Monday, February 16, 2015

A Thorin Oakenshield Lemon -- Siphoning Steel

Character: Thorin Oakenshield

Fandom: The Hobbit

OC: Fallon, a dwarf, red hair blue eyes

Inspiration: This is long overdue, sorry for the wait!  I think I might’ve gotten carried away a little but oh well :3

You doubted you’d ever get used to it.  It had all happened so quickly, after all.  One day you were a simple dwarf, a commoner.  The next you were a queen.  The title still shook you down and you often floundered at the endless responsibilities that awaited you each day, unused to ordering people around and holding yourself with the dignity that was now expected of you.  No, you doubted you’d ever get used to it.  And yet there was one thing you could grow accustomed to.  Something that made you warm and happy even in the midst of your suddenly foundationless life.
Ukrâduh?  Are you still awake?” [1]  Lost amid your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the door of your chamber opening, nor the sudden presence of your husband of only a few months approaching.  The sight of him made you smile, relief somehow saturating you merely from the knowledge that he was there.  He stepped closer to your place beside the mantle and the hearth flickered golden against his strong features.  His arms gently encircled your waist and he laid his chin upon your shoulder with a soft sigh, nuzzling you with his long, sharp nose.
“It’s very late.  You should be sleeping,” he murmured, but there was a pleased note in his tone that told you he was glad you were not.  The duties of running a kingdom had rather taken over his life and you rarely saw each other during the day, except at mealtimes and during the customary time allotted to hearing the disputes of his people.  Your people.  The reminder whispered at you as you leaned back into your husband’s embrace.  You were Thorin’s wife now and the dwarves of Erebor were your people as well.  Thorin their king, you their queen.  As you looked at him now, the thought didn’t seem nearly as daunting as it did during daylight.
There was a tender look in his eyes as he took you in, turning you in his arms and slipping his hands around you to your lower back.  The gentle, almost sacred way he drew you against him had you craving a different sort of touch, but that would have to wait.  Thorin reached up to stroke calloused fingers against your pale, smooth cheek, and then murmured, “What’s wrong?  You look distraught, Fallon.”  Your name was spoken with just as much tenderness if not more, and the sound of it had you near to collapsing from relief.  In public he followed the codes expected of him and called you his Queen.  Only at times such as these was he allowed to use your true name, and it felt wonderful and heady as it sloped over his low, thick voice.
You shook and he frowned, holding you up against his chest as if he were cradling a small babe.  His strength had always impressed you, but his gentleness amazed you and never ceased to catch you off guard.  That a muscled, burly warrior such as himself could be so soft and tender toward you left you reeling in several different ways.
“Sit down,” he said, still frowning.  He led you to the richly upholstered chair that sat by the fire and helped you into it, his large hands never leaving yours as he knelt down before you.  “Now, tell me what’s bothering you, Ukrâduh.  I can see that something is.”  His nickname for you had you sighing, leaning forward to brush your fingers into his hair in an almost idle fashion.
Finally, you spoke, and you noted with satisfaction that your voice was calm even as the rest of you was not.  “It is nothing, Thorin,” you softly said, taking his marriage braid between your fingers and running it through your touch.  The intricate beadwork that had gone into its completion bumped over your fingers.  You lifted the thick braid to your lips and kissed the final, larger bead at the end of it.  The unique bead that merged the two separate runes of your houses together.  All the while he watched, his stormy eyes quite clear in the flickering firelight, and you knew you weren’t convincing enough.
You gave him a smile and sighed, knowing that he was too astute and stubborn to let you go without explanation.  He had no doubt seen your worries long before now, had watched them build as you took on more and more responsibilities.  He was not worried for you, because he knew your strength of character and knew you’d be just fine.  No, his concern lay elsewhere, in the gentle divide of your now contradicting roles: to be his Queen, and to be his wife.
He took your hands and clasped them into his own, kissing your fingers firmly.  “I know you are weary from your duties.  You fear you are not enough, that the people will never see you as their queen.  You worry over your common upbringing.  Am I wrong?”  No, he was not.  In fact he was right about everything, so much so that it surprised you.  And yet you knew it shouldn’t have, for Thorin had always been able to see you for what you were and then some.  Except this time, he had missed one thing.  The one thing that was the most important, and the greatest source of your concern.
You looked down at slowly said, “No.  You’re not wrong.  I…I don’t know if I…if I have any right to be queen…”  you wanted to say more, but the words failed you, and Thorin took advantage of your silence to look up at you in contemplation, his eyes dark and heady, his face shadowed by the dim light.
“And do you feel you have the right to be my wife?” he said rather suddenly, and if you had not known him as you did, you’d have thought he sounded angry.  But it was not anger that caught his eyes, but stubbornness and the desire to prove a point.  You smiled and murmured, “I believe I have that right, husband.”  And he smiled back, the corner of his mouth quirking up.  The little smile did wonders to the rest of his face and turned him into a much younger man, bereft of responsibility and the need to uphold his duties.
“Good,” he replied simply, with a nod of approval.  “Then that is good enough for me.”  His words were honest and you thrummed with pleasure at them, tightening your fingers around his hands and smiling.  But then your smile waned as your main concern hit you square in the chest, and you haltingly wondered, “But Thorin…is it really enough for you?  We barely see each other now.  It hardly feels like we’re married at all.”
He blinked up at you, measuring your words with calm indifference, and then gave a little mmhmph as if in agreement.  His eyes danced over you for a brief moment, lingering on the lace of your thin nightdress, the slender crane of your neck as it merged into your shoulder then into the wing of your collar.  He idly reached up to trace that collar, his rough fingers sending jolting shivers down your spine as he digested your words.  You saw the wheels spin in his eyes and knew without a doubt where his thoughts had turned, for a fire now kindled against his gaze and seemed to burn right through the thin stays of your gown.
“I may have a cure for your worries,” he said, almost gruffly, and yet his voice was so smooth and burring that it sounded almost like the soft trickle of water over rock.  He sent you that quirked smile and rose to his feet, fingers casually reaching up for the hem of his tunic.  He lifted it over his head and dropped the soft, vibrant fabric to the floor. 
Your eyes immediately darkened with desire, for the sight of him now made you shaky and raw.  He was magnificent, his chest proudly muscled: a testament to his hardships as well as his fortunes.  Dark hair layered over his skin, skirting around equally dark nipples before darting down to disappear into his trousers.  He watched you watch him for a long moment, prideful at the way you clenched the arms of your chair with desire.  Then he stepped forward to take your arms and help you to your feet.  “Lay with me tonight,” he murmured, dragging you close against him, “Let me have you as a husband would have his wife.” 
His hand reached up to caress your breast, engulfing it and rolling your hard nipple against his large palm.  Your eyes fluttered at the feeling, at the way you immediately reacted to him.  Your skin burned with sudden desire, and you tilted your head up in silent question.  He acquiesced.  The moment his mouth took yours you shivered, sinking against his warm, sturdy chest and letting him grasp you tightly, kiss you headily.  His lips were rough-but-smooth, hot and talented.  He brought you to delirium just from dragging that kiss against you, burning it into your soul and leaving you gasping from the trembling onslaught of passion.
“Thorin,” you whispered, as a priest might whisper the name of his God.  The reverent sacredness that rolled into each syllable had him moaning.  The deep leathery sound drifted right into your skin and made gooseflesh rise like tiny armies, which assaulted your every emotion.  And the hand that squeezed you moved up to touch your face, cup your cheek, turning your head to the side and deepening his kiss with a generous sigh.
It hadn’t been all that long since you’d felt this intimacy, but the last two weeks had seen Thorin very busy indeed.  You often retired before him, leaving him to his thoughts and his work.  And sometimes he didn’t even return to your shared rooms until late at night when you were fast into your dreams.  And he’d crawl into bed with you and bundle you up against him, far too exhausted from the day’s duties to think of anything but sleep.  It was a very welcomed thing, to feel his desire now as it grew against your naval; to know that, late as it was, it was never too late to enjoy the liberties that married life provided.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” he murmured, fingers smoothing down your back as he pressed his mouth to your chin.  The trail of his lips cascaded down your neck.  He nibbled at your collar and slowly grasped your nightdress, pulling it up your legs and hips and breasts, until it was nothing more than a shapeless mass beside his tunic.  And, naked as you were then, Thorin let out a darkly pleased moan of appreciation, reaching up to cup both breasts with his hands and resting his forehead against your shoulder as if sharing in your strength.
It occurred to you then that perhaps this was precisely what he was doing.  His own strength was battered from his suddenly royal life.  The last few months since the coronation had seen a great many changes in his daily happenings.  The most difficult one to accept had been the transition from a life of absolute freedom in the wilderness to the restrictive kingship he had now. 
That he was troubled with his role had not occupied your thoughts, silly as it was.  You had selfishly thought you were alone in your worries, that Thorin had nothing to fear, for he had been born a prince and knew how to rule over a people.  Except that he didn’t, not really, because the brunt of his life had not been spent in royal halls.  Rather he had wandered aimlessly through inns and taverns, from village to village, without a home to return to or a kingdom to rule.  Foolish of you to only now begin to see the extent of his own hardships.
“You needn’t apologize,” you whispered, threading your fingers once more into his hair.  “We’ve both been busy,” you added, and brought his head up so as to look him in the eye.  He smiled at you, relieved to be in your presence, to have this easy intimacy, and you leaned in to kiss him gently.  As you did, your fingers tugged at the laces of his breeches and he moaned, catching your face and kissing you harder as you peeled the layers of fabric away.  When he was as bare as you, strong and towering against the firelight, you took his hand and led him toward the bed. 
When you got to your destination, you crawled onto the mattress and knelt down in the silk sheets, catching his dark lustful eyes and patting the place beside you.  “Come here and let me touch you,” you said, and saw him shiver at the words.  He sat down facing you, kneeling as well, and you immediately straddled him.  The ragged breath he let out had you shivering, bolts of passion spearing your center and making you delirious with it.
Sitting atop his thighs, his hardened member created a firm but thankful barrier between the two of you, and yet you didn’t touch him quite yet.  Instead you moved your fingers to his shoulders to press against the strained muscles, taking pleasure in doing this for him, in dissolving the physical fatigue that plagued him.  His muscles were tense and hard: years upon years of built up discomfort.  It would take years still to unravel him properly, to see him collapsed and melted.  But the gentle rhythm of your hands still made him sigh with pleasure.  He tucked you against him, arms wrapped snugly around your shivering form, and collapsed in a different way.
“Mahal, I love you,” he breathed, kissing your neck.  You moved to scrape your nails down his back and he moaned, his own fingers digging softly into your waist.  His words shattered you.  The phrase always did, for the thought of being loved by a dwarf as great as he was staggering in its complexity, and in its simplicity.
“Show me,” you demanded, thumbing over the beard that covered his jaw.  The hair tickled you, creased against your fingers and had your breath tumbling faster.  Your chest heaved from the emotions of being near him.  You wondered yet again how every part of him could induce such tremors within you, but you hadn’t the time to nor the desire to merely speculate.  You needed physical touch, and he was all too happy to accommodate.
Thorin chuckled at the tone your voice took.  He’d grown used to calling it your ‘queen voice’, for it was the voice you often used when you were forced to bear the mantle of your newly appointed station.  It was a voice of determination, of pride, and it resonated through you flawlessly.  As if you were meant to carry it, meant to use it.  And for tonight he would become your servant, and answer to all your whims with delighted abandon.
“Very well, my queen,” he murmured huskily, then splayed his hand against your back and lowered you into the sheets.  You allowed it, because the moment he was nestled against your core you remembered how heavenly it was.  The hairs of his chest tickled over your skin.  The burn of his length pressed hotly to your thigh.  And you knew instinctively that the night was yet young, and that it would be shortly filled in numerous ways.
“And how would you have me prove my affection?” he murmured, eyes twinkling from beneath his dark brow.  The fire’s light was muffled now, separated as you were from its warmth.  Shadows puckered over his face and gave him a darkly appealing demeanor, as if he were ready to devour you whole.  You thought perhaps he was, perhaps he wanted to, and was merely waiting for you to command it.
And so you smirked up at him and whispered, “I should think it obvious.  Take me.  Make me breathless.  Remind me why I married you.”  The last sentence was added cheekily, and Thorin chuckled. 
His hands generously touched you, massaging over your breasts as he dipped his mouth to taste them.  “Oh?  Did you marry me only for physical pleasure?”  He knew you were joking and happily contributed, sounding not as a battle hardened king but rather a young lad in the midst of female exploration.  You laughed shortly, briefly, a gentle hiccup of sound that died even faster.  His fingers had found their way between your legs and he was brushing over the hairs that pattered over your core, sinking indulgently into the seam of wetness. 
Your face turned serious and he watched you curiously, studying and memorizing each emotion that spluttered over your cheeks and twisted your mouth.  You arched just a little, pushing your hips further into his hand, then breathlessly said, “I married you because I’m in love with you, Thorin, my king, âzyungel.” [2]
The reverence that your voice then took had him pausing, expression faltering into the sort of despair that love often brought to light.  He let out a deep breath.  Each second that it lasted was a second blown to pieces, shattered so completely that all you could do was stare up at him and wait for him to move.  When he did, it was with another deep sigh that, this time, seemed to penetrate right through his soul and straight into yours. 
“You make my head spin,” he admitted with a desperate kiss pressed tight to your mouth.  His body crushed over yours, but the weight was soothing: a comfort that tied you closer to him.  He planted firm kisses over your mouth, murmuring between them, “I feel lost without you.  Every day drags when you aren’t by my side.” 
His tongue raced over your lip and plunged into your parted mouth, writhing with yours with such abandon that you hardly remembered to draw breath.  Chest heaving, Thorin cupped your breast once more and squeezed, dragging a whimpered moan from your throat.  The kiss quickened: a raging battle of teeth and tongue and lust, such unbearable lust that had you drowning into silk sheets and against roughly hewn skin.
“I’m here now,” you gasped, head tilting up as if you were resurfacing from a deep lake and drawing thankful lungfuls of air.  And then, breathless still and shaking from that lust, you moaned and cried, “Take me, Thorin, before I die from the agony!”  For you were pounding, pulsating, waiting to be filled by him.  And you knew he was the same, because you could feel his desire spiking against you, hard like the stone of his mountain, sharp like the steel he used to mold.
He chuckled but didn’t delay, and was pushing into you moments later and sighing out at the feeling of completion.  “As my queen commands,” he muttered, eyes shining as he thrust your hips down.  You gasped, trembled, clung to him as the girth and size of his length tore through you.  It was a beautiful feeling.  It was beautiful and so very raw. 
His body had always taken your breath away.  The graceful but strong lines of each limb, each muscle collided with yours.  He moved like a king, with the power and authority of one; and yet he moved also as a warrior, his poise elegant and agile, his body scarred, tattooed and tanned, but refined.  Like siphoned steel, melted down and changed, beat into the curve of a blade.  And he speared you now, punctured you with both his body and his heart.  His eyes were full of life and full of his love for you, brimming over into the watery essence of frantic, almost violent joy.
Your fingers pressed that wetness away, saying nothing, for nothing needed to be said.  Thorin turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm, closing his eyes momentarily before grunting and hovering closer, hips shifting faster.  He gathered you up into his arms, your head laying atop them, your body caged within his. 
And he took you like that, until you writhed and thrashed from the powerful, surging pleasure.  Until he moaned and pressed his forehead to yours and drew you beneath the current of his desire for you.  You were both swept away then, as a river might sweep an unsuspecting victim.  Except if you were victims it was of your own violation, and you all but jumped into that boiling undercurrent with vehement moans and gasps and cries, until at last you found the shore and tumbled for it.
Still buried inside you, his finish dripping from your core, Thorin kissed you once again.  This kiss was different, slower, passionate with the gentle romance of two circling souls coming back to each other.  His tongue brushed against yours and you moaned, clinging to his shoulders as you felt his devotion burn the very threads of your being. 
And then, against his ardent mouth you hoarsely whispered, “Thorin…I think I want you again.”  In fact you’ve never wanted anything more, even though you were still full from him, even though the night beckoned you into its tender embrace.  But wide awake with passion, you would not find sleep.  And Thorin chuckled because the demand had his heart thrilling even as he wondered at his own dexterity.
“You’ll have to let me recover first, Ukrâduh,” he smiled, nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.  “Mmm…but who am I to deny my queen what she desires most?”  You smiled and laughed, sitting up and skirting around behind him.  Your hands began to touch his back, continuing the massage you had started before, but in more depth.
Leaning down to kiss his broad shoulder, you murmured, “Thank you, Thorin.”  And he glanced over his shoulder, knowing that the expression of gratitude went much deeper than simply succumbing to your wishes.  You were still unsure of your own queenly duties, still hesitant about the responsibilities suddenly thrust upon you.  And yet you knew that with him beside you, you would be able to do anything, and you would share in his strength and become the queen he needed, and deserved.
Thorin merely reached for your hand, laying it in his lap and grasping it tightly as you pressed yourself against his back, closed your eyes, and took comfort in the man you had become queen for. 

[1] Ukrâduh … My greatest heart
[2] âzyungel … my love


  1. Gah, this is amazing XD can't wait till my friend sees it

  2. You know I never really cared for Thorin as a character before until now, there is just something in your writing that transforms even the most unlikeable character into someone I can fall in love with. I wonder what a Draco lemon would be like? I imagine it would be something along the lines of angry sex.

    1. I'm actually planning something for Draco soon so you'll find out ;) It's going to be set after the war, so Draco will have mellowed out a bit. I suppose this is a challenge to make you fall for him too? Hehe. Accepted!

  3. You could be eligible for a complimentary Apple iPhone 7.

  4. I've only recently discovered Thorin. After viewing The Hobbit I had a couple of the hottest dreams imaginable about Thorin. I pulled up the image search of him and discovered all the fan fiction as well. I didn't care to read any of the fan fiction, knowing it could not compare to my own dreams :) The photo you used caught my attention and before I knew it I was reading your story - it was excellent.

  5. DAYUM GIRL! Honestly Thorin is just this smexy and I was scared to read any SMUT fanfic that wouldn't do him justice.
    Not gonna lie, this is the first thorinxreader SMUT I've read and: lord thankyou, I am blessed. The character's are on point and the way you wrote this story is just, I mean from this line 'He brought you to delirium just from dragging that kiss against you, burning it into your soul and leaving you gasping from the trembling onslaught of passion.' onwards I am 100% shook.
    Honestly I don't know you but ilysm. <3 Thankyou for creating and sharing! ^3^