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lathalea · 3 years

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Blame it on Cider, part 7

Remember the grumpy blacksmith Thorin and stubborn herbalist Yrsa? They're back!

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Yrsa (Dwarf Female OC) Rating: E (18+ only) Warnings: snowed in, cold, mentions of injuries (just a tiny bit), smut smut smut smut, descriptions of sexual intercourse, awkward sex, responsible sex, have I mentioned smut?, ah and also, fluff!

Before you start reading, you need to prepare, and I'm not joking.

🌟 Chapter 7 survival kit 🌟

a sufficient amount of time ALONE (this chapter is almost 8k words, people)

a cold shower (no, a glass of water won't be enough)

this mental image*

* - This amazing piece of art was created by the incredibly talented Mr.Kida on Twitter who agreed for it to be included in this fic for which I'm extremely grateful. Check out their Twitter feed for more hot dwarf content!

Done? Okay. You're ready to go!

Special thanks to @legolasbadass and @linasofia for beta reading this heap of smut ;)

This chapter is dedicated to my fellow STGC researchers! Love you, girls 💙

As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

Have you missed the previous parts? Here they are:

Khuzdul: Harsûna - flame-lady Kakhf - shit abnâmul - beautiful Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Amrâlimê - my love

* * *

Blame It on Cider, part 7

It was not a dream, but Thorin could not believe it. Yrsa was in his arms, and, for once, she was not escaping, her brow was not furrowed, and there were no sharp words leaving her lips. Instead, she was sleeping soundly on her side, her shapely body hidden under layers and layers of clothing, her cheeks rosy, the breathtaking mane of her fiery locks flowing in every possible direction. It all made him want to sink his face into those soft waves, breathing in her intoxicating flowery scent. With her face pressed into the folds of his tunic, she was snoring delicately. It was the sweetest sound he heard in his entire life. Yes, Yrsa was truly in his arms; his heart rejoiced and he did not want this moment to end.

Thorin had plenty of time to ponder over his feelings towards her. Almost a year and half passed since he met this quick-witted, flame-haired, extremely stubborn, and exceedingly beautiful herbalist. He knew very well what that fuzzy feeling in his chest was and what his ridiculously maudlin thoughts meant. He was irrationally, inexplicably, and desperately in love with Yrsa. He loved her cute, turned-up nose peppered with golden freckles, her long copper lashes, her smiles and her pouts. He adored her herb-stained fingers and nimble hands, and he had to admit that he relished being the focus of her attention, even if it happened only when she took care of his wounds. His eyes would closely follow her movements and he admired her skill, her knowledge, and the way she firmly spoke, scolding him slightly. Dís would probably laugh for a week if she was privy to his thoughts. The temperamental descendant of Durin, the king of Longbeards, enjoyed being scolded like a schoolboy by some Firebeard herbalist. To make matters worse, he had met her barely three times and yet he felt as if he loved her with every fiber of his being. He barely knew her. He knew nothing of her family. The emotions he experienced were silly, irrational and – he had to say it – pathetic. And yet he loved her.

The problem was, she did not seem to love him back. In his experience, women would often do everything they could to be as close to him, or rather, to the king of Longbeards, as they could. He didn't complain about lack of interest from the fair sex. Unfortunately, Yrsa was the only one who ran in the opposite direction whenever they met. And yet… there was that kiss.

She kissed him last evening, as soon as she knew who he was, and a veil of emotion softened her gaze. Whatever that emotion was, it kindled a little flame of hope deep inside him and until now, he had shielded this fragile fire from the sudden gusts of doubt. Perhaps there was still a chance. He had to act carefully. Dwalin had a saying, Love is a battlefield, but Thorin never agreed with him until he met Yrsa. Perhaps this was a battle indeed. If so, Thorin needed to send out his scouts as soon as possible, find the most advantageous battleground, and launch his attack. He was not a beardless youth, he knew this and that about dalliances, but he had never found himself in such a peculiar situation before he met this fiery woman who muddled his mind and stirred his blood. In the past, he approached the subject with a cool head, never losing himself, but also never suffering rejection. It was different with Yrsa. Instead of retaining his usual calm, his heart would prance like a pony when Yrsa looked at him with her sparkling emerald eyes, just like she did when they met for the first time. Thorin remembered very well how he tried hard to feign disinterest to the point of rudeness. Liquid lava would run through his veins every time she touched him, leaving him barely able to think in a coherent manner.

And then, there were those dreams. Thorin had quite a few vivid memories from the night he spent together with Yrsa. His body still recalled how right she felt in his arms when they danced, light on her feet, lively like quicksilver, radiating pure joy, and he couldn't help himself from smiling back at her widely. His heart still remembered the sudden light-heartedness that washed over him, taking away all of his burdens for that one night, when she kissed him and chose him to be hers until the morning. His mind showed him the blurry images of how they ran into the forest, snatching a jug of sweet cider along the way. They sat under a tree and talked about everything and nothing, without rhyme or reason, teasing each other and laughing, and yet it felt to him like the most meaningful conversation of his life. Thorin finally could be himself, not the ruler everyone expected him to be, not the revered title with all its burdens, but simply a Dwarf with his dreams and hopes, and it felt liberating. Yrsa, his Harsûna, felt liberating.

He remembered the all-consuming passion that exploded between them, leaving him satiated and breathless, but in his dreams they would do more, much more, and he would wake up in the morning with almost unbearable tension between his legs. To make matters worse, releasing that tension each time brought him only a shadow of relief.

And now that familiar tension was back. Thorin cursed himself inwardly. He did not need his overactive libido to raise its ugly head. Or rather, to raise… nevermind. He gritted his teeth, trying to think of boring, unpleasant chores, like washing his footwraps in an ice-cold stream. It didn't work, not when she was so close to him, her hot breath fanning his chest, her alluring body trustingly pressed against his. It happened over one year ago, but he still remembered the roundness of her breasts, the taste of her skin on his tongue, her full, pink lips wrapping around his thumb, the little mewling sounds she made when he… No. Ice-cold water. A thick sheet of ice covering a mountain lake. Dirty footwraps. A dozen of them. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find the visible reason for his embarrassment. Before they fell asleep, Yrsa stated clearly that she shared the bed with him only to preserve warmth. Even though her cheeks darkened as she said it, Thorin was not a feral beast and understood what a "no" meant. He could imagine the disgusted look that would appear on her face as soon as she noticed his state. It would quickly turn into anger, and then she would run from him once more, but this time she would never want to see him again.

Ice-cold water. Her nipples stiffening under his touch. Mountains covered with snow. The peaks of her breasts, deliciously heavy in his palms. The sounds of blizzard on the other side of the door. The flurry of freckles adorning her bare skin like precious flakes of gold. Freezing wind, chilling to the bone. The impossibly tight, all-consuming heat of her womanhood as he delved into her, again and again.

Damn it all.

***

Yrsa was cold and she didn't like it at all. Grasping blindly around the bed, she searched for her very large and very pleasant source of warmth, but it disappeared. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times as they quickly adjusted to the darkness around her. His side of the bed was empty. Thorin was gone.

“Thorin?” she sat up quickly, a small misty cloud coming out of her mouth. A groggy glance around the shepherd’s hut made her heart skip a beat. He was not there. He left her all alone. He preferred to march out into the blizzard than…

“That kakhf piece of wood,” a low grunt reached her ears along with a thud.

She turned towards the source of the noise and had to stretch to the side to see Thorin sitting on the floor and fighting the contents of the hearth.

“You’re here!” Yrsa sighed in relief and suddenly it seemed as if the cavern became brighter and she wanted to hug him tight and not let go. “Where else should I be? It is freezing cold and the fire has gone out.” He rumbled, not even turning towards her, his hands busy. “There, that should work for now.”

When he stood up, she noticed the first flames timidly licking a fresh log.

“Is it morning already?” she wondered, stifling a yawn and wrapping herself in a blanket, trying to regain some warmth. Thorin was here, and he would soon warm her up. All was well.

“I took a look outside. It is close to dawn, but the blizzard is still there. Now move aside,” Thorin spoke roughly, a deep frown settling in his features, as he approached the bed.

Apparently, the grumpy blacksmith returned and Yrsa had no idea what caused this change in him. What a shame they didn’t have any cider with them. It worked so well last time… No! Bad Yrsa! It worked so very, very badly last time! How could she forget it?! Cursing wordlessly, she moved back to her part of the bed and lay down on her side, facing the grump.

“Do you want a blanket?” She asked hopefully. Thorin rested on his back and covered himself with the wool bedspread she offered, emitting another unpleasant grunt, and maintaining a proper distance between them. Bye-bye Yrsa’s hopes of warming up properly.

In the sharp silence softened only by the sounds of the tireless blizzard roaring outside, she regarded Thorin carefully, taking in the regal outline of his profile while his eyes studied the ceiling, muscles dancing on Thorin’s bearded jaw. Yrsa’s fingers tingled with need to plunge into the thicket of his beard once again. She longed to kiss his foul mood away and to be enveloped in his tight embrace, just like before. She froze. Yes, she was slightly freezing, but she also froze. As in, stopped moving, and even breathing for a moment, when a realization struck her. At this very moment she wanted to feel his strong arms around her and it didn’t have anything to do with the temperature in the cavern. Great, Yrsa. Go ahead, she told herself, tell this grump of a king that you need him, that you want to be close to him, that you were terrified that he abandoned you, and that you felt happy like a drunk squirrel (preferably not on cider) when you noticed that he actually never left. Show him how pathetically clingy you are.

Yrsa kept her mouth shut. The last thing she needed was to make him even grumpier. Silence. Silence was good and safe. Silence didn’t hurt. Not at all. At least she could ogle him in peace. Yeah, why not? She deserved a consolation prize after everything that had happened.

An eternity passed, or maybe it was just a few moments, and Yrsa’s eyelids started drooping. She was drifting off to sleep when a movement of the bedtick brought her back to reality. A pair of blue eyes stared straight at her, she could see their azure tint in the near-darkness. It felt as if they glowed with a light of their own, and she would bask in its intensity. Ugh! She needed to stop with those maudlin statements. Yrsa wanted to pinch herself. She was a practical Dwarf-woman, a herbalist and not a silly, amorous maid. If she was not careful, she would soon start drawing red hearts on the margins of her herb journal with the runes “Th + Y” inside. She would also sigh, daydream, and exchange remarks with her girlfriends about all the (endless) titillating details of his physique. And about his indisputable prowess in, um, certain fields.

Sleepy Thorin by Mr.Kida

She could already imagine herself drawing a sketch of sleeping Thorin, preferably half-naked, his well-honed body of a warrior stretched on the bed, tattoos, his lush mane, the whole package; his forearm resting on his forehead, yearning etched in his handsome face, as his mind drifted off into the land of racy canal reveries. Yrsa knew herself well. She would share this picture with the aforementioned girlfriends (who were, of course, by a sheer fluke, desperately in love with a muscular, long-haired blacksmith of royal descent as well) and they would all draw red hearts and green arrows around this alluring image, share it with all the other connaisseurs, and speak of the things they would do if they were left alone with him in that bed.

Well, now Yrsa was alone with him. And in a bed, too. And she was not doing anything at all. The shame! Her girlfriends would be very much disappointed with her. Only to add to her despair, the model specimen of a Dwarf next to her was not asleep, on the contrary: he was very much awake and he kept on staring at her. Very intently. While she seemed unable to act. Yrsa swallowed.

“Awake?” His whispered words hung in the air. Words were good. Better than grunts.

“Yes,” Yrsa croaked and quickly cleared her throat.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Y-yes?” oh, Mahal, she was hopeless. And now he would ask her something very significant and she would panic, because he was a king, a great warrior, and a beautiful Dwarf and she was this average Firebeard girl with a sprained ankle, no great connections, no treasure hoards, and no legendary feats to speak of (if one didn’t count that time when she chased away a gaggle of very angry geese that tried to descend upon a group of pebbles playing in the dirt).

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Thorin moved slightly towards her, his hand resting between them, his fingers moving slightly as if they wanted to catch something she couldn’t see. His throat bobbed and he opened his mouth.

Mahal, it was happening. Where were Yrsa’s smelling salts when she needed them? Oh, wait, she was not a fancy lady. She would be fine after a mouthful of cider. Darn, she had no cider either. She just had to breathe.

“Do you know where the babe is from?”

“What?!” Yrsa asked, showing how bright and intelligent she was. Yay. Ugh. That was not how this was supposed to go!

“Ursarusê, how did she end up in your care?” Thorin asked slowly, patiently, probably pitying her limited brain capacity. Yeah. Slow clap for Yrsa, she surely made an impression…

“I found her in the wilderness without anything that would give away her lineage. I don’t even know what clan she belongs to. She could be a Broadbeam or even a Longbeard with those bright blue eyes, especially if they don’t change colour later on,” Yrsa finally spoke, her voice almost a whisper. “Why are you asking?”

“I wish to know more about Ursarusê. Perhaps it is because I spent two months accustoming myself to the idea of being a father,” he paused, his words disappearing in the intimacy of the darkness that surrounded them, “You must think me a fool.”

A sad smile appeared on his face for a heartbeat only to hide in his beard.

Mahal, have mercy on her. A pang of shame washed over Yrsa.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all those things before. How were you supposed to know that I was taking herbs so I couldn’t…” she bit her lip and in that moment a strange thought crossed her mind. She imagined herself lying in Thorin’s arms, in their own bed, with a sweet little babe wrapped in a dark blue blanket sleeping soundly beside them. A sudden warmth budded in her core, painting her cheeks red.

“I only knew that a beautiful maiden graced me with her attention and then vanished into thin air only to appear with a babe in her arms a year later.”

Yrsa gawked at him. A beautiful… No, he didn’t mean, did he…?

He continued, “At least now I can stop tormenting myself with the thought that you found me repulsive and unworthy of being the father of your child.”

Yrsa whipped her head up, meeting his gaze, the cogwheels in her brain turning with the speed of the legendary Rhosgobel rabbits, “No, that’s not true! I’m sure you will be a great father! I mean, you would… And… and you’re not repulsive at all. I don’t have a habit of kissing repulsive men, you know.”

How did her hand materialize itself on the top of his hand? And why was his skin so pleasantly warm? And when did his fingers intertwine with hers?

A grin appeared on his very kissable face, a soft rumble echoing in his words, “So my male pride may yet be restored.”

Yrsa smiled slightly. “I kept your ring, you know,” she rose on her elbow and showed him her other hand, his wide ring glinting in the faint firelight, a piece of cord wrapped around the silver band to keep it from sliding from her finger. “I wanted to give it back, I truly did! I’m not a thief, I swear! I just…”

He sat up and took her hand in his, not saying a word, his eyes set on the ring.

“I’m sorry, I should have sent it to your sister weeks ago. Please, take it, it’s yours,” she started taking off the ring as quickly as she could, when his broad hand covered her trembling hands.

“What if I asked you to keep it?” his words seeped into her ears like thieves in the night, filling her astonished mind with their dangerous presence.

“But… but… It’s your ring… That would mean… and surely, you can’t mean…” There was an ending to each of those sentences, but it wasn’t to be found in Yrsa’s head any more. Damn those thieves.

“And what if I do?” Thorin gently squeezed her hands and moved closer to her.

“But you don’t know me at all!” she exclaimed. Just when she thought she was safe from noblemen and their ill-conceived honourable proposals...

“I know you well enough, Yrsa. You have your heart in the right place and I would trust you with my life, as I already have before,” she stared blankly at their clasped hands as he spoke. Surely, there was something wrong with her hearing. Or maybe he had a fever again.

“But you are a king! I’m honored by your words, but… but... you can’t mean it! I’m a lowly commoner! I wouldn’t make a good match for a king! I have no idea about all that fancy stuff and I barely know how to use a knife and fork!”

“I saw how you eat, Yrsa. You handled these utensils better than my cousin Dwalin, but what does it have to do with allowing me to court you?”

“I’m a nobody! And you need a somebody for a wife! Some grand, rich lady, a descendant of an ancient house, a diplomat or someone like that!”

“Grand and rich ladies do not wish to ally themselves with a family that lost their kingdom and riches, and I refuse to marry for political reasons. The only crown I can give my future wife is going to be a flower crown, and my private halls consist of two meager rooms, a bed, a table and a wobbly chair.”

Yrsa chose to ignore the remark about ‘his future wife’. She didn’t feel like fainting at the moment.

“I understand why you are asking, it is your honor speaking, and that's admirable. The thing is, you don’t have to feel obliged, truly!” she blinked away a stupid tear that had no business to appear in her eye. “We were simply drunk that night and neither of us knew what we were doing. It was fun, but you don’t need to offer to marry me just because--”

Thorin closed the distance between them and cradled her face in his hands, his voice softening, “Yrsa, you are the only woman I have met who doesn't hint at the possibility of marriage in my presence, on the contrary. Yet I see the looks you give me, and when you kissed me last night, I thought... It is obvious that I am doing something wrong. Please, tell me how to do it right.”

He gently brushed her cheek with his calloused thumb while Yrsa was trying with all her might not to drown in his gaze, in the azure pools of his eyes contrasting with his long, dark eyelashes, and to ignore the alarmingly small distance between their lips.

“I don’t think there is a right way,” she heard her own words and covered his hand with hers. She was wrong. There was a right way, a proper way: she should take his pleasantly warm hands away from her face, curl up in her corner of the bed and pretend that the world didn’t exist. She hated the right way. Where was cider when she needed it?

“Are you sure, Yrsa?” Thorin murmured with that glint in his eyes she remembered so well, while his voice reached that very dangerous, deliciously low register.

“No. I mean yes.”

Yrsa’s heart hammered in her chest. She swallowed and her lips parted slightly. With her mind in a haze, she needed... air. Yes, some air, that was it. She pressed her palm against the back of his hand a bit more, her face leaning into his palm. He was so warm, and he smelled like a pine forest on a crisp spring morning.

“Would you not prefer to think about it?” his nose brushed against hers, leaving her skin tingling.

“N-no...” of course she didn’t. She knew the truth. Her whole body begged for a kiss, just one, a very small one. Unfortunately, she had to be strong for them both. It was clear that Thorin had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps it was the side effect of the herbs, or the exhaustion of the previous day, or lack of sleep, or hunger, or… Oh. His forehead pressed against hers. Please, yes. No. Maybe just a bit. Some of his stray strands tickled her skin. He was intoxicating, stronger than cider. And Yrsa wanted to have him even closer. Please.

“Not even a bit?” he asked once more, his voice rumbling in his chest, his breath fanning against her lips.

That was it. The last drop. Yrsa had enough of that torment.

“Stop talking and kiss me already!”

“At your service,” he purred with a chuckle and claimed her lips.

It was the best kiss Yrsa had in a long while, again, especially since the last one before also involved Thorin and, obviously, her. But she was unable to compare anything more, her mind refusing to work when, oh, Mahal, his kiss left her breathless. She expected him to devour her mouth with abandon. Instead, Yrsa found herself whining at the sensation of his lips slowly melting into hers, lightly pressing against them, gently grazing, brushing, tasting, moving in a sensual dance that needed only two of them.

His hand speared into her hair, his fingertips moving against her scalp, making her whimper when a shudder of pleasure ran through her.

“My sweet Harsûna,” he murmured, covering her forehead, her closed eyelids, her cheeks and lips with a myriad of light yet eager kisses, his other hand supporting her back, his hard body pressing against her. This felt very right. And she wanted more.

Her hands moved from his shoulders to the front of his tunic, fumbling with the straps that held it together, feeling the heat of his body beneath it. Yrsa had no time to lose, she had to be quick before she would start overthinking things again and...

His fingers wrapped around her wrist. Their lips parted. Thorin searched her face, his chest heaving as if after a long run. “Do you truly want this, Yrsa?”

Somehow she managed to process his words and quickly pressed her lips to his. Words felt too clumsy. Touching felt much better. She tugged at his unlaced tunic.

Thorin’s lips moved away again, making her growl in frustration. He took off his tunic and his undershirt in one swift motion. Clearly, she was not the only one in a hurry here. Yrsa stopped unlacing her own clothes, unable to tear off her eyes of his powerfully built chest. Those pectorals. She recalled how it felt to rake her nails across the expanse of his skin, feeling the coarseness of his hair under her fingertips.

Yrsa lunged at him as if she was a mountain lion and he was her prey, but he didn’t budge, steady as a rock, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Mahal, Yrsa,” he breathed into her neck.

With her arms around his neck, her body flush against his torso, she arched her head back as his mouth began staking out the trail along the delicate skin beneath her ear, moving lower, his tongue finding the hollow between her clavicles, and lower, his nose digging curiously into the opening of her clothes. His hot breath feathered her skin, kindling countless new fires inside her.

“My tunic…” she gasped, her arms retreating, frantically trying to get rid of the offending garment. She needed to feel his skin against hers. Now. Quickly. No thinking.

“Let me,” Thorin pulled her arms aside and finally freed her of the restraints. His eyes roamed her uncovered body, darkening with lust. She felt her nipples stiffening. Was it his gaze? The cold air? She didn’t know. It was not important.

Now he was the one to close the distance between them. He pulled her on his lap, his lips continuing the journey down her exposed chest, climbing up the steep slope of one of her breasts and closing over its pink summit. She moaned and swayed back.

“Do you still take those herbs?” he muttered, his large hand splayed firmly across her back to steady her.

“Herbs…?” Yrsa repeated mindlessly, her mind clouded with yearning.

He looked up, his bearded cheeks darkened, “Your feminine herbs. If not, I will make sure that I don’t…”

He had the sweetest expression on his face, so thoughtful, his lips curved in that sensual way. Her Thorin.

“Yes, I am taking them,” she gave him a reassuring smile. “You just do your magic.” “You are the witch here, not me,” he protested, nuzzling her neck, his intensely warm hand closing over the cool skin of her breast.

“And you are the blacksmith. I may have been drunk last time, but I clearly remember the skill you showed with your hammer,” she giggled, running her fingers along the edge of his earlobe.

“Then I will try not to disappoint you this time as well, my lady,” he hummed into her skin. “But first, allow me to dispose of the obstacles.”

With these words, he lay her on the bed and started untying the laces of her trousers, placing moist kisses on her abdomen and then moving down, along the newly uncovered curve of her lower belly, his lips burning her skin. This was when Yrsa realized that she was supposed to feel cold, but she forgot about it, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fire burning bright in the hearth. There was another fire burning deep down inside her and she knew how she wanted to have it quenched.

Yrsa helped him undress her as much as she could, hurriedly wiggling out from all the layers of winter clothing. Thorin hovered over her, devouring her whole uncovered body with hungry eyes while his fingers worshipped her skin, tracing mysterious patterns across her neck, her cleavage, and lower, outlining the curves of her breasts, sliding down, and finally resting on her hips.

“You look even more ravishing than I remembered,” Thorin took her nipple in his mouth, as if it was a strawberry, letting his tongue dance over it, eliciting from her a gasp of pleasure. His hand returned to drawing arcane patterns on the skin of her belly, and his lips followed, covering those trails with soft kisses, the delicate caresses contrasting with the enticing prickling of his beard against her sensitive skin, sending delicious shivers down her spine. That was the most important reason (according to Yrsa) as to why Dwarves had beards.

And then his hand lunged between her slightly parted thighs, already coated with her arousal. Yrsa gave out a moan when his fingers found their way between her folds.

“You’re cheating!” “Am I?” he lifted his head, his heavy-lidded gaze resting on her face. And he smirked! And did that trick with his thumb she remembered so well.

“You’re still…” a moan escaped her. “Dressed.”

His hand disappeared. Damn.

“We are in a hurry, I see.”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed.

“Are you planning to do something about it?” there was that smirk again and Yrsa simply wouldn’t have it. “I’m planning to do quite a lot to you now,” she rose and quickly approached him, in case he changed his mind.

Thorin kneeled in front of her, his dark hair cascading down his broad shoulders, his eyes giving her a challenging look, his chiseled chest begging for her touch. Yrsa had no choice, he had to feel it, her fingers following the dark trail of her down to his trousers.

“And what about later?” His voice turned raspy as Yrsa worked on releasing some of his very crucial parts out of their scandalously tight prison. She was amazed that his trousers hadn’t burst at the seams yet. “Shh, I’m busy here!” Those words earned her a chuckle. She ignored it and finally freed the firm length of his impressive hammer from its confines, gulping at its elegantly curved shape and sizeable girth. More sizeable than she had thought. Apparently, there were some things she didn’t remember that well from their night together. Familiar heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs. Was it even possible for her to take all of him? Yes, it had to be. They did it before, at least two times if her memory served her well (or maybe… was it three?), and she didn’t remember having any problems with it, on the contrary, she... Shut up, Yrsa’s brain, it was not the time for a trip down the memory lane, what would your girlfriends say?! It was time to act! And touch! And feel! And enjoy herself!

Thorin groaned when she wrapped her hand around his length, its velvety hardness pulsing under her touch.

“Have I passed the inspection?” Thorin rumbled in amusement, lifting one of his eyebrows. Right. There was a very alluring body attached to this glorious piece of male anatomy, how could she forget.

“Let me see,” she sing-songed and lowered her head, her hair spilling around her when she closed her lips over his ruby red tip. So smooth. Searing hot. A groan left his lips and she felt him shudder. A hand raked through her hair, gathering her unruly locks at the back of her head.

“Abnâmul...” he rasped out.

Yrsa hummed in agreement. His hammer was indeed beautiful, brimming with his virile power. Sucking on it gently, she moved her hand along his shaft. Back and forth. There it was, another groan. She swirled her tongue around the tip, tasting the first drops of his arousal. He groaned again. Pressing her thighs together, she could feel how ready she was for him and that thought spurred her, making her take more of his length into her mouth.

“Stop!” He gnarred, pulling out and leaning backwards. Thorin was panting, his jaw set and eyes almost as dark as the night, his member glistening proudly before her eyes.

“Was it not to your liking?”

“I am afraid it was too much to my liking,” a small chuckle left his throat. “It has been a while since I have spent a night with someone. Around one and a half year, if I am not mistaken.”

Yrsa’s heart made a very silly and a very happy dance.

“In that case, let’s…” she finished the sentence with an eager kiss. “Let’s indeed,” he returned the kiss, “before I embarrass myself in front of you like a youngling. Those lips of yours are delectably wicked.”

She muttered some incoherent words, feeling her cheeks burn, and helped him out of his trousers, handling his bandaged thigh with care.

“No straining your leg, do you hear me?”

“Aye, I hear you. Are there any other body parts you wish to examine in the meantime?” he sat down, inviting her closer. She paused for a blink of an eye, “Later, I’m in a hurry now.” “So, there will be a later,” he grinned as Yrsa straddled him carefully, his hands resting on her waist. A small hiss left her lips when she tilted her right leg at the wrong angle. “What was it about not straining one’s legs?” he chuckled, stealing a kiss as she tried to rest her weight on her knees, mindful of his injured thigh. She placed her hands on his stone hard shoulders, trying to position herself above the purple tip of his impatient shaft, while he pulled her face close to his and stole another kiss off her lips. Her breasts brushed against his chest. She could already feel his scorching heat between her legs. Impatiently, Thorin attempted to move himself upwards, pressing his bandaged thigh into her right leg in the process. This time, both of them hissed.

Thorin groaned, shaking his head.

“What a mess,” she sighed, brushing her cheek against his, enjoying the prickling of his beard. “We have only two working legs.” “Thank Mahal, our other body parts are working,” he grinned.

“Lay down?” she asked uncertainly.

“And let you do all the work with that ankle of yours?”

“I can manage, I just need to…” she moaned when his lips brushed against her earlobe. “Do you know that you bite on those sweet little lips of yours when you don’t tell the truth?”

“It’s because I’m thinking! Oh!”

His hips rose slightly and something very hard pressed against her wetness.

“And how is that going?” He let out a low murmur, kissing a sensitive spot on her neck.

“I… um… Oh, Mahal… I… Thorin, please… What if I lay down on my back and…” Yrsa’s brain stopped working at the exact same moment when Thorin started using his tongue. Sweet Mahal, where did they teach blacksmiths to do that? “You were saying?”

“Wait, I need a moment,” unwillingly she moved away from him, plopping down on her bottom, minding her leg. How was she supposed to think straight when he was so… so big, so handsome, so strong and so very close to her?

Thorin ran his hand through his magnificent mane of hair and gave her a look brimming with lust. She was toast.

“I am waiting… You were about you spread your delicious body under me,” in a blink of an eye, she found herself facing him. He hovered over her, gazing at her kiss-swollen lips, his arms resting on both sides of her bare body.

“And make you strain your muscles again?” She gave him a light kiss in the corner of his mouth. “How about you sit on that chair?” “It is barely standing as it is. It won’t hold, not if I have my way with you,” he nuzzled her cheek. She groaned in desperation, slamming her fist against the bed, “Can you please do it now? I don’t care how, just do it. How about I turn around and you... No, wait, it won’t work. Damn it! Thorin, I want you, preferably before the world ends!”

“That can be arranged. Come, lay with me,” he smirked and lay on his side, pulling her hand towards him. Yrsa shifted on her knees, unsure of what he had in mind, and lowered herself on the bed. “Turn towards me, Yrsa. That’s it. I want to see your face when I am making love to you.”

“Thorin?” she swallowed. Surely, it had to be just a figure of speech, nothing more.

“Yes, like this, perfect,” he whispered huskily, pulling her closer and laying his hand on her thigh. She could feel the heat of his hammer brushing against her thighs. “What do you think?”

“Let’s try?” Yrsa whispered hopefully, resting her hand at the nape of his neck. Her professional brain kicked in for a moment, making sure that neither Thorin's leg nor her ankle would be exposed to too much strain. It could actually work.

“Sweet Yrsa,” Thorin placed another light kiss on her lips gently lifting her injured leg and resting her thigh above his hip, opening her up for his velvety hardness.

Suddenly, she recalled how big he was and how passionate, and how she was completely sober, and all the courage deserted her.

“Slowly, please?”

“We have all the time in the world, Harsûna,” he slid his arm under her neck, allowing her to rest her head on the crook of his elbow. “Good?”

Yrsa gave him a small nod and a faint smile, swallowing nervously. That is when Thorin’s hand rested on her buttock and squeezed it, eliciting a playful yelp out of her.

“Thorin! Last night you promised to behave!”

“Aye. But I did not specify what behaviour I had in mind,” he grinned, and then he started lazily moving his hips back and forth, coating his swollen member with her juices. Yrsa may or may not have moaned, she was not sure. She was only sure that now she had molten lava in her veins and was on her way to erupt.

“Should I stop?” he purred. “Don’t you dare,” she gasped and slid her hand between them, guiding him to the place that demanded to be filled with pleasure.

“Let me show you what I dare,” he slowly thrust forward, delving between her folds and into her core, making her gasp at the exquisite sensation. Her blacksmith, her Thorin, so close to her, joining with her, stretching her so deliciously, and she welcomed him gladly, passionately, meeting him halfway with an impatient roll of her hips.

“My impatient Harsûna,” he hissed, unhurriedly easing into her inch by inch, his fingers pressing into her hip. And then he pulled almost all the way out only to return after a heartbeat. “I need more,” she admitted, lifting her leg, inviting him deeper.

His next thrust was equally slow, painfully slow, and blissfully slow. She hated the exquisite torment. She loved the agony of pleasure. She ached for him when he retreated and moaned with delight when he returned, each thrust sending him deeper inside her. A yelp left her lips when he finally buried himself in her up to his hilt, accompanied by his groan when she made her walls clench around him.

“Yrsa,” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and stopping his movements. “Have mercy on me, my little witch.”

My little witch. She could get used to it. Especially when she was so deliciously full.

“Oh!” she felt him twitch inside her. He chuckled.

“Fight fire with fire, isn’t that what you Firebeards say?” Thorin covered her lips with his before she had the chance to reply and then he thrust into her, rolling his hips against her and making her cry out in pleasure. His movements were slow and deep, kindling an insatiable fire inside her. Yrsa felt so open, so vulnerable, and yet so good, and with each of his strokes she allowed herself to drown in bliss. Thorin held her close to his chest as he unhurriedly delved into her, eliciting a moan out of her every single time as he murmured sweet nothings into her ear.

“Let me take care of you, sweet Yrsa,” a hot kiss landed in the sensitive hollow of her neck. “Oh…” “Do you like this?”

“Mahal, yes…” she whined in pleasure, so incredibly full of him with each new movement of his hips.

“And this?” “Thorin…” she arched her back with a moan, her head spinning.

“Let me pleasure you like this every night.” “Don’t stop…”

“You drive me wild with your beauty,” he whispered into her ear, filling her with steady, sensual thrusts that gradually grew in strength.

“Oh, Kaminzabdûna…” “Let me worship your bewitching body every day, fiery Harsûna. Your soft lips, your delicate wrists, your firm breasts and your pert behind,” his words were accompanied by kisses and caresses of each of her body parts, sending her dangerously close towards the edge.

Thorin was everywhere, his intoxicating scent permeated the air she breathed, she tasted him on her tongue, she felt him against her skin and so deep inside her; his groans intertwined with her moans; she rocked against him, losing herself in him, not knowing where she ended and he began; there was only him in the world, and nothing else, and he held her close, and she clung to him, braving the ever-growing waves of their joined passion.

“Please, Thorin…” she whimpered.

“What is it, Amrâlimê?” the sound of his dark, luscious voice sent a thrill down her spine.

“I’m so close… Please...” Yrsa barely registered anything else than the growing wave of ecstasy that would wash over her soon.

Thorin doubled his efforts, picking up his pace, grinding into her with every stroke. “Hold on, Harsûna, can you do that for me?” he locked his gaze with hers, his words turning into animalistic grunts. “Let us come together, like... this…, right... now…” His voice became raspy, his movements erratic; her nails dug into the skin on his back, a wave of shivers washed over her body, heralding the inevitable; he sank his teeth into the delicate skin of her neck, and this was her undoing. One more powerful thrust; she tensed; then the whole word exploded beneath her eyelids as she felt the heat of his release. “Thorin…!” a lengthy moan escaped her lips, echoing against the walls of the cavern.

She-- They soared in ecstasy. Together. For a few heartbeats. For eternity.

***

As soon as her senses returned to Yrsa, she relished in the sweet weight of Thorin’s powerful body over hers, his forehead resting against her shoulder, his silky soft hair scattered across her breasts, the dark waves contrasting with her pale skin. Absentmindedly she ran her fingers through his strands, overwhelmed by the sudden tenderness that welled in her heart. It didn’t matter what would happen afterwards; she had this very moment with him and it was more than she ever hoped for.

“Gold-kissed Harsûna,” he whispered into her skin, placing a soft kiss on her freckled shoulder.

She hummed questioningly, still sifting through his hair.

“In Erebor… My people believe that those are flakes of gold under your skin, a sign of Mahal's grace. Very rare among the Longbeards. Very beautiful.”

His lips covered her shoulder again. His moustache and beard tickled her skin, making her smile at the emotion blooming in his azure eyes.

“One day I will kiss every single one of them,” one more kiss and he lifted himself on her elbow. “If you agree to court me.”

Yrsa bit her lip, ignoring the ball of ice that formed in her stomach.

“I can’t be your wife,” she looked away. “You are a king.”

“You can. Forget about that cursed title, Yrsa. I am a blacksmith.”

“I won’t.” “Why?” “I… I have no fancy dresses.” “Neither do I,” he nuzzled her neck, making her chuckle, while his hand wandered away from her hip. “I’m serious, Thorin. I don’t know how… Oh, Mahal,” she gasped as he gently cupped her mound with his palm.

“Mmmm?” He purred with a sly grin, scattering lazy kisses just above her breasts, his hand resting on her hip as if it never left the place.

“I don’t even know what a queen is supposed to do,” she whispered, the familiar flames of rekindled lust licking at her underbelly.

“She is expected to do the same as a blacksmith’s wife,” he lifted his head, one radiant eye resting on her face, the other hidden behind the dark curtain of his hair. “Simply be with me at the end of the day.”

His lips met hers, coaxing her into another sweet, lingering kiss. “But… there has to be more,” she finally protested.

“Aye,” she tasted his lips again as Thorin continued. “Let me braid your fiery hair every morning.”

“Oh, Thorin,” she chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, noticing a playful glint in his eye. “Are you saying that I would have no duties whatsoever?”

“As my wife you will be entrusted with the most important duty of them all,” he pecked the tip of her nose.

“And that is?” “Kissing me good morning, of course!”

“Like this?” she demonstrated with unrestrained eagerness that left them both panting.

“Aye… exactly like this,” Thorin confirmed.

“This I can do without being your wife and ruining your chances of an important alliance with another clan,” her throat constricted and she forbade her eyes to well with tears. If that was how love was supposed to feel, she hated it at that very moment with all her heart. Thorin’s judgment may have been clouded by his passion, it was not unheard among her race, but he would soon realize that it was nothing more than passion and lust, and when it fizzled out, he would be stuck with a useless wife and no perspectives for the future. She refused to be a burden to him.

“Yrsa, for the love of Mahal, I told you...” A menacing frown appeared on his handsome face.

She quickly sealed his lips with a kiss, “Let us not talk about it now. Please? I’m too tired to have this discussion. Can we catch some sleep first?” A noncommittal grunt reached her ears.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he eyed her suspiciously.

“I hope not,” she waited until he rested on his back and pulled her tight against him. “I’m even hoping for another round before breakfast.” “That could be arranged,” he rumbled, slightly appeased by her words.

“Perfect,” she pecked his cheek and lay her head on his chest as Thorin pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders and put his arm around her. “Just don’t run away from me this time,” he grumbled. “I won’t,” her fingers intertwined with his, his ring still glinting on her finger. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Yrsa didn’t know how long she slept, but when she opened her eyes, impossibly light-leaded, she and Thorin reduced to nothing more than a chaotic tangle of limbs under the blankets, one word rang in her ears.

“Amrâlimê.”

To be continued...

* * *

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