Dedicated to ChizomenoHime: you are such a generous reader/reviewer! So, I whisked a little something for you (in half an hour between my errands :D) after getting your review for "Me Without You" :)
After the events of Chapter 102...
Wren landed in the tub, hot water splashing around her, and she laughed. She pressed her hand over her mouth, not quite sure how much sound penetrated the walls of the rooms they were placed in.
"I am still wearing my undergarments, you brute!" she snorted, and indeed, her gauzy chemise and bloomers were now stuck to her body, soaked.
"And what a view they present!.." the King purred, licking his lips. Wren suddenly felt so aroused that - instead of washing quickly and getting repose that they all deserved after a combat, and long journey, and all the emotional turmoil - she decided she needed a night of lechery with her husband. After all, they had been deprived of each other's intimate company for several days.
She rolled on her stomach, keeping her head above the water, her bum floating up, like a buoy on a lake. That produced a loud, animalistic growl inside the King Under the Mountain, he jerked off his undertunic and pushed down his trousers together with his breeches, and started climbing into the tub. His hand lay on her buttock even before he managed to sit down. Wren giggled. And then they both moved, fitting it, intertwining, and he caught her mouth.
Sand screeched on the teeth, and Wren tore her mouth off his.
"We should wash first, Thorin." The King was clearly failing to hear her, as his lips and even teeth travelled down her neck, and he sucked at her throat greedily. "Thorin... My body needs repose. I am growing your son in it..."
That made him stop, and he slightly moved away from her.
"Forgive me, my heart..." His voice sounded sincerely regretful, and Wren pressed a finger to his lips.
"I did not mean we need to go to sleep. I just meant, it is best if we wash first." She picked up a cloth and soap bar from the edge of the tub. "Here... I will undress, and you can wash me. And then I will return the favour. And then..." She leaned in and brushed her lips to his cheek above the deliciously coarse beard. "We will test how stable this Dwarven bed is."
The King seemed rather content with this plan, as he started energetically rubbing the soap bar to the cloth, lathering thick fragrant foam. Wren smiled to him and pulled the chemise off her body. The King's eyes immediately fell on her peaks.
Wren was sitting across his lap, and it took quite a lot of shuffling and shifting to take off her bloomers, which seemed to make the King's member, already erect and hard, grow seemingly even longer and thicker.
Wren carefully placed her garments into a basin, clearly put for that purpose near the tub, and she sat facing the King, her legs around his waist. He was by then eagerly awaiting her with the cloth in his hand.
To be honest, Wren expected him to brush the cloth to her skin a time or two, and then lose his composure and ravish her. They had been overtaxed, shaken by the experience of nearly dying just the night before, and in combination with abstinence of the last few days, she thought he'd be unable to control his passion.
Instead he gently picked up one of her hands and started washing it, in tender feathery strokes. One finger after another was tended to, and then he moved up, to the wrist, turning the hand carefully palm up, and then the forearm, and her elbow, and then even closer to her shoulder. Wren was watching his face, surprised by the tender, somewhat melancholic expression on it. She wondered if she should ask him, but then decided against it. If there were something he wanted to talk about, he would mention it, she assumed.
And she was right. The King carefully put her hand down, on his chest, and picked up the second one. He washed her fingers, the palm, and then without slowing down his soft gentle caresses he spoke quietly, "I had never in my life been scared as I was last night."
"It is understandable, my heart," she answered softly. "And I am sorry for the warriors you lost today." He nodded, his eyes still on the measured movement of his hand on her skin.
"I saw an arrow enter your body, Wren. It is not something I want to ever see again." Wren moved the hand he wasn't washing and cupped his jaw.
"I am sorry, my heart..."
"My first thought was of the babe. That it was in danger..." This time the King's voice was almost inaudible, and Wren rubbed her thumb to his beard. And then she realised that what she thought was the worry lingering in his eyes and in the bitter lines near his mouth was instead... shame. She tilted her head, pondering the man in front of her. And then realisation dawned.
"Thorin, are you ashamed of worrying of your child before me?" she exclaimed, and a grimace ran the King's face. She saw his jaws clench, and she pulled the other arm out of his grasp and embraced him around the neck. He was hiding his eyes from her.
"Thorin, please, look at me. You have nothing to feel ashamed of. I would feel the same way!" He lifted his face slowly, and their eyes met. Wren gave him a small encouraging smile. "You are a Dwarf, my heart. Nothing matters more to you than your child. And I am sure in equal circumstances I would feel the same. When Thror grows up, and the two of you travel, I will worry of him more than you."
Wren spoke, hoping to reassure the King, and instead she saw his eyes widen and some sort of vast, devastating emotion flood his features. Wren froze, her eyes roaming his face, trying to determine what this emotion was, when the King gulped and rasped out, "Thror?"
"Oh..." Wren exhaled. She forgot to share this knowledge with him. "In my latest dream when I saw Dain, I saw a nursery, and a rattle… Silver one, with ravens on the handle… It had the name on it. Thror, son of Thorin..." The more Wren talked, the more pale the King was growing. "Thorin?" Wren asked concerned for him.
"Were there little sapphires in the birds' eyes, and were they sitting on a large half open trunk?" he asked, still taking some alarming short gulps of air.
"Yes, they were... but Thorin, are you quite alright?" Wren pressed her hand to his neck, worried for his heart. And suddenly he pulled her in, crushing her. "Thorin..."
"Sh-h-h… Give me a jiffy..." he muttered, and Wren stilled, and embraced him tightly in return. They sat in the water for a while, and then he inhaled purposefully and moved her to look into her face, but still keeping her in the circle of his arms.
"It was mine… My rattle. With three ravens, sitting on a trunk. It had no name engraved on it. According to my father, when it was made and shown to me, I felt instant fancy for it, and they didn't have time to add my name on it. It is somewhere among the treasures of Erebor."
Wren smiled to him wider. An image of him, as a babe, popped in her mind, and she giggled.
"What were you like when you were a child?" she asked, and stretched her hand. She ran her fingers through his hair and then twirled on ebony thread around her finger.
"I was a gift from Mahal. Those caring for me had no complaints." Wren giggled. Somehow, she doubted the truthfulness of his words, which she expressed by giving him a sarcastic look. The corners of his lips curled up in a half hidden smirk. But then his face grave again.
"So, this is not... Dain you are carrying under your heart?" he asked, and his scorching heavy palm lay on her stomach.
"Not according to what he said in my dreams."
"Thror..." the King pronounced slowly, his voice reverential. "Thror, son of Thorin..." Wren leaned in and kissed him tenderly.
"And your worry for him only means what a wonderful father you will be..." The King lifted his eyes to her, a storm of emotions splashing in them.
"Father… I have just realised I am going to be a Father..." His voice was raspy, eyes brilliant blue.
"You are, my love. And an excellent one." Wren kissed the King again, and this time he returned the caress.
And then their arms went around each other's bodies, lips were moving more and more forcefully, and fire and heat were growing between them and in their bodies, and then Wren rose slightly, and the King understood her intention without discussing it, and he pushed his hand under water and led his member to her entrance. Wren sank on him, and they both moaned loudly.
Their love was passionate, but restrained. They were savouring the movements, the taste, and the tough, celebrating living, and the new life growing in Wren, and their rapture came in a sweet slow wave, simultaneous, and devastating.
They hurriedly washed each other and climbed out of the tub. Wren pulled on a nightdress she had in her travel sack, the King only put on fresh breeches. And they slid under thick warm blankets and covers. Wren couldn't keep her eyes open, but already half asleep she mumbled into her husband's chest she was settled on, "Tomorrow… before we go to see the babes… I need to talk to you… before it, it is important..."
"Of course, my heart..." the King sounded no less drowsy, and she felt him press his lips to the crown of her still damp hair. "We shall speak tomorrow..."
"It is already today..." Wren mumbled, but the King didn't answer, as he was fast asleep already.