Under the Mountain barging into a house in Dale, his Elven blade swinging in the air? Besides the diplomatic scandal it would cause, it would simply make him look like an imbecile.

Although the mechanics of entering the house worried him, he didn't seem to question the necessity of such action. Because as cold and calculative as he seemed to be at the moment, he could hardly breathe from suffocating, venomous jealousy poisoning his mind. His hands were shaking, and he was taking short spasmodic breaths in.

He saw light turn up in one of the windows, a tiny crack in the heavy drapes, and he gave an ash tree near it an evaluating look. Dwarves weren't great at climbing trees, but it was only the second story. He slipped to the house, when the guard was looking the other way, and deftly swung his large body over the fence. Soon he climbed over the balustrade on a narrow balcony near the window and stepped in the shadow it gave. Through the crack between the drapes he could see a narrow ribbon of light from the chamber inside and a corner of a table.

"You are late tonight, my Queen," a low, indubitably female voice could be heard from inside.

"I was held behind," his wife answered and softly laughed. "Queens have a surprising amount of responsibilities, as you undoubtedly know, my friend." The second woman laughed, and he heard a bottle clank. "No wine for me. As usual."

For a while no sound was heard from the room, and then he heard a low moan. His fist clenched on the grip of his sword. He would recognise this sound anywhere, the low sound he so often elicited out of his wife.

"I sometimes doubt the wisdom of allowing my husband dictate my hairstyle," the Queen's voice was mischievous, "If I continue following his whims soon the hair will grow down to the ground and will be dragging behind me like a dragon's tail. And Maiar, these braids are painful… Look at all these combs! Once you take them out, it is like your head is actually on fire."

"And the colour is exactly such, my Queen," the tone of the other woman was playful. "Just like the flames of the Serpents of the North. And there is your brush, my Queen, you forgot it here last time." The Queen chuckled.

"I always lose them… I should have asked the King to bring me new ones from his trip here this time." There were three brushes in the sack tied to the pony that Kili had taken to Erebor. Thorin thought it would be a nice surprise for her. She did indeed tend to lose her brushes. Little had he known some of them would get forgotten in random houses in Dale. The tone of the Queen's voice changed to slightly apprehensive, "I shouldn't have come today. He is in Dale tonight. Too much risk..."

"You promised me a visit tonight, my Queen."

"And I came, Vera. Do not forget, I always keep my promises. Shall we start?" There was a sound of furniture moving in the room, and Thorin tried to shift to have a better view. Unfortunately, he still stayed in the dark regarding what was going inside. He could only listen.

"Shall we start with chess, my Queen?"

"And tea, please. I am rather exhausted tonight. I slept poorly last night." Thorin heard a bell being rung.

"Do you still have trouble sleeping when the King is away?"

"It is a torture. You would think I'd enjoy a break from all the bonecrushing embrace I endure each night and waking up with him wrapped around me, but I hardly got two hours of sleep last night. I ended up sleeping on a settee in my parlour. The bed was so uncomfortably empty and cold..."

"Have you tried the trick with the shirt I suggested?"

"I have. It didn't work. Do you have much experience sleeping with a Dwarf, Vera?" The Queen sounded sarcastic.

"Not reposing in the same bed, no, but I understand it is the body heat you are referring to."

"To imitate his presence, Vera, I would have to put a little stove inside that shirt. You are unattentive tonight, my friend. I already got your tower."

There was a knock and judging by the sounds a maid had brought a tea tray. For a while the conversation revolved around tea and the Queen's favourite seed cake. It gave Thorin a moment to consider his own position. He was eavesdropping on his wife's conversation with a woman who was obviously her friend. Given he was surprised by her choice of a person to confide in, he out of all people knew how lonely her life was. And he already had heard something he knew she would be embarrassed if she knew he was aware of. As touched as he was by what she told her friend, it was quite obvious he had no right to. On the other hand, he felt such amicable chatter wasn't the only reason for her visit. Otherwise, why all the secrecy? He slowly returned his blade in the scabbard and turned around to jump over the balustrade again, when he heard the Madame's raspy voice.

"If you are tired tonight, my Queen, we can postpone our lesson. You do indeed look exhausted, would you like to lie down? I'll wake you up in a few hours. You will be back to Erebor before sunset."

"No, Vera, thank you. As drained as I am, I am rather curious about that new merchandise you mentioned in your note." Thorin froze one of his hands on the rails.

There was some rustling inside, a small lock clicked, and he heard the Queen gasp. A nervous giggle fell from her lips, and Thorin's shoulders grew tense. He was familiar with this sound as well. His little wife had a peculiar reaction to arousal, that exact giggle, and even laughter if his attentions to her were especially successful.

"Surely that can't fit inside, my friend..."

"Not everyone is so small, my Queen." The Queen's next question sounded astonished.

"What is that for? I understand the purpose of the two shafts, but what are these rings?"

The Madame softly laughed. "You simply put your fingers through. It is just an innovative design of the handle, nothing special."

"Oh Maiar, it is so smooth and soft. Amazing… I can't say such texture could deceive, but it is a great improvement from ebony or ivory for certain..." Thorin realized he was standing with his mouth half open. Certainly they were not discussing what he thought they were discussing.

"Allow me to brush your hair, my Queen. Your headache will ebb." He heard the Queen sigh.

"I know of your passion for hair, my friend, but I still have to refuse. Were I married to a Man I would allow, but you know what part hair plays in Dwarven culture… My hair is his, and his alone." There was some noise in the room, as if a drawer was shut forcefully. "And please, do not pout, Vera. You have access to other parts of me that no one else does, no need to be greedy." Thorin clenched his jaws, bitter jealousy burning his insides. Other parts? What parts was she talking about?

There was some rustling and the unmistakable sound of bed springs squeaking.

"Sit with me, my Queen, I have a special gift for you." Another set of springs squeaked, and he heard another box click.

"Oh, it is beautiful! What is it made of?"

"It is the fortified glass they make in Bree. It is endlessly dependable, but obviously the allure is in the looks."

"It is majestic. So long, and smooth, and the pattern..." The Queen giggles again.

"Does it remind you of something, my Queen?"

"No..." And both women started laughing.

"Are you certain? It is bespoke after all, and I did provide the craftsman with a very precise description..." Loud laughter erupted again, and Thorin heard his wife's breathless voice.

"Alright, it does look like the certain piece of armour… Oh Maiar, it does! The pattern, the ridges, and the colour is rather precise. Aren't you a naughty one, Vera?"

"You yourself have asked for one you would be comfortable to present to your King, my Queen. Wouldn't he want to wield one that would suit his armour?" The Queen sniggered again.

"Even so, it has a very distinct flaw."

"Which is?"

"It is too small," more laughter, and he heard another woman tut-tut.

"I shouldn't be surprised, you are after all married to a Dwarf. Allow me to help you with the lacing of the dress, my Queen." Thorin sucked in breath. Dress?

"Please, do. Last time your maid was so diligent when helping me to dress afterwards that I could hardly breathe on my way back to Erebor."

"Surely the dress was taken off my Queen rather quickly."

"It was. I might have been impatient to rid my poor ribs of that torture, so I was rather frivolous that evening." There was rustling, no doubt a heavy velvet attire was being taken off, and Thorin clenched his fists. His emotions in frenzy, he wasn't sure which one was dominant. Jealousy, curiosity, apprehension, or arousal… "But the King was equally full of fervour. Remember the lesson of last time? I didn't get a chance to apply the new technique. I'll be honest with you, Vera, I had my doubts. It certainly didn't look that pleasurable when your artisans were demonstrating it. As much as the male one seemed to enjoy it." Artisans? That was quite a subtle term for a whore. Images rushed through Thorin's mind, and his mouth went dry.

"It is pleasurable. And believe me, Dwarves especially welcome such attentions. With their stamina and insatiability... That is why I prefer Dwarven maidens myself." The springs squeaked, and Thorin assumed that one or another of the women in the room lay on the bed.

"You know, Vera, that I have trouble accepting your sexuality. They are my subjects, and such associations are frowned upon among Dwarves. You and your lovers can get in trouble."

"I could never understand Dwarven rigidness towards physical love between two women… You have lost weight, my Queen. There is virtually no flesh under my hands at the moment. You should take better care of your body." Thorin's wife sighed.

"I have been preoccupied. I do forget to eat when I am engaged."

"Look at this waist, it feels it'll snap if I press harder." The Queen chuckled.

"Please don't. Your current actions are perfect. And a bit lower, please. Is that a new oil?"

"Clary sage and chamomile. You should take some home. Your skin seems to enjoy it. Look at this glow, the blush, so smooth..." The Queen squealed and giggled.

"Oh it's ticklish!"

"Forgive me," the other woman chuckled, "It's the hair. What were you saying about my… associations?"

"Dwarves do not approve of tastes such as yours. There are so few women among them that they all are expected to marry and bear little Dwarven babies. And aren't your lovers mostly married? Do you not steal their attention from their husbands?"

"There is a certain charm in a woman married to a Dwarf. They are used to constant attention, they are passionate, sensual..." The woman's voice turned into low murmuring. "Their bodies are always hungry… And at the same time not all Dwarves are as considerate as a certain King. Many women crave a gentler touch. Wouldn't you, my Queen? Your marvelous skin is often marked as well." Thorin clenched his jaw. The cursed woman was right though, as much as he hated it. He wasn't always gentle.

"An infidelity is an infidelity, Vera. Lying with you is still being unfaithful to one's husband. Man or woman, it doesn't matter. One should stay away from such corruption."

"Then what is my little Queen doing in my house of lechery?" The woman's voice was raspy and lustful, and Thorin considered kicking the balcony door in. He felt rage and jealousy overpowering him.

"I am here to learn, Vera. Do not forget your place." The Queen's sudden cold tone was like a strike of a whip. "I can end your life of comfort and prosperity at any moment. You are useful, and that was the only thing that saved you when I ran into the said house of lechery." She repeated the woman's words venomously. "I was grateful for your help to my nephew, and I needed your expertise. But do not think for a second that I receive any pleasure anywhere but in my marital bed. I do not accept marital infidelity in others just as I would never consider any sensuality from anyone but the King Under the Mountain. Do not tarnish my love for my husband even in your thoughts."

There was a silence for a while, Thorin's heart drumming in his ears, and then he heard a knock at the door. The visitors were let in, and the draft from the opened door shook the curtain. Thorin pressed his back into the wall momentarily considering to jump off the balcony, but the fortunate happenstance widened the crack between the drapes.

Through it he could see a young woman and a man standing by the door. They were hardly dressed, his arm wrapped around her waist, nothing but a gauzy transparent tunic on her curvaceous body. The man's chest was bare, thin breaches on his lower half. Both were barefoot.

"They can go, Vera. I am not in the mood for a lesson tonight," the Queen's voice was peeved, and suddenly Thorin saw a tall lithe woman approach the couple by the door. She was indubitably one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. Striking features, sensual curves of her strong flexible body, full bouncy breasts moving with her flowing steps, and the most remarkable hair. Blonde, in perfect glowing waves, it reached below her knees. Dressed in a sensual undergarment, jewels gleaming on her body, she stepped closer to the man by the door and ran her fingers on his chest.

"Is he not to your liking, my Queen? Too lean, too tall?.. Too smooth?" The blonde leaned in and gently pressed a feathery kiss to the girl's lips. The man followed suit, kissing the girl's shoulder. Thorin saw the blonde's hand slide lower, on the man's flat stomach.

"His looks do not matter, and you know it, Vera. It's not his performance I'm interested in. And I'm just not in the mood." He heard the bed creak again. "Make them leave. I will return to Erebor earlier today."

The couple was dismissed, and the blonde moved somewhere in the room where Thorin couldn't see her.

"Forgive me, my Queen, I overstepped my boundaries."

"Get up from the floor, Vera. Though I am certain such position works wonders on the mood of men, I do not believe your repentance for one moment."

"I got jealous, my Queen..." The other woman's voice rang with distress, tears clearly heard in it. "Your love for your husband doesn't allow you to see how much I cherish our affiliation. How much I crave these visits, the time we spend together..." Thorin's body started shaking, from the strain to control his rage and his muscles, every cell in his body demanding to rush into that room. "Nothing is more important for me in this world," the blonde's voice was gaining its strength again, and with it its lustfulness and seduction, "Nothing brings me bigger pleasure than your presence, the chance to be near you, see you, touch you..." Thorin shifted and through the crack he finally saw his wife, sitting on the edge of a large bed, in a thin tunic and her drawers, her copper curls scattered on her shoulders.

The blonde was kneeling in front of her, her elegant hands on the sides of the Queen's thighs, her face pressed to her knees... She lifted her head and looked in the face of Thorin's wife. He saw a small smile graze the Queen's lips, and she leaned in, the tip of her nose almost touching the nose of the blonde. He saw her lick her red lips, and she cupped the blonde's face with one hand. A second earlier Thorin realized his sword was clenched in his hand. He didn't remember taking it out of scabbard. The Queen leaned lower, and Thorin heard her low soft whisper.

"That is complete and utter poppycock, my dearest. You are a great actress, but I just can't seem to believe you. Do you think that perhaps it is because I know what a cold-hearted, self-serving, manipulative viper you are?"

For an instant there was silence in the room, and then the blonde burst into exuberant laughter. The Queen straightened up and smiled benevolently. "Oh Queen Zundushihn, the Queen Under the Mountain, the glorious bonded of Thorin Oakenshield, I wonder how many fell and perished because they had underestimated a small girl from Bree!" The blonde got up gracefully and stepped to a table by the bed. She poured herself some wine, and for an instant, while she turned her back to the Queen, her face contorted in a pained grimace. But then she turned to the small woman with a pleasant smile.

"Should I have the carriage prepared for you?"

"Yes, please, and do send a maid up for me," the Queen's tone was once again soft and courteous. "And thank you for the merchandise. I shall purchase the glass one and perhaps the restrains."

"Has my Queen decided to finally share the pleasure pursuits with her husband?" Both women spoke amicably, as if no altercation had just transpired between them. Thorin had always thought that a woman was a much more hazardous adversary than any man. Calculative, cunning, ruthless, females of all species were the worst danger one could encounter. And afterwards they would smile pleasantly wiping your blood off their daggers. Thorin Oakenshield never underestimated the threat that is a woman, but at this moment he was reminded of how terrifying the one with whom he shared his life and his bed could be.

"Perhaps soon, I might need a bit more time to gather my courage." The Queen opened a mahogany box on the bed and took out a long glass object. Without any doubt a replica of a male reproductive organ, it was dark blue with ridges intricately duplicating the pattern on his brigandine.

Thorin jumped off the balcony and briskly started walking towards the road leading to Erebor. He felt exhausted and afflicted by the evening, doubts and apprehension still rushing through his mind, but a certain degree of excited anticipation coursed his blood. He was pondering his next move. Whether to let his wife know that he was aware of her avocations and put an end to this association, or rip the fruit of such pursuits, either of the choices had its charm. He chuckled and tightened the cloak around his shoulders. Impossible woman, always so competitive, almost a perfectionist, always an overachiever… A clear image of the glass toy sliding into her folds suddenly flashed through his mind, and he shook his head. Perhaps, he would wait with the conversation. After all, he could clearly remember her mentioning some restrains.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: ****My darlings****, I seem to have some troubles with my FF account so I do not get any notifications :( I try to keep track of reviews and followers, but if you are new and I haven't greeted you, I am deeply SORRY, and WELCOME! I love you all and hope you are having great time!**

**A/N#2: Hello, ****lyssaloo****! Welcome to the mad company of kkolmakov :)**

The Gates of Erebor burst open, and Thorin rushes out. He seems to catch multitude of small details at the same time, though his eyes are glued to the small figure of his wife. Dwalin is limping, his left arm awkwardly pressed to his middle. His sister drags the sacks behind her, while Kili's wife is carrying her child. There is black blood smeared over the Queen armour. A deep scratch is bleeding on Dis's cheek. Kili runs by Thorin who is suddenly terrified and slows down. Kili is speaking quickly, his hands running over the body of his wife, his eyes on the sleeping face of his child. He is asking questions to her bodyguard, but Thorin does not seem to understand a word, hardly hearing anything through the strange noise in his ears. Fili and a healer rush towards Dwalin, Fili bumps his shoulder into Thorin's, shaking him out of his stupour. The King suddenly starts running and in an instant he is grabbing his wife's shoulders. She lifts her dirty face to him and smiles.

"We are all unscathed. Shaken and tired, but unwounded." He cannot make himself speak, his mouth as if full of acid. "Thorin," she cups his face, "We are alright. Master Dwalin needs medical attention though." He does not give a damn at the moment. He presses her into him, her Mithril breastplate scraping on his brigandine.

"You were just a few miles behind us..." She firmly presses her strong small palm into the back of his neck.

"It was not your fault, we had Dwalin and the princess' guard with us. You could not have predicted it." There is Orc blood in her hair, and he clenches his teeth. She suddenly pushes him away and grabs his hand.

"Follow me," her tone is assertive. He stares at her in confusion, and she pulls him towards an entrance in the passages.

"Zundush?.." She is dragging him with surprising strength, and as if in some sort of daze he follows. He should stay and take reports, but he realizes he is walking after his wife, her pace energetic and confident. He addresses her couple more times, but the redhaired curly head does not turn, and she continues her quick stride. She pushes him into their chambers and locks the door behind them.

He is standing in front of her, and he suddenly realizes he almost lost her today. His head swims, and he steps ahead to embrace her. She jumps at him and presses her mouth to his. It is not the relieved sentimental embrace he was aiming for, she is all raw and unbridled passion, biting into his lower lip and grabbing handfuls of his hair. He feels like an imbecile, but he cannot respond, he is standing paralyzed in front of her. He even tries to stop her, softly pulling at her arms, but she does not allow any of this nonsense. She grabs the bottom of his brigandine and jerks it over his head in a trained movement. The rest of the clothes from his torso follow, and he is gently trying to pry her hands off him, addressing her again and again. He is scared to touch her, she is battered, there is a large deep bruise on her cheekbone. She jerks her own armour off and presses to him, he can feel her taut breasts through the thin undertunic, the only garment left on her upper half. There are bruises on her chest and ribs, and he is terrified.

"Zundush, is it wise?.." The clasp on his belt clanks, she grabs the end, and in a second the belt flies through the room. "Kurdu..." She growls and grabs the waist of his trousers. He squeezes her wrists. She is still clad in armour below her waist. "My heart, you are in shock..."

"Oh shut up, my lord," she frees her hands from his grasp, pulls the strings on her waist, and her legwear falls on the floor. She steps out of it and pushes down her breeches in front of his astounded eyes. "I need you, right now. Do you understand? I need you to bed me."

Her hands are on his waist again, and this time he allows her. She falls on her knees and drags his trousers to his ankles. And then she presses her cheek to his member. Something explodes in his head, and he pounces on her, pushing her on her back. He is kneeling between her open legs, and he grabs her under her knees. He pulls her towards him, her back arching, he spreads her wider, and his cock slips into her. She screams and her nails scrape in the floor, her arms open like the wings of a bird. Her shoulder blades are still on the wood of the floorboards, her back bent backwards, and he thrusts into her, growling. She moans loudly and exultantly. "Mahal, finally..."

He does not hear. All he feels is heat, and relief, and terror. His hands lie on her hips, he pulls her into him, meeting his own forceful pounding with the tight hot softness of her sex, and her hands fly to her breasts. He sees her squeezing her small peaks, and he forgets himself. His movement almost punishing, he is plunging into her, snarling through his bared teeth, and she thrashes on the floor.

His release explodes in a giant scorching wave through his body and mind, he groans, his body convulsing, and he keels ahead, one of his arms falling on the floor near her for support. He buries himself into her several more times, his climax almost painful, muscles of his abdomen pulling, and he moans. He halts, and she whines. Her pelvis drops on the floor, his member sliding out of her, and he swears under his breath.

And then realization dawns, he grabs her under her arms, straightens up on his knees, pressing her into him like a ragdoll. "Mahal, I could have lost you today..."

She is supple and warm in his hands, and her arms wrap around his neck. "You did not… I am here, Thorin..." His ears are ringing, from the emotions and the devastating release of a few seconds ago. She presses her temple to his and whispers, "I am expecting..."

He is breathing in her familiar, sweet smell, his eyes closed, and asks absent-mindedly, "Expecting what?" She suddenly laughs loudly.

"Your son, you bonehead. I am with child." His arms open, and she slides down, her knees loudly bumping into the floor. She hisses, and he grabs her shoulders.

"What?!" She twists out of his grasp and sits on the floor groaning. She is dirty, her hair tangled, bruises cover her body, and he feels sick. He just took her on the floor, the muscles in his backside still tense. Even on a normal day he tries to be gentler. "Wren, are you out of your mind?" She is rubbing her knee and gives him a slightly haughty look.

"He is alright," her tone is condescending, "I can feel him at all times. He is unscarthed. I was conscious throughout the combat. And just now..." She vaguely gestures over the clothes scattered on the floor. "I can hear them, remember? The babes in the womb. I can hear them." She strokes her hand over her flat stomach and smiles blissfully.

He heavily sits on the floor. And then jumps up immediately. He moves to her and cups her face. He leans in to her lips, and she answers him with the sweetest of kisses. He pulls her on his lap, and she curls into his embrace. For a few minutes there are no words, just caresses, his hands roaming her body, cautiously avoiding the bruises, and then she sighs and moves away from him.

"I want a bath, my lord."

"Is it a boy for certain?" They speak simultaneously, and she chuckles.

"It is." He is staring at her abdomen, and she snorts. She picks up his hand and places it low on her stomach. He would expect it to be much higher. She leans to his ear, "I can hear his heart." He jolts and meets her shining amber eyes. "Inudoynul, melhekhuh." _Your son, my King. _

Thorin presses his wife into him, and she molds into his body, fitting as perfectly as she always does. "You are a mad woman, kurdu." She snortles and rubs her nose to his bearded jaw.

"Perhaps. But now I need a bath. And you owe me a release, my lord." He chuckles.

"And I always pay my debts." He gets up, picking her up in his arms, and carries her to the bathchambers.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This is ****the morning after their wedding night (Part 1)****. Part 2 will be up in a giffy :) **

**The wedding night itself has been written for months, but it'll go into the already existing and constantly updated **_**Thorin's Queen**_** (the story giving us the origins of this couple) for continuity purposes, so we will have to wait for it to come in synch with ****RagdollPrincess****'s **_**What The Future Brings**_**. Worry not, we are propelling through our collaboration like a tank engine! :) Choo choo!**

The first thought that comes to the mind of Wren, the former healer from Bree, and for the last twenty two hours the wife of Thorin Oakenshield, the overwhelming sensation flooding her body in the first morning of her married life, is that she is endlessly uncomfortable. She is very hot, cannot move and is sticky in more places that she would care to admit.

She has always appreciated warmth, being thin she always had to endure chattering teeth and cold hands similar to dead frogs. At the moment she would jump into an icy river if she were given a chance. She peeks and realizes that her new husband is wrapped around her, or to be precise, she is lying on him, his massive arms around her, and even his legs are intertwined with hers. The only limb she can move in actuality is her right arm. And it has fallen asleep and tingles unpleasantly.

She is also very clammy between her legs. Although they took a bath after their first intimacy, they were rather enthusiastic afterwards. She was very sore so they limited themselves to oral pleasures. Although limited is perhaps not the best choice of word. On the top of her head she can remember three climaxes for herself, and two for the King. She would probably be slightly embarrassed by such debauchery, but she is so distressed by her discomfort that extricating herself out of her husband's embrace is her only preoccupation at the moment.

She gently pulls her other arm under his limbs and realises she has absolutely no chance to succeed. He is in the deepest of slumbers, but he is continuing to hold her tightly. And now she also needs to visit the bathchambers.

She takes a deep breath, she has no time to ponder her position and arrange her frenzied emotions as she always prefers to. She lifts her head, rubs her nose to his jaw and softly calls him. "My lord… My King?" There is not reaction, the feathery black lashes do not twitch. Yesterday during the feast she harboured a thought to take her time and appreciate his appearance that she admires so much in the morning while he would still be sleeping. Finally have a close look at the lashes, the lips, the nose, without his constant authoritarian energy and tireless attentions. At the moment all she cares about is the growing pressure in her bladder.

"Thorin?" She adds some volume and assertiveness in her tone. Nothing. She gives it a quick thought and takes the only course of action she can think of. Even if the King is so hard to awake, some of his parts are not. She presses her center to his member, understanding that it is already erect, and wiggles her pelvis. More blood travels South, and his breathing changes. She doubles her effort, and there is a low rumble in his chest. To spur her success she twists her head and gently bites into his beard in a ploy that proved itself very efficient last night. He makes a soft sleepy sound, and his eyes slowly open. She has no time to gaze in them lovingly.

"Please, let me go," she sounds pleading. The blue eyes are immediately sharp, and she forcefully jerks her arm. He finally unlocks his embrace, and she rolls off the bed and dashes into the bathchambers. Once she is done, she quickly grabs a cloth and cleans up. She splashes some water on her face and looks in the mirror for the first time. She is bare except for the heavy opal necklace on her neck. She is blushed, cheeks burning, eyes bright and sparkly, and her hair is sticking out at all possible angles. And then the realization dawns. She married the King Under the Mountain yesterday, and spent the night with him. And he is in the other room, no doubt wondering what she is doing here for so long. She heavily sits on a stool by the wall and presses her palms to her cheeks.

Wren likes clarity and organisation in her thoughts. She has a habit of taking time when a drastic change happens to search through her own mind. Such understanding of herself allows her react properly in almost any situation and never lose reigns over her emotions. Although she doubts that after even three days of constant meditation she can fully apprehend the turn her destiny took yesterday. And then the sore muscles and tired limbs remind her of another adjustment she needs to accept in her life. He bedded her last night, and this morning she feels most unusual. For the first time in her life Wren is not certain of anything.

And then she starts laughing. She is hiding from her husband in the bathchambers. She slightly smoothes her hair and then decides not much can be done with it, and she confidently walks into their chambers. He is sitting on the bed, leaning on the headboard, his legs crossed, completely bare and gives her an amused look.

"Morning, my Queen." She smiles widely.

"Baknd ghelekh, melekhuh." _Good morning, my King. _He lifts one brow and stretches a hand towards her.

"I have to confess, my lady, you speaking my native tongue works wonders for my arousal."

"Do not place the blame on me where there is none. Have you not woken up in this state, my lord?" She realizes she is flirting and decides she is allowed. She slowly approaches the bed, hoping he cannot see how self-conscious she is of her state of complete undress, and climbs on the sheets. She puts her fingers on his palm, and after a moment of hesitation she straddles him. "And I am not the Queen yet. The coronation is in three days." His large hot palms lie on her waist, and he slowly and sensually strokes her skin, up to her ribs, sliding on her shoulder blades, and down on her hipbones in a fluid motion.

"I said my Queen, not the Queen of Erebor. You are my Queen." He sits up straighter and catches her mouth. In a few seconds she is completely dazed, the world is spinning around her, and blood is roaring in her ears. Her nails are gently scraping the back of his head, and she is shamelessly moaning into his mouth. His hands slide under her buttocks, and for a second he releases her mouth.

"How sore are you this morning, my lady?" He places a long kiss on her neck, and she drops back her head. His lips are searing, his erection is pressed to her folds, and she slightly rises on her knees.

"As if after a long pony ride." His tip presses into her, and she carefully sinks down. The discomfort is rather noticeable, and she cannot control a wince. He lifts his eyes at her.

"I am certain we can find another way, my heart." She places her palms on the sides of his face, and her thumbs strokes the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

"The uneasiness is to be expected at the beginning, my lord. You are large, and I am not used to such attentions." She carefully shifts her hips and feels a delicious warmth and stretching inside. "We have only one way out of this vexation..."

"Which is?" He is studying her nose. And she remembers he claimed he liked the freckles. Men are strange. She leans to his ear.

"Practice, practice, and practice." He chuckles warmly and then gently lifts her, his hands still under her backside.

She presses her forehead to his, places her hands on his shoulders, and he slowly lowers her. She emits a raspy low moan and takes a few deep breaths with her mouth. She feels stretched to the limit, and his member feels scorching inside, perhaps because of the burn of the tired inner muscles. He pauses and waits for her signal. She shifts, presses her temple to his, and whispers, "Please..."

He lifts her again and lowers her on his length again, this time allowing all of his member slide inside her. She whimpers and tenses. Perhaps she overestimate her abilities.

"Kurdu," his voice is deep and tender. She meets his blue eyes. They are soft and loving. "Are you certain? We have all our life ahead of us." She chuckles and quickly kisses his lips. And then she nods. "You have nothing to prove..." She hikes her brows.

They understand each other though. They both think of his past and her limited experience, and also of her past abuse. He worries that she trying to prove that she is a worthy wife for him and that she does not compare him to her past lover. She softly laughs, he is being surprisingly insecure. She is just feeling libidinous.

"I have been imagining myself in this exact position for the last seven years, my lord," she gives his a mischievous smirk, "Do not ruin my fun." He cocks a brow and lifts her again.

"And how often did you have such lewd thoughts, my Queen?" Her nails dig into his shoulders, obviously spurring him, and he lets her slide down. And then one of his hands gently lies on her hip bone, and he carefully presses her down. She moans and closes her eyes. She feels he is looking at her, probably watching for the first signs of discomfort, but there is a small smile on her lips, and she drops her head back.

"Often..." Her voice is breathy. "And many other positions as well. I intend to fulfill all of them." She firmly presses her palms into his shoulders and starts moving. He is helping her, lifting her gently, and then she twists her pelvis, and his breathing hitches. She opens her eyes and studies his face. He is beautiful, lips slightly open, blue eyes dark, and her inner muscles clench. She can see his pupils dilate, and she smirks.

She is quickly finding her footing in the situation, setting up a confident rhythm, and he is unraveling under her. The rocking of her hips becomes more and more forceful, and then she shifts her legs, placing her feet on the sheets behind him, and he instinctively bends his legs. The angle changes, and he grunts. He sits straighter, one of his hands cups her head, and he pulls her to his lips. His other arm wraps around her waist, he presses her into him tighter, and she moans. He is almost too big.

He starts bucking his hips to meet her, and then his hand lies on her back. It is so narrow that his palm covers both of her shoulder blades almost completely. His skin is so much hotter that she shivers. He is passionate, his lips slide on her neck and then he nips the skin there, but his movements feel controlled, purposeful. He is quite obviously seeking an angle most pleasurable for her. She relaxes in his arms, allowing him to lead.

He leans her back, her legs open wider, permitting him impossibly deeper inside of her. Her back arches almost to the point of pain, and his hand squeezes her hip, guiding her body to sheath on his length. She raspily moans.

"There?" He asks but she is too far gone to answer. He continues moving incessantly, lowering his face to her, catching her nipple between his lips, giving both breasts equal loving treatment, and she feels pleasure coiling in her lower stomach. She mewls in anticipation, and he pulls her even closer, opening her up wider, his length rubbing on the exact spot that bring most pleasure. Her body starts shaking, and she climaxes, her hands gripping on his forearms. She breathes out his name, and he carefully lowers her on the sheets. His palms gently stroke her stomach and hips, and he withdraws his member. Her eyes fly open in surprise. He is smiling to her.

"But..." She honestly does not know how to inquire why exactly he is not seeking his own release. He stretches on the sheets near her, their legs on the pillows, and he cups her face pulling her into a gentle kiss. And then he slides down her body and firmly presses his open mouth between her legs. She cries out and tries to move away from him. She is oversensitive, but his tongue is relentless. She is clawing at the sheets, shifting on the bed, not sure herself whether she is trying to escape his hot mouth or move closer, and his open palm slides under her backside. He slightly lifts her to his face as if drinking from a bowl, and it is her undoing. She screams again, grabbing bunches of sheets, and her back arches in a searing rapture. Her body sags, limp and sated, and he lies near, pulling her to him. She nuzzles him and does not notice how she falls asleep.

She wakes up with a jerk, panicked that she once again managed to nod off right after her release. His eyes are closed, but she knows he is awake.

"I am sorry," she gently strokes his chest, and the blue eyes open, gleeful and carefree.

"You are forgiven, although I do not see any blame on you. What are you apologising for?"

"I fell asleep, while you still have not..." She waves her hand in front of his nose, and he smirks.

"You slept for half an hour at most, and you seemed to be needing rest. You did a lot of screaming and moving recently." She hides her face into his chest, and he chortles. And then she slides her hand down, and her fingers firmly encircle his member. It is still erect, and he gasps.

"I am a very lucky woman, am I not?" She purrs into his skin, and he takes an open mouthed breath in. "A rare woman has such a considerate husband. So selfless," her hand starts moving up and down his length, his girth too large for her fingers to close around it. "So willing to put her interests first." She bites into his pectoral muscle, and his body jerks. "Maybe it is time to think of my King's pleasure." She remembers his detailed and endlessly pleasurable mentoring from last night and runs the pulp of her thumb over the sensitive hole in the tip of his member. He groans. Her lips are near his ear. "How would my King want to take his wife now?" He roars and rolls over her.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Morning after the wedding night, Part 2.**

He grabs her around her waist and flips her on her stomach. He steadies her pelvis, she slightly spread her legs, and he slides inside her. She cries out and pushes her hips back to meet him. He supports himself on one straight arm but then leans down and whispers to her ear, "Tell me if it is too much."

He starts moving, slowly and deeply into her. She peeks over her shoulder, he closed his eyes, obviously savouring the sensation, and she stretches on the sheets, her arms in front of her, fingers curling into the covers in a feline like movement. The sensations are sweet, overwhelming, and she purrs. His hand strokes her back, fingers running down her spine, and he cups her buttock. He goes on with his long sensual thrusts for a while, and she is dizzy from the feeling of fullness, the pressure, the gentle tap of his tip into her cervix at the end of each movement. His hand roams her body, he strikes her hip, treads his fingers into her hair, and eventually he stretched on her, lowering his torso on his elbow. His palm slides along her arm, and he intertwines his fingers with her small digits. He is kissing her shoulder, and his lips start caressing her shoulder blades.

"Zundushuh..." _My bird... _"My little Wren..." His hips move more and more forcefully, lifting her pelvis when he plunges into her, and she whimpers. Instinctively she starts lifting her backside, intending to rise on her knees. "No, my heart. Stay like that..." He places his scorching palm on her hip. "Let me enjoy you..."

She moans and relaxes underneath him. He continues his measured rocking, each of his thrusts deliberate and unhurried, lips on the back of her neck. Warmth starts pooling in her lower stomach again, and she cannot help but start to move meeting his thrusts. His hand squeezes her hip, and he pins her to the sheets. She whimpers, seeking her release.

"Stay… I will take you there..." He raspily whispers, and she bites into her bottom lip to gather her will to stay still and limp. He catches her ear between his teeth, his free hand slides under her stomach, he presses her into him, and in a few willful moves he pushes her over the edge. She moans, her muscles clenching around him. The climax is white, hot, spreading through her body, she did not know it can be so breathtaking, slow and devastating. The quivering of her quim spurs him, he purposefully thrusts into her a few more times, and freezes, hissing a swearing through his teeth, and then she feels the spurt of his hot seed hitting her walls, a sensation now familiar from last night, and so very sweet. Her hips involuntarily jerk, her body trying to prolong the sensation. And he drops the second elbow near her and presses his forehead to her nape. She snakes her arm back and wraps it around his heated torso. He is terrifyingly large, strong, hot, and all hers. He is breathing heavily, and she sighs happily.

"It is different from what I thought it was like..." He hums into her nape and then kisses her skin.

"Better or worse?" She shivers from his voice, coarse and smokey, and moves her head to rub her temple to his nose.

"Indubitably better." He chuckles.

"Ever so articulate. Even in our marital bed." His voice is teasing. She giggles.

"I will also tell you, my lord, that I find your concupiscent efforts endlessly prurient." He catches her lobe between his lips, and she giggles again.

"Meaning you have never been fucked so well?" She gasps in feigned indignation, and he guffaws. It is an interesting sensation, since his member is still inside her. He slowly pulls out, and she exhales noisily. He slides on the sheets near her, and they lie on their sides facing each other. A silly shyness overcomes her, and she cannot seem to make herself meet his eyes. She presses her palm onto his chest and gently scrapes his skin.

"I was hiding from you in the bathchambers this morning." She peeks and sees his face is sated and relaxed.

"Why?" He picks up a strand of her hair and twirls it around his finger.

"I was bare, and I am not used to anyone seeing me like that. And last night was… exuberant." He chuckles, and she is pointedly staring at his chest. She momentarily wonders whether she has developed an obsession.

"I would say the last night was rather restrained." Her eyes fly to his face. She feels immediately panicked. He was not satisfied. He is studying her face. And then grabs the back of her head and pulls her very close to his face. "I had never in my life been so pleased with a night with a woman as I was last night." She tries to twist out of his grasp, he reads her too easily. "My heart, no need to feel insecure. All I meant that I cannot have enough of you. But we have every night and every day for that from now on." She sighs and hides into him. His hand lazily runs up and down her back. "We have matters to discuss, azyungeluh." She is momentarily distracted by sentimental fluttering in her chest from _my love _moniker, but then she pulls herself together.

She sits up and then realizes her feet are on the pillow. She crawls and sits her back to the headboard. She is fighting an urge to cover up with the blanket. He is watching her with smiling eyes, no doubt aware of her bashful anxiety. To retaliate she runs her fingers under his knee and finds out the King Under the Mountain is ticklish. He shifts and sits near her. And then after a moment of consideration he pulls her to his lips, his hands buried in her curls, and kisses all sense out of her. One weak thought thrashes in her mind. He is surprisingly cuddlesome for the domineering and intimidating King Under the Mountain. At the moment he is kissing her for the sake of rather innocent caressing, not aiming for anything more, and he is very playful. He moves away, and she is out of breath.

"Are you taking herbs to prevent conception, my lady?" His tone is sober, and she blinks. She would probably feel upset that he remains so unaffected by their kisses if his member did not stand erect right in front of her. And then the question reaches her understanding. The professional side of her mind switches on, and she nods.

"I started taking them right after you came to Bree to take me away," she smiles at the memories of his astonishing appearance in her infirmary. "It is indeed a matter to discuss, my lord." He nods but he is silent. She appreciates him passing the initiative in this question to her. "I would assume my King is hoping for an heir." He picks up her hand and presses it to her lips. She can see he is smiling into her skin. "I am fecund and healthy." He opens his mouth but she presses her finger over his lips. It is her expertise, and she feels confident and calm now. "But even if you are as well, it is an unprecedented matter, a marriage between a woman of Men and a Dwarf. Bearing such child could be dangerous, both for the babe and for me." His eyes become sharp and tense.

"Dangerous?"

"The babe would be large, perhaps too large. And the gestation term is different. I have given it a lot of thought, my lord." He is listening attentively, her hand still grasped in his. "I would need some time to prepare, there are herbs to take and perhaps I would need to gain some weight. I seem rather exhausted recently. All the excitement of the wedding..." He nods solemnly, and she notices he is not looking at her. She understand he does not want to pressure her, and her heart clenches from tenderness and love. He chose her as his wife, understanding that perhaps he was giving up the possibility of an heir.

"Thorin," her calm assertive tone makes him look into her eyes, "Men and Elves have children together, there is hope for us." She cups his face and gently kisses his lips. "I have all the herbs prepared, I can start on the course as soon as possible. For the first few moons they can be combined with the ones preventing conception. So we can continue our intimacy. But later we would have to be careful, not for long, but we will have to refrain from it on some days." He chuckles, she notices he is relieved.

"I know where children come from, my Queen. We will avoid the fertile days, and there are other ways..."

She moves closer to him and murmurs, "I am looking forward to all your ways, my lord." He chuckles.

"Temptress," she throws her leg over him and rubs her thigh to his. He halts her with his hand and smirks. "Have I woken up a fire mountain that has been asleep for years?" She bites his shoulder, and her next question makes his eyes widen in shock.

"Is this your poetic way of asking me if I have acquired a taste for your fucking?" She is looking directly into his eyes, and he is suddenly out of words. She straddles him again. "Then the answer is yes." He drops his head back and gives out a throaty bark of laughter.

"I might have bitten more than I can chew here. But my libidinous Queen has to wait, there is another matter to discuss." She tilts her head. Surely, if he wanted to have a serious conversation he should not stroke her buttocks in sensuous circular movements. "Your coronation is in three days, and you will need to take a Dwarven name after it."

She halts her exploration of his throat with her lips and straightens up. "I will be obliged to take a new name?" She feels a prickle of anger. She has already given up her former life, signed a rather humiliating contract before her wedding, and pronounced depreciating vows at the ceremony. She did not expect to be forced to give up her name. She frowns, and he tenderly runs the tips of his fingers between her drawn brows.

"You will become the Queen of Erebor, my heart. Like any Dwarf, you will need a true name." She immediately feels remorse for her anger. He is not asking her to give up her name, he is giving her a new one. Dwarves use their outer names, guarding their true ones and keeping them secret. "What is your father's name?"

She sighs. They have not discussed her childhood before. "I am not certain who my father was. I doubt it was the man who thought to be one." She chews on her bottom lip, but decides that she owes him open and honest answer. "And Wren is not the name I was given at birth. I chose it myself when I ran away from home." He is giving her a sharp penetrating look. He is not pressing the matter, and she is grateful. "I would prefer to discuss my past some other day, my lord." She strokes his collarbone with her fingers, and he nods.

"So it is just Wren?" His tone is tender. "No family names, no patronymic, just Wren?" She bites at her bottom lip bashfully and nods. He smiles warmly and cups her face. "Then it is your true name. You are Wren, and Wren is you." She meets his shining eyes and feels tears sting her eyes. No one has ever accepted her fully as he seems to. For a few seconds it is just the two of them in this world, their eyes locked, their breaths mixing, and suddenly they are tangled in the sheets again, their bodies intertwined, lips caressing, hands roaming each other's bodies, moans and soft cries mixing in the silence of their chambers, and no words are said for the longest time, except another's name breathed out and feverish murmurs whispered into flesh.

He is crushing her again, his body limp and heavy after another exhilarating climax. Since she went through another two, she is not certain that she did not die just now. He stirs and groans. Her legs slide off his waist, where they were tightly wrapped a few instants ago, and he weakly strokes her knee.

"But if I were to take a Dwarven name, since Queen Wren does sound rather ridiculous," she is staring at the ceiling, "What would it be?"

His forehead is pressed into the sheet near her head, and he exhales, his hot damp breath hitting the skin on her neck. She tries to shift away from the tickling, and he groans again. His member is still inside her.

"Zundushinh." _Birdlady… _His tone is surprisingly reverent. He lifts his head and meets her eyes. She is staring at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "You are who you are, and nothing will change it. Even marrying me." She throws her arms around his neck and sobs. She lets her happy tears spill without a shadow of embarrassment.

"Thank you, oh thank you," she is laughing and crying at the same, and he kisses her chastily. "I will wear this name with honour." He smiles to her and wipes her tears with his thumb.

"Do you like it then?"

"I love it!" She is laughing and peppers his face with small kisses. "And I love you!"

The words fall off her lips with a surprising ease, and she freezes. She is mortified. Such words have not been pronounced between them. Perhaps, some declarations were murmured before, but never in Common speech. She feels blush spilling on her cheeks and an absurd thought of rolling from under him and bolting into the bathchambers comes to her mind. And then he smiles, warmth and love splashing in his eyes unrestrained, and he lowers his face to hers and whispers into her lips, his burning blue eyes impossibly close, "And I you."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Kinky fluff, or fluffy kink... Don't know, but I like it :D **

**I found it in the folder from my Russian trip. I swear I don't remember writing it! I read it as if someone else wrote it. That someone else has a very, very naughty mind for sure! :P**

The sun is crawling through the crack between the two halves of the green canopy, and a flirty little ray slides on the nose of the King Under the Mountain. Thorin wrinkles his nose in his sleep, trying to stay in the warm cloud of his slumber, and then sneezes. Half awake he hears a silver giggle of his wife, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He slightly opens one eye and peeks at her pillow. And then immediately opens the second one and stares at the elegant ankles of his wife. She is lying on her stomach, a large volume open in front of her, her feet dangling near his face. Thorin adores the feet, with their delicate pink toes and the delicious little bones on the ankles. Some nights with a piercing tenderness clenching at his heart he presses them to his chest, warming them up, other nights he gently bites into the soft flesh of her heels, guffawing and catching her feet, while she squeals and kicks.

"I thought we have agreed you are not to read in our bed, my heart," his eyes languishly follow the lines of her shapely legs, to the thighs, lacy nightgown bunched up on them. With delight he looks at the small firm buttocks, the curve of her lower back, and then he meets her eyes, she is smiling to him over her shoulder.

"You were asleep, my lord. I understand you do not tolerate sharing my attention," her eyes are mischievous, and he chuckles. She knows him well, that is indeed the reason he asks her to refrain from reading in their bed. Every moment of her time in it has to be his. "But surely I am allowed to do something else while you are asleep. Or am I supposed to sit and ogle you in your sleep, my lord?" He smirks and grabs the foot nearest to him.

"Ogle, of course," he presses a kiss to the arch of the gentle pink sole, and she giggles. He kisses a few more times, purposefully tickling with his beard, and then suddenly slides his tongue between her toes. She squeaks and jerks the foot. He is holding her ankle firmly, and she starts wiggling.

He is laughing, his irises hiding behind the thick black lashes, but she is a capable opponent for him. She bends her flexible body, and pushing from the bed she rolls on top of him, one of her hands pushes into his breeches. He exhales loudly and grabs the second foot. He bites into the tender skin on the sole and then takes her big toe in his mouth.

Her deft fingers pull the strings on the lacing and open his fly, while he is sucking at her toes. She gently pulls her feet to shift her body, obviously not objecting to his ministrations, and her knees slide down on the sheets, on the sides of his torso. She supports herself on her hands and in a trick never failing to drive him into carnal frenzy she envelops his cock with her soft lips, and then she sucks it in, slightly tilting her head, and pushes down, allowing his cock slide deep into her throat. He raspily groans and drops his head back on the pillow, abandoning her feet.

"Mahal, you are good..." Her hot mouth, her lips tightly encircling his impressive girth, deft tongue caressing him, while she is slowly sliding up and down... That is his favorite beginning of such attentions. Slow, deep movements, his tip hitting the back of her throat, her mouth and esophagus constricting rhythmically, massaging him, her sucking forceful but not yet agitated.

His palms stroke her calves, her skin smooth, everything about her cool and taut. She stretches on him, and her strong fingers envelop the base of his phallus. She switches her attention to the head, her tongue lapping on the first drops of liquid appearing at the tip, she is caressing the ridge and then the hot little tongue starts encircling his member, first the head and then it moves down in an intoxicating spiral. He is buried in her throat again, down to his root, and she is now sucking using only her lips, her throat relaxed.

She also starts moaning loudly, and through the pulsating daze of his pleasure he realizes it is not just for the sake for his additional enjoyment. She is arching her back, and he feels her juices pooling on the skin of his middle. Her gown is covering her backside, but she is undoubtedly rubbing her center to him. He pushes his hand under the skirt and featherily touches her folds. His fingers are immediately coated in her wetness. It is covering her thighs and his middle, and he growls.

He momentarily thinks that he is being selfish, perhaps he should reciprocate, and suddenly she lets him go. She cries out throatily and falls on his body. She is breathing heavily, shudders run through her body, and she makes a few of her usual weak mewling sounds. Her forehead in pressed to his breaches covered leg, and he is watching in amusement how his wife is quite obviously enjoying her release from performing a fellatio on him.

He is chuckling, and she weakly waves her hand at him. "Do not mock me..." Her voice is trembling, and he guffaws. She attempts to smack him, but her extremities are so limp that her arm just sways in the air and falls on the sheets without reaching its goal. He starts gently stroking her calf, and she rubs her cheek on his leg. "I need a moment..."

He smiles, "Take your time, my Queen..." After a few moments she pushes from the bed on still trembling arms and sits up on him. He immediately sits up as well, picks her up under her arms and presses his lips to her nape. "May I?.." He does not need to specify, and she nods. He slightly lifts her. She aligns her hips with his member, and it slides inside her. She drops her head back and moans. One of his arms encircles her middle, another one slips under her chin, and he turns her face and catches her mouth in an askew kiss.

She plants her knees on the sides of his body, and he bucks up his hips, both of them groan from the first deep thrust. She presses her hands into his knees, and they set a forceful, unified rhythm, him pushing into her, her meeting him, arching her back. He is kneading her small breasts, she is clenching him inside. He is pressing his forehead to her back, "Mahal, you are magic..." He is aware he talks in bed with her, she is the first woman to affect him thusly. He is familiar with lewd bedroom talk, sometimes it is a pleasant ploy. But with her he emits uncontrollable, feverish murmuring and often straightforward swearing after his release.

"Your sweet quim... Oh my sweet little Queen..." She lifts her arms and pushes them in his hair. He buries his face in her neck and breathes in her smell. Her thighs squeeze him, and he especially enjoys the sensation of her round little buttocks meeting him with each push. He is approaching his release and shortly ponders whether he wants to change the position before it.

She suddenly grabs his hand and pushes it down from her breast. He lets her, and both their palms are first splayed on her stomach, and then she confidently shoves his hand down to her curls. He smirk into her skin and follows her silent order. Since her legs are spread, to accommodate the width of his body between them, she is wide open. She is also definitely sensitive after her release, and he is gentle. The pulp of his index finger brushes her clit, and she hums encouragingly. And then he tenderly presses the clit between his index finger and thumb, rolls it between them, and she cries out in pleasure. He continues caressing the small bundle of nerves, and her movements stutter. Her back strains and tenses, she is obviously listening to the waves of pleasure in her body, and he forgets about his own release.

Sudden hunger awakes in him, and he pushes her off his body. She yelps and falls on the sheets. "Let me... I want... to taste you..." He is incoherent, but he is in a hurry. Her eyes are wide open, pupils giant and black, she is seemingly confused, but he pushes her knees apart and covers her folds with his mouth. She screams and arches. He swirls his tongue around her entrance, and her hands push into his hair. She painfully grabs handfuls of his strands and pushes his face into her sex. He is sucking loudly, pulling her lips into his mouth, gently biting, and she presses at the back of his head harder. She is also shamelessly rubbing her center to his face, making his beard scratch her wet folds. He pushes his tongue into her, rhythmically, curling it inside her, and she keeps on pushing her pelvis up. He picks up her buttocks, each in one of his hot palms, lifting her up, opening her like the sweetest of fruit, lapping on her juices, greedy and thirsty, and she screams shriekily in her release.

He places her down and presses his sweaty forehead to the sheets. He is taking short, loud breathes in, and notes that she is also panting nearby, her eyes closed, her fingers still clenched around handfuls of his strands. His body is shaking, and he can hardly remember what has just transpired. They are lying in silence for a few moments, and then she stirs.

He realized his eyes were closed, his lids are heavy, but then he makes an effort and meets her amber eyes. They are still clouded after her release, warm and loving, and he stretches to her. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he seeks her lips. They kiss, and then she giggles into his mouth. He moves away and looks at her questioningly. She wipes his beard and funnily wrinkles her delicate nose. "You are clammy, my lord..." He smiles back at her.

He opens his mouth, but she presses her tiny finger to his lips. "You are definitely going to try to shock me with some obscenity, my lord," she is frowning in mock disdain, and he chuckles kissing the tender little digit, "I would rather you lie down and enjoy yourself." Her smile is impish, and he catches the back of her head and pulls her into a passionate kiss.

They spend a few moments savouring the caresses of lips and tongues, carnal fire rising in him again, and he realized he is pressing her into himself tighter, his palms grabbing her buttocks again, his teeth nipping on the tender skin of her neck.

She deftly rolls him on his back, and he spread his arms on the sheets like wings of a bird, clearly signalling that he is all but in her power. She chuckles and sits on the sheets between his knees. He cocks a brow, curious of what she will come up with now, when she lifts one of her legs, and her small foot gently presses over his erection. The sole is soft and warm, and she carefully rubs it up and down his cock. He presses his head back into the sheets. "Mahal, that is good..." He has never been pleasured this way before, but it is astonishingly enjoyable.

"You seem rather fond of my feet, my lord, do not think I have not noticed your excessive attention they receive," she curls her tiny toes, and there is additional pressure around his girth. He rumbles in his chest. "Would you like me to continue?"

"Yes," he breathes out, and she moves her delicate little foot faster.

"Are you certain, my lord?" Her tone is endlessly mischievous, and he growls.

"Don't stop!" He is rewarded with her silver laughter, and then her second foot touches his member on the other side. He groans loudly when with amazing nimbleness his cock is encircled between the arches of her feet, and they slide up and down his length.

There is buzzing in his head, his release is startlingly close already, and he grabs her feet between his hands, pumping them along his cock. The feeling of her warm skin sliding up and down his member, the delicate little bones under his fingers, and her soft moan push him over the edge, and he spills on his stomach and all over her feet and his hands. He is taking loud sharp breaths in, his chest heaving, and she giggles.

"Kinky, kinky Dwarf..." She shifts without taking her feet away, he is still clenching them in his palms, his member still between them, but he has no energy to look what she is doing. A towel falls on his head, she indubitably just threw it into his face, and he chuckles. He lets go of her, picks up the cloth and cleans up her toes and soles. She pulls them away, and he is wiping his stomach. She sits on her bent knees, an adorable habit of hers, and he throws the towel aside and sits up.

He pulls her into a slow savouring kiss, and then he cannot help it. He starts laughing and topples her into the sheets.

"Who is the kinky one here, my little Queen?" He is kissing her collarbones now and then catches her nipple into his mouth. She buries her fingers into his strands and purrs.

"I just took your enthrallment with my toes a wee bit further, my lord." He lifts his face from her stomach and wiggles a brow at her.

"What can I say, kurdu, every little inch of you is so deliciously appetizing!" She laughs with him, grabs his ears and gently pushes him down.

"I suspect some parts of mine feel rather left out at the moment, my lord."

He smirks and proceeds to attend to the poor, poor lonely parts.


End file.
