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Thorin would write this off as mere curiosity, for that had been what had started this nonsense. Though if he were being honest with himself, curiosity only went as far as trying the dress on. Doing his hair, however, and eyeing his sister’s facial products was a different story entirely.
But honestly, he was just curious.
For years he had been hearing how much alike he and his sister looked, though they could never quite see it. They both agreed that they looked much more related than they did to Frerin, but they still didn’t see the resemblance. Especially not to believe the claims that they could be twins. For one, Dís was younger, a woman, and her beard wasn’t nearly as full as Thorin’s.
It was something he held over her head with much delight.
On this particular day, Thorin had been looking for his sister, though at this moment he couldn’t quite remember why, when he’d seen the dress.
It was a brand new gown, made for his sister though it was far too fine a thing to wear every day. It was a deep blue velvet (Thorin’s colour, he had noted with far too much interest to be innocent), with intricate, silver embroidery along the deep, rounded neckline, down the long sleeves, as well as following the pleats of the skirt. The designs were slightly elvish, much more delicate than the usual dwarvish kind, but it was a softer dress, made to have the woman who wore it look softer.
It had been the corset that had caught the prince’s attention the most, and for several moments he was vexed by the thing. It was the same blue as the dress, but the eyelets and the detailing were made of mithril, the gorgeous and incredibly valuable metal glinting in the torchlight. Thorin was sure he was mistaken, that they wouldn’t use something as beautiful as mithril on such a trivial piece of clothing, but upon closer inspection, he realized he was seeing things correctly.
Now he stood in Dís’ room, inspecting a corset and stroking the mithril, and somehow he had no idea how to proceed. He should have just left. There was no reason for him to linger in his sister’s room. She was not there, so he should have continued searching for her.
But somehow, he had rationalized with himself to wait for her. Dís would have to return to her chambers eventually, and waiting in the comforts of her bedroom was much more preferable to marching about the kingdom seeking her out.
Next thing Thorin knew, he was stripping and pulling the dress on. He knew how these garments worked, of course; one didn’t grow up with a sister and not learn how to do up a silly dress. There were no underthings with the gown (Thorin really tried not to be disappointed by that), so he forwent his own, deciding it best to merely go without than wear his bulkier smallclothes beneath the lovely thing. The prince debated the corset, but decided that without it, the gown was far too loose around his chest. It was simply practical to put it on.
He had helped Dís many times with pulling the laces tight, though it was significantly more awkward to do on himself. Not to mention the restrictive nature of the thing. Taking a breath in, he pulled the laces tight, a black ribbon really, and tied it off.
Standing before the mirror, he still didn’t see the twin-like similarities between his sister and himself that everyone was always on about, and he decided that perhaps his hair was all wrong.
And this is where he ended up, standing in front of the mirror, his hair braided well away from his face in a style much like Dís’ (though without her usual beads, clasps, and barrettes), and actually admiring himself. He could see it now, if he trimmed his beard shorter and his upper lip was barer. He was quite impressed by just how good he looked in the thing, and was about to take it off when, to his horror, he heard footsteps just outside the open door.
It was far too late for Thorin to do much of anything, only stand in front of the mirror, proudly as he could and brace himself for Dís’ wrath. As the door pushed open, some of the prince’s bravery fled him and he shut his eyes. Part of him wished to disappear, the other part…well the other part was enjoying this far too much.
The dwarf (the footsteps were too heavy to be anything else, and in the royal chambers no less) paused in the doorway, and Thorin couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. It wasn’t Dís, she would be raging by now. Or laughing. Most likely raging, and laughing later, much later.
A low whistle filled the room, an appreciative sound that had Thorin’s eyes flashing open.
He met Dwalin’s in the mirror, and saw the warrior was leaning inside the doorway, arms crossed and lecherous grin spread across his face, as his eyes raked over the pretty sight Thorin made in a dress. “It’s my birthday, isn’t it?” the older dwarf asked finally, his voice thick and Thorin had to fight the urge to blush and hide his face.
“What are you doing in here?” Thorin asked instead, voice cross even as his body began to heat in the presence of his lover. Especially with the way Dwalin stared at him as if he were a slab of meat.
“Could ask you the same thing, your highness,” the warrior said thoughtfully, pushing off of the doorjamb and walking across the room to stand behind the younger dwarf. With a firm hand on his shoulder, Dwalin turned the prince around, taking a good long look at the front of him. “You look good.”
“Do not mock me,” Thorin spat, moving to step away, but Dwalin’s hold on his arm was like iron, keeping him in place and the prince immediately heeded it. If he wasn’t already so thoroughly humiliated by his appearance, he would have felt some embarrassment for his obedience. He owed no such thing to the warrior, a man of lesser rank.
“Not mocking,” Dwalin chuckled, pulling Thorin up into a kiss, the pressure hard but not yet demanding. Thorin melted into it nonetheless, barely keeping a pathetic whimper in. The older dwarf pulled away, smirk on his lips as he continued, “I would never mock you about this, princess.”
Thorin reared back, even as a heat exploded through his midsection. “Let go of me, bastard,” he ground out, trying to free himself from the dwarf’s grip, but the dress made a short, distressing popping sound and he froze.
“I don’t think I will,” the warrior said, pulling the prince flush against him and holding him there. Dipping down, he recaptured Thorin’s mouth, tongue delving in and licking him open, the ministrations promising many darker pleasures that had the younger dwarf going weak in the knees.
“I hate you,” Thorin growled against Dwalin’s mouth, struggling even as every urge was telling him to press into the strong chest of his lover. He should have been completely mortified to be found like this by the man he was intimate with, even disgusted that Dwalin found this remotely attractive, let alone arousing. To Thorin’s horror, he felt himself reacting as well.
“No you don’t, princess.”
“Don’t call me that, you perverted old man.”
“Oh? Then my lady, mistress, madam, miss, lass, wench—” Dwalin paused as Thorin twitched violently at the last one, his hips almost bucking forward though he managed to keep himself in check. “—my whore?”
The name had goosepimples flashing up Thorin’s back, his knees going wobbly, and his legs spreading against his will. The prince was hard and leaking for Dwalin already, proving the degrading name true, but he couldn’t just submit to it so easily.
“Remember who you’re talking to,” Thorin warned, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears.
“Mmn,” Dwalin began as he pressed his thigh into the front of the prince’s dress, the thickly muscled leg nudging Thorin’s heavy arousal, “always, princess. Ah, now would you look at that?”
Against his will, Thorin felt himself looking down at himself, flushing heavily as he saw the dark wet spot that was forming where the head of his cock was tenting the delicate material.
“Got your knickers all wet for me, princess?” the warrior rumbled as he pinned Thorin against the vanity, bending low and biting and sucking the prince’s throat while slowly lifting his skirt. The younger dwarf was loving every moment of this, even as he knew he should be disgusted by it. By all rights, he should be offended by this.
“Not wearing knickers,” Thorin bit out, his tone defiant and belatedly he realized he hadn’t worn any sort of underthings beneath the dress at all. Flushing right to the tips of his ears, he tried to wriggle away from the larger dwarf.
“That so? Then what are you wearing under here?” Dwalin asked with a deep, rumbling chuckle before sliding one large hand beneath the raised hem of the skirt. They both froze as the warrior’s calloused palm was met with naked flesh, Dwalin’s eyes going dark with something distinctly hungry. “Nothing at all, and you tell me you aren’t a whore?”
“I didn’t—” the prince began to protest, but his words were cut off by a sharp cry as Dwalin’s hand closed around his cock, pumping slowly and reducing him to a shivering mess against the vanity.
“Look how wet you are for me,” Dwalin groaned, and Thorin looked, embarrassed at just how much precome was already coating the older dwarf’s fingers and palm. “Should see yourself, blushing and so damn fuckable. Here, turn around, princess.”
Thorin fought the guiding hands for half of a second before Dwalin overpowered him and had the prince facing the mirror attached to the wall. The fronts of his thighs were pinned against the edge of the vanity, his rear fitted against the warrior’s pelvis as the larger man pressed closer and leaned down.
“Look at you, all red and needy. My little whore, barefoot and naked under her dress just waiting for me to come fuck her,” Dwalin rumbled against Thorin’s ear, and the prince was looking even as he tilted his head to expose the length of his neck for his lover.
It was a difficult sight for the proud dwarf to take in, with his cheeks a vibrant red and sweat on his brow and chest, mouth kiss-reddened and gaping as he was already breathless with need. The blue dress was still a shock to see on himself, and he was vaguely aware that he should be humiliated by the distinct, wet tent at his groin. Thorin met Dwalin’s eyes in the mirror and swallowed thickly at the dangerous hunger he saw in those eyes.
“Hold up your skirt, princess. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt,” Dwalin ordered, voice hoarse already and Thorin was scrambling to comply, no longer resisting the terrible names his lover was giving him.
When the warrior took a step back, Thorin followed and spread his legs, one hand reaching back to hold the length of his skirt up around his waist while he used the other to brace his forearm against the mirror. The warrior slapped the inside of one of the prince’s thighs, and Thorin tried to spread them wider when his leg nudged against the chair for the vanity. Without a second thought, Thorin bent his leg and propped it on the chair, leaving him half kneeling and half standing for his lover. With his cheeky courage returning to him as his arousal grew, Thorin arched his back and presented himself to Dwalin.
“Fucking slut,” the warrior fairly snarled as he dropped to his knees behind Thorin. The younger dwarf shuddered violently at that, mouth falling open and thighs spreading even further.
Levering the prince’s cheeks apart roughly with his large thumbs, Dwalin paused for several agonizing moments just watching. When there was finally contact, Thorin jolted and whined when it was only the rough tip of Dwalin’s thumb trailing around his puckered rim.
“Dwalin…” the prince whimpered, so very close to begging that it was embarrassing. The older dwarf hadn’t even done anything, only light and teasing touches.
“Yes, princess?”
Thorin could hear the smirk in the warrior’s voice and groaned. “Don’t call me that,” he ground out again, letting out a shuddery gasp as Dwalin rubbed the pad of his thumb in hard circles against his entrance.
“If you aren’t a princess, then what are you?” the warrior asked, and Thorin jumped again as he felt lips press against his inner-cheek, beard scratchy against his sensitive flesh. There were teeth against his skin, just grazing him with teasing sharpness. “You’ve turned down everything so far.”
The terrible thing was, Dwalin knew exactly which name got Thorin going the most, which one could have him whimpering and begging for his cock. “You know…” the prince said, his voice nearly a whisper.
“I want to hear you say it,” Dwalin growled lowly, teeth sinking into the soft mound of Thorin’s arse, pulling a loud cry from the prince.
The younger dwarf bit his lip and shook his head, eyes getting distracted by his reflection in the mirror. His face was embarrassingly red with his arousal, his loose hair beginning to curl with his sweat. Already the dress was growing dark in places where his perspiration was worse, and with a grimace Thorin knew the garment wouldn’t survive their coupling. Shutting his eyes, he tipped his head downward and shook it again.
Dwalin chuckled darkly behind him and pressed his thumb against his hole for a bit longer, pulling a whine from the prince, before pulling it away. When Thorin felt Dwalin’s beard and moustache as he pressed forward between his cheeks, he shuddered and tried to pull away but he was trapped between the table and his lover. The prince almost crawled up onto the vanity, gasping at the teasing touch.
And the warrior did nothing but tease his puckered hole with the tip of his tongue, thumb slipping further forward to press at Thorin’s perineum. Choking, the prince tried to press back, seeking more of that delicious pressure, but Dwalin’s other hand held him still, large fingers digging painfully into his arsecheek.
With that, Dwalin began his assault, taunting the younger dwarf with firm licks that did nothing but fan the flames in his gut and have his hips twitching. A symphony of whimpers and cries fell from Thorin’s lips, curses and oaths filling his sister’s chambers as he twisted his fingers in the delicate fabric of Dís’ dress. He heard more treads pop and a telling rip filled the air.
The pad of the warrior’s thumb pressed into Thorin’s perineum and wrenched a tortured shout from the young prince, and it massaged the short strip of skin while Dwalin lapped uselessly against his hole. The younger dwarf shook helplessly against the mirror, whimpering and mewling as the pleasure built, and sobbed his relief when his lover backed off.
“Just fucking do it, please, Dwalin!” he gasped out, thumping his forehead against the mirror in frustration.
“That isn’t very lady-like language, princess,” Dwalin growled, dragging the sharp tips of his canines across Thorin’s left arsecheek. The flesh there was slowly reddening, being rubbed raw by the warrior’s beard and moustache.
“Not a princess,” Thorin bit out, strangling another embarrassingly loud scream when the other dwarf returned to lapping and suckling at his entrance. That huge, rough thumb was still torturously there, pressing against his perineum while he teased the prince.
“Then what are you?” Dwalin asked, his voice amused. “Making noises like that, you can only be one thing.”
“Dwalin please,” the younger dwarf whined, banging his forehead against the mirror once again, his voice pitiful and full of need.
“I want to hear you say it,” that deep voice rumbled from behind him, and Thorin felt the final wall of his resolve crumble. He needed relief, and he had come to terms with the fact that Dwalin would always wait him out a long time ago.
“A whore,” Thorin muttered, panting damply against the glass in front of him.
“Louder.”
“A whore! I’m a whore, just fucking please, Dwalin I need you,” he whined, bucking his hips backward and almost shrieked in delight when the warrior pressed his tongue firmly against his arsehole. The slick muscle wriggled around a bit before pressing in, mercilessly and perfect, wrenching another broken sound from the younger dwarf.
Dwalin fucked his hole in earnest, tongue slipping in as deep as it would go, swirling and stabbing into him, all the while the warrior continued to massage the strip of flesh behind Thorin’s sac. The prince was making all manner of needy sounds, trying to thrust back against his lover’s tongue.
“Find me some oil or lotion, my little whore,” Dwalin rumbled, his lips still pressed tightly against Thorin’s hole and pulling a whine from the prince.
Without hesitation, Thorin released his hold on the skirt and began searching the table beneath him for a bottle of something they could use. The warrior behind him grunted as the cascade of material fell around him and pulled back.
“Bloody dress,” the older dwarf mutter, and then the prince heard a terrible ripping sound. Gasping, Thorin looked back over his shoulder and saw that Dwalin had torn the dress right up the middle of the billowing skirt, and now the garment fell away and left his beard-reddened arse completely exposed.
“You bastard, my sister—”
“The dress was already ruined with how wet you are for me, wench. Now where is the oil, unless you’d like me to take you dry?”
“Fucking bastard,” Thorin whined and grabbed pot of lotion before holding it back for the warrior. His thighs were quivering with his need, his gut clenching with his mewling when Dwalin resumed his terrible assault with his tongue. The prince found himself in the mirror once again and jolted at the sight.
His hair was an even greater mess somehow, and that deep blush was still set into his cheeks. With his mouth hanging open, the mirror fogged with each panting breath. His hand and arm that braced himself against the mirror was slipping against the glass with sweat, and he had to lower his now free hand to the vanity to support himself. Dropping his head forward, Thorin thumped it against the mirror and whined as a thick digit began to wriggle its way into his tight hole.
Dwalin was impossibly large in every way, and his fingers were no exception. Just one had Thorin keening and almost afraid of being given more. He knew he could take it, take Dwalin himself deep inside him, but each coupling was laced with that edge of fear. That this would be the day he was torn in half, split right up the middle by his lover’s girth, and it only added to the prince’s arousal.
There were two fingers in his arse long before Thorin was ready for more, and he hissed and bucked, only pulling a dark chuckle from his brutish lover. His efforts earned him yet another vicious bite to his firm cheek, and the prince stilled with another whine. It hurt, the burn almost too much, but there was a dangerous pleasure in being torn asunder that Thorin couldn’t deny he loved. When a third finger shoved in, the prince actually screamed.
“Mahal, if only you could see the way your cunt eats my fingers. Next time, I’ll have to set up another mirror so you could watch your greedy hole take my fingers. Wish we had the time to work you up to all five,” Dwalin was rumbling, as he lapped at Thorin’s taut rim as it strained around the massive girth of his three fingers. “Fuck you with my wrist. You’d like that, huh my little slut?”
The prince grimaced, even as the images sent heat spiraling through him. Shaking his head desperately, Thorin whined again.
“Listen to you, whimpering like a bitch in heat. Are you crying, too?”
Though the words lacked any tone of mocking, Thorin was slightly ashamed of the tears that were indeed spilling down his cheeks. He was biting his lip against the urge to beg to be fucked as he knew that Dwalin needed to get up to the fourth finger if Thorin had any hope of walking out of this room with any sense of dignity at all.
Then again, he was being worked open by his lover while wearing a blue dress that belonged to his sister. There was not much dignity left for the young prince to salvage.
In the end, Dwalin took it out of his hands. “Gonna fuck your cunt while it’s still tight,” he growled, the damp heat of his breath leaving Thorin’s sensitive skin and thick fingers withdrawing. The sound of loss the prince made was embarrassingly loud, and he lifted his head to watch Dwalin stand in the mirror. Their eyes met, and the warrior let out a low groan while he worked open the ties of his trousers.
Before long, the intimidatingly large girth of the older dwarf was pulled out and slicked with an excessive amount of lotion. “Don’t want to make you bleed too much, princess,” Dwalin growled lowly, smirking lecherously at the high-pitched whine that whistled from Thorin’s throat. Blunt pressure against his barely prepared hole was the only warning the prince received before he was skewered on the hot pole of his lover’s cock.
Thorin’s mouth fell open in a scream, the sound choked off as Dwalin plowed into him without mercy, driving him up against the mirror with a brutal intensity. It was painful, had more tears spilling from Thorin’s pale eyes and broken little sobs leaving his mouth, but yet it felt utterly perfect. He would feel the older dwarf there for days, feel him deep inside him every time he moved, and he couldn’t help but moan at that thought. The agony only doubled his pleasure, and soon his cock (which had softened somewhat when he was entered) was full and leaking against the dress once more.
“So fucking tight,” Dwalin shouted, his delight clear in his voice as he pounded away at Thorin’s arse with abandon. The older dwarf was leaning forward, raising a hand to scoop the prince’s hair away from his neck and growled with frustration at seeing the higher back of the dress. All movement ceased, Dwalin’s thickness buried to the hilt inside Thorin as the warrior reached up to rip the neckline and reveal his young lover’s neck and shoulder.
Thorin was beside himself at the intense feeling of being so impossibly full, yet without any friction. It was a building pleasure, something one didn’t notice immediately, but as the seconds ticked by he became increasingly aware of the pressure against his tailbone. Wriggling desperately, Thorin tried to get some friction, and the warrior rewarded him for his efforts with a sharp slap to his hip.
Dwalin sunk his teeth into the crook of Thorin’s shoulder and neck and resumed his punishing pace, one hand in the prince’s hair while the other reached down to fist his dripping cock.
“Gods, I’m gonna come, Dwalin, fuck I’m so wet for you, fuck me harder, I need it harder,” Thorin began to babble as everything built inside him, his head going fuzzy with his impending release, more sweat breaking across his brow. When the warrior struck his prostate, Thorin arched back against him, one hand against the glass before him while the other reached up over their heads and tangled into Dwalin’s thick mohawk. His hips jacked backward, trying to get that delicious pleasure, and this time the warrior allowed this.
They were both terribly close and they couldn’t deny each other their separate releases any longer.
“Mahal you’re gorgeous like this, love to feel myself inside you,” the older dwarf began to babble, and now Thorin was blushing from real embarrassment. Part of him wanted to hate this stage of Dwalin’s pleasure, the stage where he began to say terribly nice things that made Thorin want. His chest clenched, and his cock gave a warning throb.
“Shut up,” he whimpered, as he always did, and as always it only spurred his lover on.
“You’re beautiful like this, whimpering and panting, and so mussed you wouldn’t believe you were royalty. Fuck, look at yourself, kitten,” Dwalin groaned, and Thorin found himself obeying the not-order, even as he wanted to protest the humiliating pet name.
When Thorin focused on the mirror however, he looked at Dwalin, the warrior’s face still pressed into his neck and shoulder, his brow drawn together and eyes shut tight, desperation clear on his face as he pounded his huge cock mercilessly into Thorin’s core.
The prince choked as his release overcame him, the suddenness wrenching at his gut and pulling a scream from him as he painted the inside of his sister’s dress with his release. Another high sound was dragged from him as his body clamped down even harder around Dwalin’s cock, and it almost felt like another orgasm ripped through him. It seemed his cock was spurting for hours, his cries diminishing into sobs as he slumped forward against the mirror.
A shudder wracked through him as he felt Dwalin throb inside him, and a wet warmth flooded his lower regions as the older dwarf let out a groan. The final erratic thrusts into the prince’s body were slick, wet, and noisy, and Thorin had to resist a grimace as he felt something warm and sticky trickle down the inside of his left thigh.
They stayed like that for several minutes, panting and trying to regain some semblance of coherence before Thorin released his hold on Dwalin’s mohawk tried to slide off his cock. “Get off, before Dís comes back—”
There was a sharp gasp from the doorway, and Thorin’s head shot up. In the mirror, he met his sister’s eyes and felt his heart plummet into his gut. Behind him, he felt Dwalin’s restrained chuckles.
FIN