You were scowling.

All you had wanted was a peaceful night—you had wanted to finish that novel, at home, beside a roaring fire where you'd probably end up falling asleep, completely content. You certainly did not want to be battling your way through the mass of bodies in the overcrowded tavern, dodging groping hands and dealing with suggestive remarks.

You hadn't even wanted to go out, but you'd been forced, despite your protests—and there had been many—and now it was your turn to brave the crowd and get the next round of ale for your friends. The tavern was pushed past capacity and the fool of an owner didn't seem to see the danger in this, as he kept granting more people entry.

You wrinkled your nose, side-stepping a reaching hand. You knew better.

Finally making it to the bar, you leaned against it for support for a moment. The air was thick with sweat and heat, loud with laughter and shouts and merrymaking. You could no longer hear the wind howling outside, or feel the cold chill that crept into your bones when you were least suspecting it. The awful weather was the sole reason so many had sought refuge in the tavern, where there was ale and food and warmth to help them forget the storm brewing.

"Raymond," you called out to the stressed looking bartender after recognising the mused hair. You didn't realize he'd be working tonight—though you should've known. This was his father's tavern, after all. He grinned back at you when you raised a disbelieving eyebrow, gesturing around at the number of people inside. He just shook his head in a don't-even-ask way.

One of the barmaids flew by, frazzled and exhausted, shouting, "We need more hands!"

"We don't have any!" He yelled back. He kept refilling mugs as fast as he could, barmaids practically running past, loading up their trays and calling out more orders before taking off again. Despite their speed, there was still a pile of mugs waiting to be taken to their patrons.

You watched as the same barmaid dropped off two mugs at a table before returning again. She pushed her hair out of her face, ignoring you, and gesturing around the room as she spoke, "Three more for those idiots over there, eight at that table and—oh, crap! The guy in the corner's been waiting for his ale for fifteen minutes!"

Then a group of men started yelling about refills, and noticing the greater threat, she filled her tray and took off towards them. You shake your head, "you need more staff!"

At your words, his eyes widened in recognition, taking on a sly light as he glanced back down at you and grinned. You realized your mistake right away, shaking your head and taking a step back from the bar. "No. Definitely not. Not going to happen."

Raymond whined your name, giving you a pleading look, "Please! Help us out—you used to work here! You know how things work, you know most of the people in here!"

"Yeah, and then you fired me!" You shouted exasperatedly.

"Because you were threatening the customers with bodily harm!" He retorted. "Not exactly good for business!"

You didn't shy away from resorting to violent methods—your job included cleaning and taking drinks to people. Not letting patrons cop a feel and being okay with it. And okay, so maybe you had a bit of a temper—and really, it made you the worst barmaid they'd ever had—but you weren't about to let things go unchecked. You had to make it extremely clear to everybody that grabbing your ass and squeezing was not okay. So what if you'd whacked that particular customer over the head with your tray? He'd recovered.


Ray continued to plead with you, and you groaned, giving in. He had been a good boss (despite his fool of a father), and you felt obliged to help him out rather than leaving him in the lurch. If your positions were reversed, you knew he'd do the same for you. "I'm not going to be nice."

He considered this and you rolled your eyes. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Fine. But no fights, okay? Otherwise I'll have to kick you out."

"Fine." You went around the bar and grabbed an apron, wrapping it around your waist and grabbing a tray. Once you'd loaded it up, you set off around the room, heading to your friends first. You handed them their drinks, explaining that you'd agreed to help out. They complained for a few minutes, but once they realized the matter had already been settled, they gave up, and you went back to work.

Your first stop, the guy in the corner. You prepared yourself for an irate customer, considering he'd been waiting so long. But then you rounded the corner to find the old dwarf with the long grey beard, and you relaxed your shoulders. Balin, you were sure his name was. He'd told you once.

As you approached, you noticed the arrival of another dwarf, shaking off his cloak and sliding into the seat beside Balin. They caught sight of you, weaving towards them, and Balin smiled. The other dwarf merely watched you, and you stiffened slightly when you recognized him.

Thorin Oakenshield. He'd showed up in town one day, months ago, looking for work as a blacksmith, and ended up becoming a frequent in the tavern at night after he'd finished for the day. Your employer had been wary at first; not many dwarves were in these parts. But he always paid his bill, and your employer no longer cared so long as he got his money.

You'd quickly come to learn he was abrupt, bordering on rude, never speaking to you directly if he could help it. It rubbed you the wrong way. Especially considering you'd feel eyes tracking you through the room as you worked, and you knew they belonged to him. So, he had no problem staring at you all night, but he wouldn't even deign to answer you?

You always got the feeling that as the night wore on, he'd be propelled closer to an internal precipice, teetering on the edge, right on the verge of doing or saying something that would let you know something more about him. But he never did—always holding back. Restraining himself as he fought an inner battle. And it certainly wasn't in you to make it easy for him.

You set the mug, filled to the brim and frothing, down in front of Balin, who smiled again. "Thank you, lass."

You nodded, before glancing to the side to find Thorin watching you still. His dark, hooded eyes were far too focused, his stare so intense it made tingles run over your skin and a warmth to pool in your stomach.

At your flustered state, irritation sprang up. You should be too busy running about, giving people their drinks and restraining the need to tackle those with straying hands to let yourself be distracted by the ridiculous force of his eyes. Your voice came out a tad more aggressive than you normally spoke. "Can I get you anything?"

He didn't say anything, and Balin answered for him, "He'll just have an ale too, lass."

Your jaw tightened and you sent Thorin a glare, snapping, "If he wants an ale, he can bloody well ask for it himself."

You swore his lips twitched, and on anyone else it could've become laughter. His eyes darted over your shoulder, and you turned, following his line of vision. Ray stood at the bar, giving you a pointed look and mouthing no fights. Sighing, you turned back around, a sickly sweet smile that was more of a grimace plastered on your face. "I'll get that ale for you."

You squeezed back through the crowds, elbowing people perhaps a little harder than necessary, collecting up empty mugs to be refilled, and working your way through the room. You ignored Ray's words of keeping a handle on your temper, loading up with more ale before making your way around the room, deliberately avoiding the back corner where he was.

A hand slapped your ass cheek and you froze. Spinning around, you automatically guessed who'd been stupid enough to do that. His friends guffawed, sending him approved looks. When he turned to find you were still there, his wide grin slipped ever so slightly. He seemed to wilt somewhat at the venom in your glare.

"Do that again," your voice was a low, warning hiss, "and you'll lose your hand. Got it?"

He wasn't quit drunk enough to be emboldened yet, so he nodded, and you continued with the job you'd been coerced into. There, Ray would be proud—you hadn't laid a hand on him in retaliation. You felt eyes on you again, starting a slow burning under your skin, a tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your jaw clenched at your reaction. You didn't need to look over to know who it was watching you.

After your third trip back, you finally decided it had been long enough, and you walked back over to where the two dwarves had been sitting. You frowned when you noticed Balin had left, his mug empty on the table. But you'd felt eyes on you the whole way, and knew without looking that Thorin at least was still there.

His staring set you on edge, and you pushed the mug of ale towards him, some of the amber liquid sloshing out. "Here."

You turned to leave when he spoke, and you were too shocked to keep walking and ignore him. "You were fired."

Of course he noticed, when he stared like that. You rolled your eyes at the statement, "I'm aware of that."

"And now you're working again."

The few times you'd actually had what could possibly be considered a conversation, you always felt like you were dancing around something. Like his questions were more loaded that you could know. But that could've been because of the way he stared with a suffocating intensity.

"Observant of you," you snarked, pushing back the flush trying to work its way up your neck. He didn't reply, but his face took on a dark look, like he didn't appreciate your sass. You blinked, barely realizing you were standing there still. Then hands wrapped around your waist from behind suddenly and you shrieked—though, you would deny it later. "Oi!"

Chuckles resounded from the group of men at the next table, and you vaguely remembered they'd been drinking like fish all night. You brought the tray down on the hands at your waist, fighting as he tried to pull you down onto his lap. He yelped, letting go, and you stepped back with a snarling curse.

You backed into one of his friends that was managing to stand, the strong scent of alcohol washing over you. His hand slipped over your thigh, towards your ass, and you shoved at him to push him away. He was stronger than you gave him credit for, though, and his other hand quickly mirrored the actions of his first hand, pulling you flush against his body.

You growled a warning, hissing, "Let go of me, before I make you."

"You have a pretty mouth." His eyes were glazed and his words slurred at the ends slightly, but he was steady on his feet. "I can think of better things it can do than snarl threats."

You sucked in a short, deep lungful, clenching your jaw as Ray's words echoed in your head. No fights. "Last chance."

He clearly wasn't listening to you as he leaned in close, his heated breath seeming to stick to your skin. Despite his proximity, his voice was still loud enough to carry to his friends. "I promise I can give it to you better than that dwarf can."

You glanced quickly over at Thorin who was watching the exchange with unreadable eyes, not moving an inch to help you. The hand wrapped around his mug of ale was white from the force of his grip, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn't like you needed any help anyway.

You brought your knee up to connect with his groin as hard as you could. He doubled over, letting you go, and you stepped back just enough to punch him in the face. Your fist connected with his nose, emitting a painful crunch, and he collapsed to the floor, withering in pain. "Yew bith!"

"That," you snapped, "was for putting your hands on me without my permission, you ass. Do it again, and I promise children will be out of the question for you!"

He got up, his face contorted in pain and anger, a violent shade of red, and for a second, you worried what he was about to do in retaliation. But then he was on the ground again, unconscious, and you frowned, glancing up to find Thorin standing above him, face blank except for the fire burning in his eyes, as he straightened and unclenched his fist.

It would've escalated—the drunk man's friends would've attacked Thorin, and it would've eventually turned into a large-scale bar fight. But Ray got there first, stepping between you and them, and pulling you back, his voice loud and carrying his warning. "No fighting in my bar."

There were angry mutters, but Ray continued on, kicking the unconscious lump that had been the drunk man, "Take him upstairs so he can sleep it off, the idiot."

There was more grumbling as the other men lifted their friend up and headed towards the stairs at the back, where the rooms were. And then Ray glanced at you and Thorin, then back to you, sighing like you were the bane of his existence. "And you. I told you I'd kick you out for fighting. Both of you, get out."

Your heart was still racing, your hand tingling from the punch, as you were ushered to the door, your cloak shoved into your hands and the apron untied from your waist. You didn't have time to protest and plead your innocence before the door slammed shut behind you, you and Thorin standing there in the snow as frozen wind whipped up around you.

You didn't want to be there any longer, anyway. In fact, you didn't want to be there in the first place, and you vowed that next time, you wouldn't let your friends force you out. Thorin broke the silence, surprising you again. "Have you always had such a temper?"

You shivered, pulling on your cloak and beginning to walk away. When he fell into step beside you, you sighed, turning to respond when you noticed he was staring again. You blurted out the question you'd been wondering about for months now. "Why do you stare at me?"

He didn't turn away, even though you'd called him on his staring. You shivered again, glad you lived close by—it was the reason you applied to be a barmaid in the first place. Convenience.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Your jaw clenched. "That wasn't an answer"

"Neither was that."

Frustration bubbled up as you spotted your home, veering towards it and huffing angrily as you stomped through the snow. "Why are you following me? Are you stalking me?"

He made a low noise as you made it to your front door, his hand clasping around your arm and spinning you around so you faced him. He looked at you darkly, and you realized how close he was to you, and the fact that he was just slightly taller. Broader. Muscled. And you'd led him right to your door.

You didn't feel threatened, though. If anything, you felt excited. You licked your lips, and watched as his eyes dropped down to watch the movement, before snapping back up. "I am not stalking you."

"Then what do you call this?" You raised an eyebrow, tilting your chin up and not backing down. "Because it certainly looks like—"

His mouth landed on yours roughly in a demanding kiss, and you did not protest.

As far as you were concerned, you'd both been working up to this moment ever since he first walked into the tavern before you'd been fired. You had just been determined to make it as difficult as possible for him, and your temper certainly played a generous hand in that.

Pleasure blossomed throughout your body as you hungrily kissed him back. His lips were rough and chapped against yours, but you didn't want it any other way. Your hands twisted into his hair, pulling his mouth closer still, his beard scratching against your skin as his tongue slipped into your wet mouth to tangle with your own. He backed you both up, slamming you into the wall of your home and pressing close.

The hardened length of his cock dug into your stomach, making his desire known and making you gasp in surprise. "That was quick."

He growled in irritation. "I've been hard ever since you threw that punch. I wanted to take you right there and then."

His words sent a shiver completely unrelated to the storm through your body, everything inside you tightening in want. Your hands fisted in his shirt, scrabbling to pull it up so you could slip your hands underneath. You ran your hands along his well-defined chest, through the coarse curls of hair there, before slipping down the taut muscle to rub at the bulge in the front of his trousers, loosening the ties.

A low growl left him as his hips jerked forward, pressing his erection against your hand. His fingers curled around your wrist, pulling your groping hand away. "No."

You frowned, and tried to reach back down again. He stopped you again, lifting your hands above your head and holding them there. Irritated, you struggled against him, not liking being restrained—you wanted to touch him just as much as he wanted to touch you. "Let me!"

You realized he wanted to dominate you, to be completely in control. You didn't mind if he wanted to take the lead, but you would not be told what to do just because he wanted it. He groaned, "Stop moving!"

He was stronger than you—struggling would be pointless. So you stopped, letting him think he'd won. He slid one hand down your leg, yanking it up around his hips as his mouth moved to your neck, making you moan. You tilted your head back against the wall and relished the feel of him tormenting the delicate skin. When you moaned again, you felt his lips smirk against your overheated skin. He knew exactly what he was doing and he knew how it was working you up.

He let your wrists go, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in close to his body, and there was suddenly heat everywhere. It radiated off him through your layers of clothing, burning away to the point where you forgot you were standing outside in the middle of a snowstorm. The cold only became a burn, and only encouraged the fire coursing through your veins.

You took the opportunity.

Your hand darted down, slipping under his trousers and grasping his throbbing shaft in a firm grip. You were playing dirty, but you didn't care. He froze, tensing, and you smirked at how you suddenly had all the power. He growled at you, but his warning was empty. You shifted, spinning you both around so you could push him into the wall, and you sank to your knees in front of him. His cloak wrapped around you, blocking out the cold air. Lifting his shirt slightly, you kissed along his stomach, just above the top of his trousers, running your other hand up and down his thigh.

He hissed when you shoved his trousers down his legs just far enough to release him, the engorged head of his cock, already slick with moisture, standing fully aroused. You caressed the hard panes of his abdomen, tiny tremors tickling your fingers while your other hand still held onto him so he wouldn't push you off. He breathed in sharply, body straining when you gave him a single pump.

You glanced up under your lashes at him to find his eyes black with lust as he watched you, and you held his gaze as you wrapped your mouth around the tip of him. His head fell back to hit the wall, curses spilling from his lips.

You sucked him, taking him further into your mouth, and your hand wrapped around the base to stroke him, letting your hand trail down to cup his heavy sack. His hips jerked forward, thrusting into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, moving your mouth along his pulsing cock.

"Mahal, yes," he groaned. You hollowed your cheeks, sliding your tongue along the underside of his penis, tracing the vein, when his hands fisted in your hair and pulled you away, lips sliding off him with a wet sound. "You're about to make me come."

"And?" You grinned, not able to help yourself as you flicked your tongue out over his tip and made him hiss in frustration.

You didn't resist when, jaw clenched, he dragged you up—you didn't want this to be over so soon, when things were only just starting. He pinned you with a stare that flooded your body with want. "Unless you want me to fuck you out here, we had better go inside. Now."

It was tempting, the image filling your mind, an ache throbbing between your legs. But you could feel the cold creeping along your skin, and decided against it. There was a quick amount of fumbling from you as you managed to get the door open, heart racing in excitement. As you closed the door behind both of you, he had you shoved against it, pinning you there, and you knew you were in trouble.

"Why do you insist on disobeying me?" You could feel his erection against your ass as he grinded his hips against you. Any reply you might have had left you as your mind blanked, and all you knew was sensation. His hot breath splayed across your neck, and a gasping moan left your lips when his palms lid up to grab your breasts. He rubbed at the erect buds straining through the fabric of your dress and you writhed, squeezing your thighs. He removed your cloak, before continuing to drive you crazy. "I am a Prince."

Yanking the shoulders of your dress down, he palmed at the soft flesh, flicking and pinching your nipples. The roughness of his skin sent jolts of sensation down to your sex. His mouth worked over the hypersensitive skin of your neck, your head falling back to land on his shoulder.

"But you are not my Prince," you pointed out, and he pressed down on your nipples and bit your neck—not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark—in retaliation. You moaned, rotating your hips to rub your ass against his cock, and he pressed you tighter to the wooden door to make you stop.

You knew this sensual torture was a show of authority in retaliation for earlier—he had you completely immobilized and completely at his mercy. The only response you could conjure was a thick moan.

His hands slide down your sides, gathering the material of your dress up around your hips so he could reach the tender skin of your legs. He shifted his hands up and down your inner thighs, increasing the pressure as he drew close to your juncture, but never touching. You shifted your stance wider, moving your legs apart and giving him more room as his thumbs brushed against slick folds. "Th…orin."

His low voice was husky with arousal and amusement. "What?"

Irritation flashed through you—he knew what you wanted. "Thorin. Give me more."

His hand slipped closer and you jerked your hips forward, thinking he was going to do what you wanted. But you didn't get the delicious friction you sought, his fingers evading you.

"Beg me for it."


He chuckled, his hand continuing to avoid the area you needed his touch most. Equal parts desperation and annoyance filled your chest—you felt like you would explode at any second if he didn't touch you, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction. The longer you stayed quiet, the longer your control frayed, until it completely snapped. "Please!"

"Please what?"

"Fuck you," you snarled. You'd said it, and if he wasn't going to follow up, then you would just do it yourself. You wriggled about, trying to get free, but he kept you locked there, making you cry out in frustration.

"Please what?" It sounded like he was asking through gritted teeth, and you wondered if he was suffering just as much as you.

Your forehead came forward to rest on the door in defeat. "Please make me come."

You'd barely finished asking before a finger slid along your entrance. Your hips bucked violently when he pressed down on your bundle of nerves, drawing tight, firm circles over your clit. Pressure coiled fiercely in your abdomen, jolts of pleasure drowning you, and you didn't think you'd be able to take much more.

He slipped a finger inside you, your inner muscles clenching around him, your thighs beginning to twitch. "You're so tight."

A second finger joined the first, stretching you wider as he pumped them in and out of you. His arms held you tight to him, pressure on your hip bones as he drove his fingers deeper into you, raking over that spot that made you melt into a pitiful mess of pleading and desperation. Your hands held onto his tunic to keep your legs from giving out.

He wound you tighter and tighter, sucking on your neck and slowly grinding his hips into your ass. You felt like your body was on fire, and then your breathing hitched, and suddenly his fingers disappeared from you. A whimpering whine left you, "Wha…"

You had been so close, and you blinked as the haze from your tingling skin settled a little.

"I want you now," he bit out.

You twisted your head to look at him, to find him licking his fingers clean. It sent another jolt to the pit of your stomach as you watched. When he was done, he spun you around, and stripped you of your dress in one motion so you stood before him completely naked.

He yanked his shirt over his head, and then he was pushing you back up against the door. Harshly, he pulled your knee up and you wrapped it around his waist. Seconds later, your other leg joined the first, hooking together. "Put me inside you."

You reached for him, pushing his pants down and guiding the head of his leaking cock to your entrance. You moaned when he slid against you, and in one thrust, he sheathed himself inside you. His fingers held your hips in a hard grip, and you stayed still, reveling in the feeling of him filling you.

"So tight," he grunted. "So wet for me."

Your muscles clutched at him, and you shifted, desperate for that friction that would drive you both where you wanted to go. He drew back until only the head of his cock was inside you before thrusting back in, starting up a slow, rhythmic pumping.

He dusted moist kisses to your collarbone, grunting, "I'm going to make you scream my name so loud that that drunken fool can hear you. No man can give it to you better than I can."

All you could respond with was, "Yes!"

Your fingernails bit into the skin of his back and he hissed. His mouth became rougher and one hand slid up to palm your breast, his body going rigid as he pushed into you deep. "You feel so good. Mahal."

He was big and thick inside you as he fucked you against the door, heated skin against you. You shifted your hips to meet his thrusts, your hands all over him, and you felt the building sensation in your core, the tingling in the tips of your breasts and the depths of your core. His hand left your breast to circle your clit. "Thorin!"

You moaned, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, rubbing against that sweet spot inside you until you couldn't take it anymore. You flung your head back and screamed his name as an explosive, white-hot heat shattered inside you, radiating out through your body. Your vision failed for what felt like an eternity as you soared.

When your high began to settle, you felt Thorin still thrusting into you, his rhythm shorter and faster until he went rigid and jerked against you. His arms tightened around your waist until you couldn't breathe—though it hardly seemed important—and he slumped against you.

You could feel the erratic beating of his heart against your chest as you both panted, your muscles relaxing after your frenzied motions. After a minute, you shifted to make him set you down, but instead, he gripped you to him tighter. "You're not going anywhere."

You grinned wickedly at him. "I was just going to show you where my bed is."

So…hi. Yeah. Um. This wasn't my first attempt at smut, but it's definitely the first I've posted, so I'm a bit on the fence about it. If you have any criticism/thoughts—or if, amazingly, it was actually any good—let me know.

Tips/advice are welcomed. I'm basically practicing my smut writing.

Thanks for reading!