Sulûn (The Falling) [Tolkien Dwarf FanFic - Third Age]

Meeting the King

Author's Note: More mild smut ahoy

With those words Nain pulled me tight into a ravenous kiss. His sudden, fierce amorousness caught me by surprise,and the cleric very quietly excused himself as quickly as could be arranged. "You are mine," Nain growled as he pushed me backwards against his desk, the wood digging into the backs of my thighs.  I gasped as I fell back under his assault of rough kisses, causing parchment to crumple and roll to the floor, and a candle to fall, spilling molten wax onto the dark, polished wood. I heard the strings of gems on my circlet scrape against the table, likely marring the finish, as Nain nuzzled my head to the side, revealing the soft flesh of my neck to his eager lips.

Nain nipped at my exposed neck. A moan that was more than half a purr escaped me as he marked my throat with his lips and teeth. I snaked my arms under his mass of ebony plaits to tug the soft hair at the back of his head, eliciting a rather more gravelly moan directly into my ear. "Oh, Thundel, Men-zu," I cooed as I wrapped my legs around him, hiking my dress up scandalously around my hips and pulling his hard flesh into me. There was a brief thought spared for the state of my gown and if it would ever be a wearable garment after this, but it was a scant moment of concern.

He pulled away for a moment from my clutching hands and stood within the embrace of my legs, looking down at my brazen display as I writhed atop his desk, desperate for more contact. His fingers glided down the curve of my cheek, brushing my loose hair away from my face, then through my beard, lightly grazing my lips, red and swollen from kissing. He touch quieted my body, and I found my gaze captured by his in a moment profoundly soul-baring. "So beautiful," he mused, "my Mizimel."

A silent war waged within me until my baser nature won out. I reached toward Nain's face and grabbed the braids of his house on either side of his head, the ones that I now shared, and pulled him roughly to my lips. "Garafa-mên, Yâsûn," I moaned into his mouth while tightening the grip of my legs, causing his hardened flesh to press more firmly into me in the most delicious way, and judging by his shuddering breath the art of my subtlety was not lost upon him.

It was that day I realized what a blessing robes were. There was no fumbling with buckles or laces, or anything else to slow or inconvenient. Indeed, I went from wantonly writhing on Nain's desk begging him to take me to being very thoroughly taken before I even knew what was happening. We hadn't even properly disrobed. Had I have been asked what the consummation of my marriage would be like, this would not have been my first guess. I would have thought it would be more in line with the extravagant romance of the gilded bath, but this was somehow better. It was more true to the devouring sort of love we held for one another. The need he had for me was wholly intoxicating, and the need I had for him was nearly suffocating. Though it was hard to focus on the terror of the depth of our connection when Nain was so gorgeous hovering over me as I clung to him, his dark eyes burning into mine as he filled me and took me for his own.

---

We lay in a heap upon Nain's desk, atop what I could only imagine were very important parchments, which were now likely ruined from dripping wax and the sweat from our union. Indeed, we were lucky the fallen candle had not set the table top aflame. Nain's head lay upon my breast and I smoothed the dampened hair away from his face which had broken free of his braids, my fingers quickly shirking their task to trace his prominent brow, down the crease of confusion that had formed between his dark eyebrows, down the strong bridge of his nose, smoothing his mustache and hesitating on his soft lips. I do not believe he understood the mind of a craftsman, wanting to memorize the planes of his face with my touch, though I knew I would never succeed in capturing his likeness in wood, he was too dear to me to even attempt. He had a fair face, a strong face, the face of a ruler, and now this was the face of my husband. He kissed my fingertips and took my hand in his to rest over my heart. I sighed. Partially in contentment, but also for the travesty of having our first marital encounter being a frantic rut upon his desk, which likely irreparably mussed our wedding clothes as well as set back some matters of state.