Summer
Wine
Author: wanderingsmith
sep 2014
Summary:It was not often that Thorin overindulged, and wine in
particular was not a drink he generally had more than the bare
necessities of. The way his head had felt all day was a painful
reminder of WHY.
As though being stuck in Rivendell were not cause enough to have
an aching head.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to
pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em.
-s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-
WARNING -s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-
Cold sense washed over him with the brazen plea tilted up at him and
Bilbo groaned, unwrapping his hand from its slick, hard prize. He
had to drag his eyes away from the offer before him to find his
voice, "I would not have you wake feeling abused."
Ignoring the wordless snarl of frustration directed at him, he tried
to push away the knees locked around his bare waist, but reluctantly
gave up when the excess alcohol in his blood robbed his strength.
Not that he would have likely been able to overcome those particular
hair-covered, muscle-bound shackles.
"I can thake any thoreness you lheave behind, hafling."
Giving up on the knees, Bilbo sat back on his heels more
comfortably, tenderly stroking the imprisoning flesh instead as he
enjoyed the thrill that deep voice -especially this new so very dark
and tempting version of it- continued to give him; even with the
little slur that had snuck in over the course of the evening. "And
if you do not immediately remember it was me? Or that you agreed to
it of your own free will?" Drunken free will, mind.
Thorin, about to give an obviously snap answer, stopped himself, to
Bilbo's mixed feelings, his head falling back and hands gripping the
sheets with minor violence, and actually thought before grumbling
grouchily, "..Fery well. You mhay be whithe."
Snickering at the utter disgruntlement on display, Bilbo leaned
forward, hands landing on that spread-out curtain of black hair
softer than the silky elven sheets they had been tangling on,
grunting an apology when Thorin flinched at his pulling on a braid.
He kissed the king's pouting lips with teasing pecks in reward for
agreeing to wisdom.
Then he sighed, laying his body on top of the dwarf's, rather
grouchy himself, "Do not think this pleases me either. I will dream
of what I would do with you." He curled his right palm around the
shoulder besides it, the amazing feeling of large, tight muscles
sending tingles right to his cock. If only they had done this when
they were both sober! Or if he had at least come to his senses
*before* seeing, touching and tasting quite so much temptation. It
was wrong to take advantage of the drunken king when he'd never
before indicated he harboured this interest for Bilbo. It WAS. Very
wrong. And very smooth skin on that beautiful shoulder...
Thorin's eyes, the blue shadowed by the dim light of candles in the
luxurious, airy room, still seemed to Bilbo to kindle, his hands
coming to grip the hobbit's hips possessively and his voice coming
out in an eager growl, "Aye? An' wha woulth you dho with dis dwarf?"
The hip thrust grinding Thorin's hot and swollen cock up into his
sent Bilbo's eyes closing with a moan. Oh why was something so good
wrong?
He forced himself up and to the side of the body dominating the bed,
drawing on reserves of strength to make himself think past the
drunken urge to simply take the pleasure offered and give it back in
spades. He had to slap the thick fingers of his almost-lover away
from reaching for him again, instead coming up on his side, facing
the now-scowling dwarf laying on his back with his arms crossed as
he glared at the ceiling. Supporting arm bent at the elbow, Bilbo
rested his chin on his palm and stared hungrily.
He would not let himself take. Even touching made wariness shimmer
through him. *He* had dreamt of this happening in *truth*. If he..
took advantage, it never would. He had to believe that at the root
of this evening lay the hope of it happening without alcohol; for
*that* prize, he could resist touch. But words.. he did not wish to
leave the dwarf with anger on his mind. Surely he would not be
taking anything from the other to share his own thoughts... And if
the other chose to dismiss the memory when sober.. Well, right now
Bilbo was drunk enough to count the release of speaking them to an
aroused Thorin as a fair deal.
He sighed, settling himself in a dreamy state from which to give
this gift before he left the dwarf to sleep off his drink. "My
beautiful wanton king." Beautiful, shameless king. The way he'd
offered himself earlier... and his beautiful responsiveness to every
touch and whisper...
"No you will not touch. And no no...not that either." He gently
pried Thorin's hand off his own cock, where it had slipped as he
spoke; and that could easily be taken as a compliment! He did allow
the thick fingers to settle in his curls, though, sighing as they
grasped handfuls with not entirely gentle care while eyes he knew to
be the coolest blue fixed on his.
And in the flickering darkness of a late August night in
magic-ridden Rivendell, Bilbo's quite ordinary voice spoke for long
minutes, low and explicit, of what he would do to every inch of the
body that responded by writhing before him, hips shifting, trying to
find some friction as the heavy cock moved against the coarse hairs
of Thorin's stomach. All the while Thorin held tight to his hair
like an anchor, lascivious moans underscoring the hobbit's words,
and teeth biting down on his lower lip until Bilbo was too lost in
his own daydream to stop the bite from shifting to his shoulder. And
with that hot, biting suction, he was the one twisting with fire
burning from low in his back and forcing pleasure/pain through him.
His chagrin on catching his breath was tempered with the memory of
the whimper he'd caught as the heat erupted out of his cock and no
doubt splashed on the nearby skin of his would-be victim.
Forcing himself up before his eyes could close, with no more than a
kiss to the indolent king watching him, already half-asleep, he
dressed and swayed out, loose from orgasm as much as from lord
Elrond's fine stock of liquor.
---
It was not often that Thorin overindulged, and wine in particular
was not a drink he generally had more than the bare diplomatic
necessities of. The way his head had felt all day was a painful
reminder of WHY. He'd rather need 30 stitches after a running fight
with an orc pack.
And that didn't even go into the strain to his patience from the
looks his un-subtle Company had been giving him since he'd made
himself cringe his way out of his chambers. Damned if he would ask
any of them what he'd done to earn such an odd mix of expressions.
That they were all afraid enough of him to keep quiet was his only
saving grace. Even the halfling had his own odd expression to add to
those of the dwarrows.
All of which was why, when the tree-shagger poured him a goblet with
supper, it took an effort not to flinch. Let along to force himself
to have a sip when their cursed host made a toast.
But as the taste spread on his tongue, Thorin had to hold back a
frown, an odd tension coming into being in his core. The rising
sweet/sour whiff of the drink as he held the goblet frozen an inch
from his lips seemed to make misty bits of memory slowly appear.
Pleasure mixed with arousal, such as he hadn't felt outside dreams
in years; need...
It took every inch of princely composure to keep his eyes from
widening as just what he had 'needed' came to him. What kind of mad
dream was *this*?? Because surely that was no *memory*... He could
not help tensing the muscles of his arse to be certain. No. No of
course not. Mahal! What kind of sorcery was in that drink to make
such a thought even come to him??
But the faint furious panic did not stop the memory from continuing
to drag itself up, not even when he set the goblet down with
barely-controlled force, ignoring the looks from the wizard and Lord
Elrond by the simple expedient of digging into his food. He could
almost feel the silky elven sheets on his bare back, and.. a voice!
Trying to grasp words was like trying to hold smoke, but he was
everlastingly grateful at the certainty that there was no hint of
elvish lilt to it, even if he did not recognize the high husk. Too
high for most of the dwarrows.. Before he could follow the thought
further, the memory grew to a small body resting atop his, and.. and
a small, soft hand wrapped around- "My beautiful wanton king."
Thorin's grunt of shock at the remembered whisper was lost in the
scrape of his chair as he stood too quickly and sent it flying back.
If either of his tablemates commented, he did not hear as he stumped
over to the table his rowdy company had covered in food debris.
And from which his quarry was just climbing down, cheeks flushed and
a wide grin under glassy eyes.
Making it simple for Thorin to grab the hobbit's shoulders and lift
him clear of table and chairs and Company, and hustle him away,
ignoring his squeak, as well as whatever brilliant exclamations the
rest of his company came up with.
"Thorin??!"
Thorin shifted his grip to holding the smaller creature's nape to
keep him marching before him, though his snarl wasn't meant harshly,
"Quiet, halfling."
Thorin did not let Bilbo go until the door to his chambers finally
closed behind them. Resting his back on the heavy wood, he stared at
the halfling turning a few feet away to watch him with eyes far
clearer and calmer than he had expected from someone dancing on a
table with Nori. Thorin let his eyes trail down the body of his
burglar; something he usually had to settle for doing under the
shield of darkness.
Coming back up to the sight of an expression that he was quite
certain was just as heated as he felt, he held the look with a
challenge that he was surprised Bilbo withstood with what looked
like the beginning of a grin. "What happened last night, halfling?"
Mild annoyance replaced the grin. "Hobbit, if you please, unless you
wish to be referred to as 'dwarf' with that much condescension. As
for last night, you drank a great deal of elven wine."
Surprisingly, the snippy tone almost made him grin, and as he
stalked toward the un-retreating *hobbit*, he finally let it curl
his lips. "And what else, *hobbit*?"
Chest to chest, he could have kept walking and simply pushed Bilbo
back, but the challenge his burglar was sending called for something
more personal. His hands found Bilbo's waist and Thorin lifted his
feet off the ground easily, walking them toward the elf-sized
canopied bed. And if the memory of what a delightful grip the soft
hands landing on his shoulders could provide affected his decision,
no one would blame him.
As for the effect of that bright grin, the less said, the less he
would have to feel bashful for.
"Somehow, I suspect you are remembering all on your own."
Dropping the hobbit backwards to bounce on the bed with a pleasantly
surprising joyful laugh, Thorin followed to kneel over his hips,
staring down with descending seriousness, "Not entirely. And what I
do recall... is difficult to believe."
Bilbo gave him a measuring look, a remnants of the grin keeping his
eyes brighter than the dwarf remembered seeing before, "Oh?"
"...The part before you called me.. king."
Thorin's eyes widened at the darkening hunger suddenly staring back
at him, shocked enough that he neglected to react when arms flew up
to wrap around his neck and pull him down on his back besides the
hobbit.
His mood still oddly amused instead of annoyed, Thorin allowed
himself to be manhandled, only hesitating a moment before letting
his hands be held besides his head by the golden creature straddling
his waist. Watching those un-bearded yet still so very strong
features lean closer to his, he faintly had to admit he perhaps
*could* believe, after all.
Could even believe he might beg, as that high husk he had remembered
now whispered into his ear, "If you promise to remember this time,
I'm more than happy to remind you, my beautiful wanton king."
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