Work Text:
...I write with the assurance that Thranduil was engaged in darker going-ons in LOTR fics ten years ago.
Attempt 2 of Prompt.
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Thorin came at the cost of one fire-drake, slain, six years of negotiating— two in the Erebor, two on the eaves of Mirkwood, two with the mayor of Rivertown sitting— three hundred hours of translating obscure dwarvish and elvish documents copied in cirth, a few duels between hot-blooded councilors, two broken noses— one dwarvish, one elven— countless quills, bottles of ink, reams of paper, one ruined antique emroidered table-cloth from Khazad-dum and countless lesser items. Thranduil had elvish memory, but he was not a dwarf of Erebor. They knew the value of their prince the best. It was only important that Thranduil would have him.
“I am your hostage,” said Thorin, with admirable politeness.
“It is dwarvish custom for the wife to join her husband’s house,” said Thranduil, sitting on his carved throne in Eryn Lasgalen.
“I am no one’s wife.” Thorin’s voice, low and rich, rolled softly through the air.
Thranduil lifted an eyebrow. “I’m merely stating a custom I’ve heard. Why would you think you’ll be a wife? I have one already.”
He tried not to enjoy Thorin’s quiet panic; it was odd, to think that he was finding again that Aule’s children fair. He could not remember if there had been as much distraction in the awareness before. He gentled his voice, “She’s residing with Mandos presently, so my bed has been cold.”
Thorin was silent.
“Have you ever warmed a bed than your own Thorin?”
“No.” He sounded indignant.
“Is it horrible to be touched?” Thranduil asked, curious. “I was told that bodily desire would not wed the naugrim.”
Thorin refused to speak. It had been very clear what Thranduil wanted in the treaty. Perhaps it could seem humiliating, but dwarvish shame was a hidden kingdom to Thranduil’s knowledge. He had seen Thorin the year Smaug came to Erebor. He wanted him then, a son of Durin standing as his own distraction under the Arkenstone. It had been an amiable beginning. Thror was always a generous host. Yet though company of his grandson in the libraries and halls of Erebor was easily granted, Thranduil knew Thorin’s presence in his bed could not be had merely for the asking.
Nevertheless, Thranduil thought he could do so on his merits, so strangely and suddenly did his body yearned for a mortal one, he increased his visits to Erebor and looked ever that way. Then he saw Smaug’s shadow on the horizon and he rode quickly east with his host.
And Thranduil, amidst the reconstruction of Dale, the eager alliances of dwarves and men, named a condition for future aid. The condition had a name, thus it could be considered a prize. But Thranduil had known dwarves a very long time- they could not refuse such a little thing for the greater purpose.
A little thing, to send one dwarf to Mirkwood. A little thing, to not ask the reason or to pretend ignorance. Thranduil was an elf king of a great kingdom. Thorin was a prince of a Erebor, his body born devoted to its cause.
“You were much more talkative when we were in Erebor,” Thranduil said. “And I learned that you had thoughts more than gold or craft. Well, here you’re in Eryn Lasgalen. If it displeases you, you may go back to your mountain home.”
“And show Erebor that I have displeased you.”
“You have certainly not been very pleasing, so far.”
“How may I please you?” asked Thorin, then added, “milord,” implying some vicious quality in the honour.
Thranduil, stirred by the words, waited for a moment before saying, "Answer my questions, Thorin.”
To Thranduil’s unexpected delight, Thorin blushed. Beneath his lowered lashes, the pink looked very well on his skin, “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“And why do you not?”
Thorin looked up at him. “You ask for questions to which you know the answer. You have spies everywhere. You must know all the whispers in Erebor, both true and false.”
“I want your answer.”
“You asked for me,” Thorin said quietly. Thranduil almost missed the words. “You asked for me, some say before Smaug, some say after, but-” His voice faded.
Thranduil did not question the thrill growing inside him. “Go on.”
“Dwarves do not marry until late in life,” Thorin said slowly. “I was twenty-four when I met you; I did not know what you meant, but I had wondered. Then Smaug came and I suddenly knew what I realised others knew before I did.” He drew a breath before continuing, “Everyone knew you desired me. Everyone knew the value of such desire. They could not afford your displeasure.” The last he said with a note of despair.
“Yet for six years you trained in the barracks with your soldiers and I did not see you,” Thranduil reminded him. "All of Erebor conspired to keep you hidden, even you. Do I believe that it is to tantalize me so I would not ask for something even more valuable, or in hope that I could forget?”
Without waiting for an answer, Thranduil stood. He reached out a hand to Thorin. “It doesn’t matter. What is, is. My life is not lived through dreams. You are here now. The hallways are quiet. No one’s about. The rocks are solid and carry no sound through the walls. Come to my bed,” -he smiled- “the nights are cold; winter is settling into the earth.”
Thorin took his hand, his palms hard with the use of swords and axes. Thranduil kissed the slope of knuckle. “Not a wife,” he said, breath lingering against the smooth skin at the back of the hand, his lip resting against the furrow, his thumb circling on the wrist beneath the sleeve, “but will you grant yourself the pleasure of one?”
Thorin bowed his head, the gold clipped in his dark hair too bright. “I will do my duty.”
Thranduil sighed and led Thorin down the silent hallways to his bed. So easy, to ask him to undress so he may look on him, rid the teasing glimpses of skin to admire it in whole. The dwarves wear such heavy shapeless clothing. Thranduil let his eyes trail to the soft skin at Thorin's throat, then the line of the heavy gold-embroidered collar. Yet better still, he thought, to unwrap Thorin for himself.
"It's not difficult." He sank his hand into Thorin's hair, thick and soft as he kissed him. The beard tickled, almost enough to distract Thranduil from the heat of Thorin's mouth, the tentative tongue that Thranduil chased with his own, thrusting inward to claim him, finally- six years or six hundred years, the end of waiting and wanting was always fear that having all he desired was merely some waking dream and to end and disappear in the next moment.
He laid aside the gold in Thorin's hair. He saw Thorin's eyes follow the clink of the metal against the wood beside the bed, his face uncertain. Quickly then, Thranduil stripped Thorin of the rest of his clothes working deftly on the buttons and buckles before proceeding to his own. He had already shed the heavy robes of state earlier in the evening. Now he unthreaded his belt and took of his tunic, abandoning both to the floor.
When he emerged from his clothes, though he still had on his breeches, Thorin had divested himself of his undershirt. Thranduil trailed his face from the broad brow, to the clear eyes, to the slightly swollen mouth, to the smooth throat, to his chest, his gaze catching on the twin glitter of gold. He reached out one and flicked his finger against it.
Thorin's breath hitched. His eyelashes cast shadows on his face as he concentrated to take off the small bar of gold from one nipple, then the other. Thranduil didn't stop him, strangely charmed by how the small nubs peaked and tightened. When the gold was gone, he rubbed one finger over one. This time, Thorin closed his eyes, though his chest seemed to arch into the contact. Between his legs, he was beginning to harden.
"You spent six years with soldiers," Thranduil said, taking Thorin in hand, relishing the weight and the hitch in Thorin's breath. "Not all are fools or blind; indeed, even the blind can love you for your voice alone. I think others have loved, you too."
The blush on Thorin’s face extended to his chest. He opened his mouth, eyes glaring, but moaned instead as Thranduil stroked him. "But what of them," Thranduil said with satisfaction, "when you're mine to keep." With his other hand, he unstoppered the phial of oil at the side of the bed and coated his hand to make his movement smoother.
Thorin's eyes were storms, slowly darkening with every moment, but he remained silent as Thranduil rid himself of his last clothing, heedless of the stains his hands left on his breeches.
Then Thorin turned to lie on his side, giving Thranduil a view of splendid back, strongly and gracefully muscled, reluctance in every line as one leg moved, exposing the skin of one pale thigh in a practised movement.
"Make me yours then," Thorin challenged and would've got both his knees under him had not Thranduil stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. The muscles tensed beneath it. Thorin stayed on his side.
"You open you legs," Thranduil said, tracing the stiff line of the spine, followed it to the dip of the back then to where the flesh swelled temptingly. Growing aroused and angry, Thranduil grasped one buttock and with only traces of oil on his hand, inserted a single finger inside. Thorin made no sound, though his body clenched against the intrusion. Then he let out a low exhale, his body consciously relaxing as Thranduil waited. "You say you had known no one's touch," he said quietly by Thorin's ear; his eyes were closed. Thranduil pushed in another finger. "But your body speaks otherwise." He twisted his fingers, thrusting them both deeper. "How many have you had?"
"No one!" Thorin protested, eyes blinking open, like glittering sapphires in the dark. "I've had no one!"
Thranduil found the small spot inside Thorin and crooked his fingers. Thorin seemed to seize, the inside of his body squeezing tight and he let out a whimper, pushing backwards into Thranduil's hand for a moment then stilled, shivering. "Just you," Thorin whispered again, as if pained.
"I want to see you," Thranduil told him, leaning on his elbow on the bed. Then he withdrew and watched as Thorin turned around. His erection had waned. There was a single tear track on the side of his face. His mouth looked red and tender and his breathing was heavy. When Thranduil kissed him, Thorin's lips remained still beneath his, his entire body unmoving and tense, holding less distraction and more truth than Thranduil expected.
"It should be pleasurable," Thanduil soothed, placing kisses at Thorin's rough jaw,down his neck, to his chest. Thranduil took one nipple inside his mouth, worried it with his lips while he took Thranduil in hand again. Yet still, there was only a little gasp at the touch, and Thorin's heartbeat was quick with more fear than arousal. His hands were tight on the bedclothes, twisting them in his hands while Thranduil wanted to rouse him with his mouth, seeking the little wound made by the gold, but there was only a little rough scar, barely detectable by his tongue. Thranduil suckled at it a little until Thorin's gasps became more frequent and he began to writhe into his hands. Then Thranduil went on to the next until the little nub of flesh felt pointed and hard in his mouth.
Thorin's legs had parted a little. Thranduil coaxed them to open wider; he smoothed his hands up and down the long muscles to the hard curve of an ankle, then sat between Thorin's bent legs.
Thorin looked amazed at himself, his eyes wide and dark, but he moaned again when Thranduil leaned forward and kissed the line down his chest to his abdomen, his hair trailing on Thorin's skin. Thranduil brushed away the strands in front of him then looked up and Thorin, smiled, and took him into his mouth. Just the head at first, where it was flushed and looked glazed and tasted of salt. Thorin's hips arched off the bed and he let out a sound that sounded like half-growl, half-whimper, ending high in his throat.
"Do you not like it?" Thranduil asked, mischievous, letting Thorin's cock brush over his lips. "Why are you so quiet?" He flicked the top of this tongue against the tip. Thorin's hips would've arched again had not Thranduil held him down. "I'm told dwarves consider elvish tongues clever." His tongue swirled across the hard flesh again. "Though I am surprised that you do not have gold here."
"I never-" Thorin never finished his answer. "Would you like it?" He asked in a quiet strained voice.
Thranduil considered as he took Thorin inside his mouth again, flattened his tongue again the length, sucked, hummed, before slipping him out of his mouth. He repeated the movement, added flourishes, and then when he felt Thorin gave a cry, let him soaked the bedsheets instead of down his throat. Then he licked a strip down Thorin's sac and then to where the rim of his entrance, still holding a scent of the oil from earlier. Dwarves, Thranduil was realizing, held no smell themselves unless what they took from other places.
"Don't!" And then there were the broad hand at his hand, as if to push him away, at first tentatively, then harder. He felt a bare foot on his shoulder. Thranduil took it and kissed at the rapid pulse beneath the ankle. But he lifted his head, puzzled. "Don't? Do you not like it?"
"No, that is," Still panting slightly, Thorin floundered for some word. He said it in dwarvish first. There was a deep blush on his face. Then, finally, in halting Dale, he said, "Milord, it's shameful."
"Shameful to grant me the favour of your thighs?" So saying, Thranduil placed a kiss high inside those thighs. In elvish, he said, "I thought you were to please me."
"I thought-"
Whatever disruptive line of thought Thorin was following stuttered when Thranduil touched him again, this time with his fingertips. "Tell me what you do know then? I would not hurt you and you were pliable enough for my fingers. I do not want to mount you as if my bed is some bestial place."
"I-" Thorin seemed to war with some inner conflict. Thranduil waited, sliding his body against Thorin's so that they were pressed chest to chest. The dark hairs prickled delightfully against his own skin. He caressed wherever he could. One of his hand still high on Thorin's thigh, digging a little into the firm flesh, Thranduil wondered if Thorin thought it would hurt. Jealousy had not made him kind in the beginning. "My tongue is gentler than my fingers and I think you would enjoy it. You are supposed to."
Another blushed rushed up Thorin's cheeks. A hint of a smile emerged as a loosened braid curved over a collarbone while Thranduil hovered over him. "I am to do as you like," Thorin said, his hand touching through Thranduil's hair lightly.
He grabbed them, not tightly enough to hurt, but enough to lend a pleasant when Thranduil's mouth descended on him again, his tongue circling the ring of muscle before thrusting inside. Thorin make a loud garbled sound, his back bowed, feet digging furrows into the bed at as Thranduil's tongue pushed and moved within him, opening and licking and kissing him, delighting in the mess of syllables that emerged from the body beneath him. At Thorin's hips where the sloping muscles joined were shallow cups where Thranduil placed his hands, feeling the trembling against his palms, of the white thighs across his shoulders, so intimately as if they were his own.
At length he relented, hearing his own name sobbed aloud. Thorin was deperate and gleaming in the middle of his bed, his legs spread obscenely and deliciously around Thranduil's waist.
"Should I take you now?" he asked, moving forward, nudging with an unexpected ardency against Thorin's entrance and was surprised to feel the heels at the small of his back drawing him in. He resisted, however, waiting for an answer.
"Words," Thorin said roughly. "Yes," and added, "please," though the last, uneeded, trailed into air as Thranduil entered him.
Thranduil's desire layered with every moment that passed and he remained unmoving, caught in the tight heat. The passage had been smooth, but the grimace had been telling. He withdrew carefully, angled his hip, and thrust in shallowly at first before going deeper, finding awkwardly the spot of pleasure that would chase away the frown in Thorin's brow, the hint of regret in his face. Despite the proud arch of his nose, his eyes were young, and his mouth soft with kisses Thranduil had given him.
"Do you want me to stop?
Thorin shook his head, arched his throat, but his hands had fallen from Thranduil's shoulders to grasp at the bedsheets and he had become silent, as if suffering Thranduil's onslaught pressing him into the pillows.
Yet Thranduil thrust into him still, feeling the tension build and dissipate, mesmerized by the clasp of Thorin's body and his own desire tightening at the base of his spine until it could shatter. Then Thorin turned his head away, as if he could not bear Thranduil's gaze, so he leaned forward and hauled up Thorin by his shoulders so he sat astride him. The change in the angle and depth, the contact of skin, made them both gasp, their breaths tangling.
"Oh," Thorin said, moving tentatively, lifting himself before bearing his weight down. He rolled forward a little, his body enveloping Thranduil's. He repeated the movement; Thranduil let out a soft exhalation feeling the tightening around him, almost a whine. His hand slid down Thorin's shoulders to splay at the small of his back where he could feel the muscles flex at uneven and increasingly frantic intervals; his other hand traced through the hair at Thorin's chest to the flat belly then to loosely and more firmly encircle his cock.
"I don't have to come," Thranduil told him as pleasure mounted between them. He caught Thorin's eyes and held them. "Do you want me to? To feel me wet inside your body, have me trickling down the inside of your legs when you stand? Because I'll expect you to stand and I can take you again, this time perhaps against the door, your legs around my waist. Until morning, when the household stirs, and you cry out so everyone in Mirkwood would know that I do not make idle alliances, that Erebor's mine. Or," he licked his lips as Thorin continued to rock above him, "we can stay this like this until you tire and I'll remain hard inside you through the night. And in the morning, when we're forced to leave our bed for our duties, we can remember this while performing them."
"Yes," Thorin answered, squeezing Thranduil inside him. "Yes to all this."
"Choose," Thranduil whispered, enraptured by the sight and sensations, his voice becoming hoarse, "choose and I will give it to you."
But Thorin's body chose for him. He came, his body tensed for one long convulsion, and Thranduil, still enwrapt within him, followed in a burst of sympathy. Thorin collapsed against him afterwards and Thranduil, lying back, realised that they were the foot of the bed where they were no pillows.
But sated, contented, disinclined to move, he smoothed his hand down Thorin's hair, to his back, over the curve of his buttocks, extending to fingers inside the wet crevice. Thorin flinched a little.
"Shall I go to the door?" Thorin asked, looking up from beneath his lashes.
Thranduil's limbs felt too languid for movement, though his cock could stir, he felt it would be unnecessary. "I'll take you again," Thranduil said, "but the bed will go cold before we finish."
He managed, nevertheless, to reach cloth to clean them both. When they finally managed to lie with their heads toward the headboard, his eyes caught on the gold on the side of the table.
"Who put the gold on your chest?"
Thorin tensed in his arms. "I did, with some difficulty."
Thranduil, glad that no one had touched Thorin before him, nonetheless remain confused. He picked one up; it was like a pin or brooch, but the needle pinned through skin. "Why?"
Thorin looked up. "It is the custom among dwarves. And it is said that it is favorable to elves."
Thranduil thought for a moment to offer his opinion on the dwarvish penchant for gold, but it seemed more important to know who informed Thorin of elvish habits regarding their bodies. "Who said?"
"Books. From the libraries of Khazad-dum which come to Erebor and unearthed while we were negotiating, it's found that the elves of Eregion-"
"The elves of Eregion," Thranduil interrupted, disliking the phrase from Thorin's lips, "have nothing to do me. If it is your custom, I will give you ones made of ceramic and the most delicate glazes."
"And will you wear them?" Thorin asked, now kissing across Thranduil's chest, the edge of teeth adding a welcome distraction.
Thranduil thought what it could feel like, to be so pierced and decorated, the weight beneath his tunic and robes to remind him of Thorin when he knew his body would bear no bruise or ache to remind him when all desires become past. "If it is your pleasure." he answered.