For Empy (Fic): "Let Me Be Your Canvas" (Balin/ Thorin, light R)
Title: Let Me Be Your Canvas
Pair: Balin/ Thorin
Rating: Very soft R
Warnings: Hobbit mocking and adult themes
Notes: Written for Empy, who requested dwarves and tattoos. I hope you like it!
Props: Thank you to my dear beta Artemis for listening to the wails
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not now, nor have I ever had any claim over the characters mentioned within. Bilbo and the dwarves are the intellectual property of the Tolkien Estate. I make no money from this story.
(*Note* I tried to do smutty goodness, but it never quite gelled. Hopefully the quality makes up for it!)
Bilbo ambled through Rivendell’s gardens, glancing here and there. He stopped to sniff a flower before continuing on his way, unable to help feeling… underwhelmed. He had spent so many years dreaming of the elegant flowered arches, peaceful gazebos and myriad blooms of his mother’s tales, and now that he was finally seeing them for himself, the arches were no less elegant, the gazebos no less peaceful, and the blooms no less myriad.
It was with an odd sense of discontent that Bilbo made his way back to his traveling companions and the curious tap-tap-tap coming from a group gathered in the corner. He settled himself beside Bofur, who looked up in surprise. “Hoy there, Master Baggins. Back from smelling the roses already?”
Bilbo fought the urge to fidget as the tapping stopped, all attention now focused on himself. “For a bit. It’s getting close to mid-day, and it wouldn’t do to be late for lunch.”
“Are the flowers that fascinating that you’re going back out for more?” Kili’s tone clearly said he’d find more enjoyment from watching his own beard grow than from walking through a flower garden.
He would deny it to his last breath, but it was more out of loyalty to Belladonna’s memory than anything. “They are every bit as my mother described them.”
If his companions heard anything that sounded suspiciously like disappointment, they were kind enough to keep it to themselves. “So what’s happening over there?”
Kili nearly vibrated in his excitement. “Oh! Fili’s finally getting his-“ He broke off, enthusiasm dampened by Thorin’s frown of disapproval. “Stuff,” the younger prince finished weakly before slinking over to sit with his kin.
“Stuff,” Bilbo repeated, looking from one closed-off dwarven face to another. “Ahh, right. Good enough to travel across the world and help you take back your home, but not good enough to know about something being done in plain daylight for all to see. Fine, then.” He stood, dusted off his trousers, and stalked out.
Ori watched Bilbo stomp off, then glanced over at his brother with pleading eyes.
“No,” said Dori. “Don’t you even try that look on me, lad. You know the rules. We don’t tell our ways to outsiders.”
Ori sighed, shoulders slumping. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”
“Ori has a point, Uncle.”
Thorin looked down at his heir. “And what point would that be, Nephew.”
“Well,” Fili said, resettling under Dwalin’s glare. “We are asking him to do a very, very big favor, and other than a promise of gold - which he clearly doesn’t need, if his home is anything to go by - all we have given him in return is the privilege of being a troll hanky.”
“We did save him,” Thorin reminded him.
“Right, and he saved us back. Look, Uncle, I’m not saying we should teach him our language, but would it really hurt to tell him what Dwalin is doing to me?”
“Right now, anyway,” Kili teased.
Fili rolled his eyes. “Shut it. You’re just jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Kili protested just a little too quickly.
Thorin sighed and glanced over at one whose counsel had never failed him. “What say you, Balin?”
The elder dwarf sat in thought a moment. “Well… you know I am hardly one to abandon tradition. But it is a small allowance for what he is doing for the Company.”
The exiled king glanced at the rest of his Company before turning back to Fili. “Well, nephew, I leave this decision to you. But,” he warned. “Keep in mind that YOU will be the one we all blame for the downfall of our people. And all because you pitied a burglar for hire.”
Fili’s couldn’t decide if Thorin was jesting or not. “I’ll…take the risk. Ori, go after him, would you? No need for a lot of detail. And who knows, perhaps hobbits have their own ink tradition.”
Dwalin snorted. “Right, like anyone that soft would have what it takes.”
Fili grinned. “I really do! I bet my two best knives that our hobbit has at least 3 marks on him.”
“If I wanted your best knives,” said Thorin, rolling to his feet, “I would simply forge another pair. Besides, I agree with Dwalin. Master Baggins would faint if he saw a true Ink Master at work.”
Laughter flitted around the group. “Actually,” Kili said as he moved to take Thorin’s place at Fili’s side. “I’ll take that bet, because I think he knows about ink, but he’ll swear it’s something only a Took would do!”
“Now THAT I want in on!” Bofur hooted, watching Ori run after their huffy hobbit.
“Who’s he going to paint?” Oin wanted to know.
/~,~,~,@,~,~,~\
Several hours (and one very smug Kili) later, Thorin soaked in the bath he’d been led to. The attendant had said the pool was fed by a hot spring and reserved for guests only, so Thorin had taken the opportunity to scrub himself clean and enjoy the heat on road weary muscles. He let out a low groan as the knot of tension behind his shoulder gave way.
“Oh, now that is a sound I have not heard in far too long.”
The dwarf king rolled his head back against the pool’s edge, smiling faintly. “Balin.”
“Am I disturbing you?”
“If you are, it is a welcome disturbance. Join me.” Thorin patted the space beside him.
Never one needing to be told twice, Balin stripped and stepped into the hot water with a sigh. “Oh ai, this is nice.” After a moment, he looked over. “So what happened to not wandering off alone?”
Thorin snorted. Balin would call him on that, of course. “Do as I say, not as I do. A benefit of ruling.”
Balin chuckled and began to lather his beard. “Is that why you were so hard on the lads? I seem to recall a young dwarf who went months without a shirt after receiving his first mark.”
“Do you? I cannot recall such a dwarf, but perhaps he could not bear the thought of covering a fine work of art.”
Balin snorted. “More like you could not bear the thought of anything touching your skin while it healed.”
“Well, it was an ambitious design.” The younger dwarf turned in the water, resting his folded arms on the pool’s edge and glancing over at his companion.
“Ai, that it was. It turned out well enough, though. Certainly worth the time spent tapping it in.”
Thorin hummed and stretched, back muscles flexing. “They were good hours.”
They were pure torture, in Balin’s opinion. The young prince had come to him late in the evening after besting his own grandfather in the sparring pit, still high on adrenaline and drunk on his own power, and had demanded a night in his bed.
Though the temptation had been strong, Balin had sent him back to his rooms with a stinging lecture on manners and a suggestion to take a dip in the Long Lake.
It had been a much more humble Prince who had knocked on his door days later with a polite request for his company that evening. They had spent the entire night discussing and designing the tattoo Balin would be inking into Thorin’s back.
It had indeed been a challenging piece, the outline of the Mountain flowing from right shoulder to left hip. At its heart, a shadowed smith swung his hammer, forging the dwarven race into being.
To this day, it was still the finest piece Balin had ever created, but the long hours spent tapping the black ink into Thorin’s skin had taken his control to its limits. Thorin had been a beauty in his youth, bare and spread out under his combs, and the elder dwarf had spent more than one late night with a hand wrapped around himself and the young Prince’s name on his lips.
When the final ink was laid, Balin had thought for sure that would be the end of it. And then he’d opened his door to eager eyes and a sly grin.
Rather like the one directed at him now. Right here surrounded by the enemy? Naughty, gorgeous dwarf! He moved closer to temptation. “Mind if I take a look?”
Thorin smirked and leaned up. “By all means, old friend, look your fill.”
He waded over, letting his hands smooth over scarred and inked skin. “You’ve held up well over the years.”
“With as deeply as you hammered the pigment into my skin, I am not surprised.” Smooth muscles flexed.
“Oh come now, hammered?” Balin pressed close, kissing his neck. “And here I thought I was gentle…”
Thorin hummed softly. “That is not how I remember it. You will have to remind me, then.”
“I can do that.”
/~,~,~,@,~,~,~\
Bilbo looked up as a surprisingly bare chested Thorin rejoined the group, heading for his bedroll and pulling out a comb.
Moments later, Balin sat at the fire, starting the tedious task of brushing his beard.
Thorin braided his hair back for the night. “Balin, if you don’t mind, I was thinking about adding another mark once the Mountain is ours again.”
Balin nodded. “At your leisure, Highness.”
Bilbo eyed the massive tattoo on the King’s back, thought of how much time and pain would be involved, and shook his head. No, definitely not something a Baggins would do. Not at all.
Pair: Balin/ Thorin
Rating: Very soft R
Warnings: Hobbit mocking and adult themes
Notes: Written for Empy, who requested dwarves and tattoos. I hope you like it!
Props: Thank you to my dear beta Artemis for listening to the wails
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not now, nor have I ever had any claim over the characters mentioned within. Bilbo and the dwarves are the intellectual property of the Tolkien Estate. I make no money from this story.
(*Note* I tried to do smutty goodness, but it never quite gelled. Hopefully the quality makes up for it!)
Bilbo ambled through Rivendell’s gardens, glancing here and there. He stopped to sniff a flower before continuing on his way, unable to help feeling… underwhelmed. He had spent so many years dreaming of the elegant flowered arches, peaceful gazebos and myriad blooms of his mother’s tales, and now that he was finally seeing them for himself, the arches were no less elegant, the gazebos no less peaceful, and the blooms no less myriad.
It was with an odd sense of discontent that Bilbo made his way back to his traveling companions and the curious tap-tap-tap coming from a group gathered in the corner. He settled himself beside Bofur, who looked up in surprise. “Hoy there, Master Baggins. Back from smelling the roses already?”
Bilbo fought the urge to fidget as the tapping stopped, all attention now focused on himself. “For a bit. It’s getting close to mid-day, and it wouldn’t do to be late for lunch.”
“Are the flowers that fascinating that you’re going back out for more?” Kili’s tone clearly said he’d find more enjoyment from watching his own beard grow than from walking through a flower garden.
He would deny it to his last breath, but it was more out of loyalty to Belladonna’s memory than anything. “They are every bit as my mother described them.”
If his companions heard anything that sounded suspiciously like disappointment, they were kind enough to keep it to themselves. “So what’s happening over there?”
Kili nearly vibrated in his excitement. “Oh! Fili’s finally getting his-“ He broke off, enthusiasm dampened by Thorin’s frown of disapproval. “Stuff,” the younger prince finished weakly before slinking over to sit with his kin.
“Stuff,” Bilbo repeated, looking from one closed-off dwarven face to another. “Ahh, right. Good enough to travel across the world and help you take back your home, but not good enough to know about something being done in plain daylight for all to see. Fine, then.” He stood, dusted off his trousers, and stalked out.
Ori watched Bilbo stomp off, then glanced over at his brother with pleading eyes.
“No,” said Dori. “Don’t you even try that look on me, lad. You know the rules. We don’t tell our ways to outsiders.”
Ori sighed, shoulders slumping. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”
“Ori has a point, Uncle.”
Thorin looked down at his heir. “And what point would that be, Nephew.”
“Well,” Fili said, resettling under Dwalin’s glare. “We are asking him to do a very, very big favor, and other than a promise of gold - which he clearly doesn’t need, if his home is anything to go by - all we have given him in return is the privilege of being a troll hanky.”
“We did save him,” Thorin reminded him.
“Right, and he saved us back. Look, Uncle, I’m not saying we should teach him our language, but would it really hurt to tell him what Dwalin is doing to me?”
“Right now, anyway,” Kili teased.
Fili rolled his eyes. “Shut it. You’re just jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Kili protested just a little too quickly.
Thorin sighed and glanced over at one whose counsel had never failed him. “What say you, Balin?”
The elder dwarf sat in thought a moment. “Well… you know I am hardly one to abandon tradition. But it is a small allowance for what he is doing for the Company.”
The exiled king glanced at the rest of his Company before turning back to Fili. “Well, nephew, I leave this decision to you. But,” he warned. “Keep in mind that YOU will be the one we all blame for the downfall of our people. And all because you pitied a burglar for hire.”
Fili’s couldn’t decide if Thorin was jesting or not. “I’ll…take the risk. Ori, go after him, would you? No need for a lot of detail. And who knows, perhaps hobbits have their own ink tradition.”
Dwalin snorted. “Right, like anyone that soft would have what it takes.”
Fili grinned. “I really do! I bet my two best knives that our hobbit has at least 3 marks on him.”
“If I wanted your best knives,” said Thorin, rolling to his feet, “I would simply forge another pair. Besides, I agree with Dwalin. Master Baggins would faint if he saw a true Ink Master at work.”
Laughter flitted around the group. “Actually,” Kili said as he moved to take Thorin’s place at Fili’s side. “I’ll take that bet, because I think he knows about ink, but he’ll swear it’s something only a Took would do!”
“Now THAT I want in on!” Bofur hooted, watching Ori run after their huffy hobbit.
“Who’s he going to paint?” Oin wanted to know.
/~,~,~,@,~,~,~\
Several hours (and one very smug Kili) later, Thorin soaked in the bath he’d been led to. The attendant had said the pool was fed by a hot spring and reserved for guests only, so Thorin had taken the opportunity to scrub himself clean and enjoy the heat on road weary muscles. He let out a low groan as the knot of tension behind his shoulder gave way.
“Oh, now that is a sound I have not heard in far too long.”
The dwarf king rolled his head back against the pool’s edge, smiling faintly. “Balin.”
“Am I disturbing you?”
“If you are, it is a welcome disturbance. Join me.” Thorin patted the space beside him.
Never one needing to be told twice, Balin stripped and stepped into the hot water with a sigh. “Oh ai, this is nice.” After a moment, he looked over. “So what happened to not wandering off alone?”
Thorin snorted. Balin would call him on that, of course. “Do as I say, not as I do. A benefit of ruling.”
Balin chuckled and began to lather his beard. “Is that why you were so hard on the lads? I seem to recall a young dwarf who went months without a shirt after receiving his first mark.”
“Do you? I cannot recall such a dwarf, but perhaps he could not bear the thought of covering a fine work of art.”
Balin snorted. “More like you could not bear the thought of anything touching your skin while it healed.”
“Well, it was an ambitious design.” The younger dwarf turned in the water, resting his folded arms on the pool’s edge and glancing over at his companion.
“Ai, that it was. It turned out well enough, though. Certainly worth the time spent tapping it in.”
Thorin hummed and stretched, back muscles flexing. “They were good hours.”
They were pure torture, in Balin’s opinion. The young prince had come to him late in the evening after besting his own grandfather in the sparring pit, still high on adrenaline and drunk on his own power, and had demanded a night in his bed.
Though the temptation had been strong, Balin had sent him back to his rooms with a stinging lecture on manners and a suggestion to take a dip in the Long Lake.
It had been a much more humble Prince who had knocked on his door days later with a polite request for his company that evening. They had spent the entire night discussing and designing the tattoo Balin would be inking into Thorin’s back.
It had indeed been a challenging piece, the outline of the Mountain flowing from right shoulder to left hip. At its heart, a shadowed smith swung his hammer, forging the dwarven race into being.
To this day, it was still the finest piece Balin had ever created, but the long hours spent tapping the black ink into Thorin’s skin had taken his control to its limits. Thorin had been a beauty in his youth, bare and spread out under his combs, and the elder dwarf had spent more than one late night with a hand wrapped around himself and the young Prince’s name on his lips.
When the final ink was laid, Balin had thought for sure that would be the end of it. And then he’d opened his door to eager eyes and a sly grin.
Rather like the one directed at him now. Right here surrounded by the enemy? Naughty, gorgeous dwarf! He moved closer to temptation. “Mind if I take a look?”
Thorin smirked and leaned up. “By all means, old friend, look your fill.”
He waded over, letting his hands smooth over scarred and inked skin. “You’ve held up well over the years.”
“With as deeply as you hammered the pigment into my skin, I am not surprised.” Smooth muscles flexed.
“Oh come now, hammered?” Balin pressed close, kissing his neck. “And here I thought I was gentle…”
Thorin hummed softly. “That is not how I remember it. You will have to remind me, then.”
“I can do that.”
/~,~,~,@,~,~,~\
Bilbo looked up as a surprisingly bare chested Thorin rejoined the group, heading for his bedroll and pulling out a comb.
Moments later, Balin sat at the fire, starting the tedious task of brushing his beard.
Thorin braided his hair back for the night. “Balin, if you don’t mind, I was thinking about adding another mark once the Mountain is ours again.”
Balin nodded. “At your leisure, Highness.”
Bilbo eyed the massive tattoo on the King’s back, thought of how much time and pain would be involved, and shook his head. No, definitely not something a Baggins would do. Not at all.