Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“PEN/KNIFE?”

Kíli nodded excitedly, his messy hair flopping as he pointed at the flyer. “Yeah! I straight up begged Uncle Thorin to book them; I saw them playing at Azog’s last month and have been humming their set ever since.”

Depositing the lemon he’d just cut into wedges in a tray, Fíli frowned. “What were you doing at Azog’s?”

True to form, Kíli totally ignored him. “They’re going to be huge, Fí. They’ve got some alt-rock-classical-fusion thing going on. Drummer used to play for Balrog, but when that fell apart she hooked up with the guitarist from Galadriel’s Washing Machine, and-”

Fíli sighed. “I don’t need to know the intricate structure of every band you get into, Kí. Just tell me why you’re so interested in this one.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” His eyes turned suddenly serious. “Ori Staedtler.”

“Like… the stationery?”

“No shit. Why do you think they’re called PEN/KNIFE?”

That… that actually made sense. Flicking another lemon onto the cutting board, Fíli began to slice once more, quartering then cutting them in half again. “And what’s so interesting about pencil boy?”

“Well, for one thing, he plays piano.”

Oh.

“Not keyboard?”

“Nope!” Kíli said cheerily, popping the p. “Piano. Electric one. Big old beast of a thing. And somehow every time he touches the keys… I genuinely don’t know how to explain it, Fí. He fucks.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that to me.”

His irritating younger brother shrugged before leaning behind the bar to steal a lemon wedge. “You’ll get it. I have genuinely never seen someone who exudes that level of raw horniness whilst playing a piano before.”

Deciding that he wasn’t going to comment further on that point, Fíli just continued prepping his lemons. When Kíli reached for another one (having devoured the first wedge in a disgusting display of gluttony), he batted his hand away with an irritated huff.

“Don’t make me call mum over. You’re supposed to be cleaning, not eating my hard work.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Kíli mumbled, sagging down onto the countertop. “Cutting lemons is hardly work. I’m only back home for a few weeks and she’s got me wiping tables. Me. Wiping tables.”

“Well, we can’t all be prancing around naked in forests, can we?”

“Hey, Tauriel is a conservationist. She takes her job very seriously, and we’re not naked all the time.”

“Only when you’re taking aesthetically pleasing photos from a log cabin for Insta.”

His brother moaned, sinking his face even further into the bar. “And I told you, I had no idea the reflection was- ugh, you are such a shit.”

“I’m not the one eating lemons.”

“Vitamin C!” Kíli insisted, waving the slightly chewed peel in his face. “I don’t want scurvy!”

“Kí, you’re vegan.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m healthy. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had citrus.”

“You’ve had some now, so can you-”

“Lads…”

Oh.

Oh no.

Kíli very slowly, very steadily peeled himself from the bar top, his eyes widening as if to say help me! Naturally, Fíli did no such thing.

“Oh, hello Dwalin! Didn’t see you there, how’s the uh. How’s the bike?”

Dwalin folded his arms over his chest. A vein at his temple was twitching.

Revenge.

“He was stealing lemons,” Fíli announced, turning his gaze back down to the chopping board and away from the menacing figure looming over Kíli. “I know it’s not your job, but could you tell mum? I’m a bit tied up here.”

“Gladly,” the hulking bouncer growled. He sounded a little too happy about it. “Come on, brat. Your mother wants to see you.”

“I am going to get you back for this.” Kíli hissed as he rose to his feet, reversing into the Staff Only area whilst still pointing angrily in his direction. “Do you hear me, Fí? You will soon rue the day you chose to forsake your kin! I will have my reve- oh, hello mum!”

That would shut him up for a while, which was probably for the best. Fíli was running out of patience for his younger brother’s trivial concerns, and snapping at him for living the life their mother had always wanted for him… well, it wasn’t something he intended on doing, that was certain.

Kíli and he were close. They’d always been so, but the last few years had put the differences between them into stark contrast. His brother had gone to uni. He’d studied hard and left with a secure job that had led to him falling into love – quite literally; apparently Kíli had tumbled out of a tree and directly on top of a visiting ecologist whilst attempting to get a better angle for a photo. Thankfully, Tauriel had been rather amused, and after making certain he had not sustained any major injuries, had accepted his offer of a coffee to make up for literally falling for her.

His successful brother had spread his wings… and Fíli remained with both feet solidly on the floor.

It wasn’t like he was unhappy. Far from it; his future led to management, because – as both his mother and uncle reminded him regularly – Orc Pit was his legacy. And Fíli wanted it. The club had been his second home for most of his life; half of his childhood memories taking place in the office as the elder Durin siblings tried their hardest to make something from nothing.

Because they’d had nothing.

Growing up, Fíli had always wondered why the other children his age had grandparents who showered them with love and attention. He’d had no shortage of family – although most of them were not blood related. Kindly Uncle Balin and his never-ending supply of boiled sweets. Glóin and Óin; always top of the list when it came to babysitting. Even Balin’s younger brother Dwalin, only a decade older than himself and already jaded by the world, had made time for him and Kíli.

It wasn’t until he reached his teens that Fíli had realised exactly why the entirety of his blood family could fit in his mother’s tiny Hyundai… and why Thorin often looked at their little group with such sad eyes.

Angrily chucking another lemon in the tray, Fíli willed his mind to land on any topic but the rampant homophobia of his grandfather.

The reality of the situation was that Thorin – and by extension Dís, because she had refused to abandon her brother – had been cut from the family tree. And if it hadn’t been Thorin, then it would have been Fíli, because there was no conceivable way that Thráin would have overlooked a grandchild who was not only gay but-

Nope! Fíli sucked in a harsh breath, steadying his hands against the counter.

He was not going there today. He was not going to ruin what had been a perfectly good afternoon by thinking about what a rich old bastard he’d never met thought about his transition.

He. Would. Not.

Fíli Durin had been on T for six years. He’d been out for ten. And not a single day had passed in that time where he hadn’t been acutely aware of just how much his life had been impacted by a handful of words of Thorin’s bravery.

“You alright there, lad?”

He jumped, knife clattering from the counter and landing hard against the floor, and for the briefest second, Fíli had flinched as if to catch it. He immediately thought better of himself, but when he looked up, it immediately became obvious that his error had not gone unnoticed.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Dwalin chuckled, plonking himself down on a barstool and setting one of the awful bottles of craft lemonade he kept in his locker on the wood. “Told you enough times before, a fallin’ knife-”

“-has no handle,” Fíli droned, finishing the quote as he stooped to collect the blade. “I flinched.”

“You reached for it.”

“Well, you scared me.”

Dwalin huffed, his blue mohawk bobbing ever so slightly. “I called your name twice.”

“And I was obviously distracted.” Pulling a bottle opener from behind the bar, Fíli popped the cap from Dwalin’s lemonade before turning to clean the knife in the sink.

“Mm.”

From anyone else, a hum like that would sound like a dismissal.

Fíli knew better.

Dwalin was a man of few words at times, and one of those times was when he was expressing concern. And from someone who was essentially his older brother within the dysfunctional family unit that was Orc Pit…

Sighing hard, Fíli dried off the knife before turning back to where Dwalin sat nursing his lemonade.

“It’s…” He swallowed. “I was thinking about Thorin’s birthday.”

“Ah.”

“He’s fifty-five this year.”

A sip. “So I’ve heard.”

Obviously Dwalin had heard. The pair of them were so close that Fíli had on several occasions wondered whether there was something more to it than friendship. But no, in some convoluted way, Dwalin was just as much Thorin’s brother as he was Fíli’s. Besides, his uncle was married to Orc Pit, and there probably wasn’t a soul who could change that.

“And I’m sure you also know he’s made it very clear that he’s not celebrating this year.”

“I do.”

It was like pulling teeth, but Fíli persisted. “And being as he won’t tell me these things – and don’t you worry, I know that you won’t give me a straight answer either – I’m stuck between blaming his reluctance to celebrate on money and the fact it’s been thirty years since-”

“You know I can’t tell you that, lad.”

Fíli huffed in irritation. “I literally just said I know that. I’m not asking you to tell me, I’m just asking you to listen.”

Taking a very deliberate sip, Dwalin placed his lemonade back on the countertop. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He sighed.

“Alright,” he muttered after a minute. “But if it were anyone else, I hope you know that I’d be ignoring every bit of this. Thorin’s business is his business, and I will not break that confidence.”

It was more than he’d expected. “Thank you. I promise it’s not my intention to put you in an awkward situation, I just…” Shooting a pointed glance towards the closed staff door, he let out a little huff. “He’s done so much for this place. For us. And while he and mum are unwilling to talk about the money issues with me, I’m not blind to the fact that the Pit is in trouble and I can’t help.”

And predictably, Dwalin didn’t reply. He simply sat there, furrowed brow in his hand, and that was as much confirmation as Fíli needed.

“I just wish they’d talk to me,” he said softly, ignoring the urge to chuck the whole tray of horrible lemons to the floor. “I’ve been here this whole time – since day zero – and somehow I’m supposed to take over when Thorin retires-”

“If he ever bloody does,” Dwalin muttered, drawing the tiniest, sad laugh from him in the process.

“That’s the whole point, though. If they’d just lean on me a little more, I could help-”

“Then show them they can.”

Slamming the knife down with slightly more force than intended, Fíli grimaced. “How am I supposed to do that if they don’t-”

“You show them.” Dwalin’s eyes flashed slightly as he spoke, but they softened significantly when he leant over the bar top to shove the handle of the knife more securely onto the counter. “You bloody Durins and your bloody thickheadedness; look, your mother and uncle are exactly the same as you and Kíli. Stubborn and willin’ to take the whole world on your shoulders to protect those you care about. Admirable traits, but sometimes you need to realise that the world is a whole lot bigger than just you.”

Taking another sip from his bottle, Dwalin levelled an intense stare directly at him. “Show ‘em that you’re here. Show that you’ve got that terrible Durin tenacity – and I know you do, because you’re here, Fíli. The same as me.”

He didn’t need to elaborate on that last point. There was a very distinct reason why he and Dwalin had fallen in thick and fast, and it had less to do with their place of employment and more to do with why they had both gravitated towards alt subculture in the first place.

Dwalin had bought him his first drink (despite not drinking himself). He’d walked him through binders and packing, and sat with him through those awful nights where Fíli hadn’t known who to call when the truth became too biting to lock away anymore.

Because Dwalin had done it by himself. And now no one within their family would ever go through that alone.

Scooping the remainder of the lemons away for the time being, Fíli slouched forwards to rest his elbows on the bar.

“I am here,” he said quietly. “I am here, and I’m going to fight to make sure we stay on the map.”

And as much as that could be taken in a number of ways, right now Fíli was only referring to one.

The flyer for PEN/KNIFE was still resting on the countertop, slightly sticky from where Kíli had abandoned his lemon peel over it. It was full colour; purple and black lettering spelling out the band’s name before bold text announcing the dates for their stint at Orc Pit.

Next week.

Starting on the fourth of February – for a whopping five nights – PEN/KNIFE would be playing at their dilapidated club. If Kíli’s ranting about their act had been anything to go by, they would draw a crowd… although Fíli had no idea why a band big enough to play at Azog’s would be interested in performing here. Regardless, he was going to make sure it went off without a hitch. The Pit needed all the publicity it could get, and Fíli needed to show his mother and uncle just how much he’d learnt. Just how much they could lean on him.

It was high time that Fíli stepped into his legacy.

*

The week passed in a blur of endless sliced lemons and poster distribution. Most of the nights the club barely even passed half capacity – which for once was a good thing. It had given Fíli time to plan, time to pester his uncle and mother for more work behind the scenes. If they’d been surprised at his sudden proactivity, they hadn’t shown it.

And now here Fíli stood, leaning against the fire exit that led to the car park as the sun began to vanish behind a row of shops, anxiously awaiting the evening’s entertainment.

PEN/KNIFE would show up soon. They would have just enough time after setting up to soundcheck, although the chances of a proper rehearsal were waning further with every passing second.

And it was bloody cold, even for February. Fíli’s breath was practically crystallising in the air as he huffed, his thick jacket doing absolutely nothing to disguise how much he was shivering. He was about to dip back into the office and let Thorin know they were running late when a slightly rusty Transit pulled into the car park, followed immediately by a red Fiesta, and… yes, that was the unmistakable sound of Deftones echoing from within the van.

It appeared the band had finally arrived, and when the door to the Fiesta popped open to reveal a slender young woman, Fíli very nearly felt his jaw fall open in surprise.

She was… well, for lack of a better word, she was striking. Standing nearly as tall as Dwalin, she was all slender grace and fluid movement, making her look almost ethereal. If Fíli hadn’t literally watched her climb out of the tiny car, laughing as she turned to pull her guitar case from the back, he could have easily believed she’d simply spawned into existence through a divine act. Her long dark hair was loose, running over her shoulders in rivulets that ended at her waist, almost fading into her clothes.

The moment she saw him standing by the fire door, her serene face split into a grin. “Oh, hello! I believe you were expecting us?”

“Uh- yes, hi!” Fíli choked, shaking himself out of the stupor he’d fallen into. It wasn’t like he was attracted to women, but she was gorgeous and he was pretty sure that anyone would struggle when confronted by such a beautiful person. “Fíli Durin.”

She chuckled, striding across the few feet to the door before sticking her hand out for him to shake. “Arwen. Guitar for PEN/KNIFE.”

Frankly he would have known that the moment he took her hand. Her fingers were callused, nails neatly trimmed and unpainted.

“Good to meet you,” he said as brightly as he could manage. “Um, Thorin’s waiting inside to give you a tour of the space, and if you’d like a hand with your kit-”

“Do not touch my Gibson!” A new voice called from somewhere behind, and Fíli craned his neck around to see a dark-haired man jumping down from the van. He was shorter than Arwen – although you’d be hard-pressed to be any taller – and although his words had been sharp, he wore a lazy grin.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The man snorted. “Then you and I will get along just fine.”

A little sigh drew his attention, and Fíli glanced back at Arwen to see her rolling her eyes at the display. “Bofur, also guitar – if you couldn’t already tell from that. Don’t touch his Gibson; it might as well be his firstborn.”

“Hey, I take offense at that. Cynthia is my firstborn. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he crooned to the case he was now very gingerly pulling from where it had been belted into one of the seats.

“An inanimate firstborn apparently worth more than your own cousin!” The driver’s side door of the Transit slammed, and a young woman in dungarees and a t-shirt strutted around to the front. “Éowyn. Drums,” she nodded at Fíli. “You didn’t have to kick Bifur to the car!”

Bofur shrugged. “He didn’t mind. Arwen’s quieter than me.”

“Maybe I wanted some quiet too. Maybe I wanted something that wasn’t Deftones punching a hole through my eardrums.”

“You like Deftones!”

“I like being able to hear the traffic!”

“Ignore them!” Arwen said swiftly, raising her hands and moving to stand in front of the bickering pair as if to hide them from existence. “The fragile relationship between drums and rhythm, you know how it is! Uhh- this is Bifur!”

The moment the words were spoken, her hands flew out to grab a passing figure, dragging him into view as quickly as a snake strike.

This new man – Bifur, Fíli supposed – was carrying a hard guitar case. He did bear some resemblance to Bofur, mostly found in his dark hair and darker brows, but he certainly didn’t have the chattiness of the rhythm guitarist.

“Bifur. Bass.”

“Oh, h-hi.”

Bifur nodded.

Ah. It really did appear that the stereotype of silent bassists was alive and well in this particular instance. The second he was done introducing himself, Bifur was off; moving into the club with his case held rigid by his side.

“He’s um. He’s quiet,” Arwen said with a small smile. “Plays well though.”

“So I’ve heard.” Shooting her an encouraging look, Fíli inclined his head at the doors. “I can’t wait to catch your set. My brother hasn’t shut up about your band since pushing it to Thorin.”

“Oh, you’re Kíli’s brother?” She laughed. “That explains a lot. He snuck into the back when we played Azog’s just to hand us the business card for this place. I’m pretty sure his tenacity is the only reason Ori suggested we come – we were supposed to be taking a hiatus from performing for a few weeks, but he was insistent.”

Ah. Of course Kíli had been wandering into places he really shouldn’t be. Fíli had thought him above trespassing in Azog’s, though (no, he really hadn’t). It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of establishments, and Thorin had been involved in a… falling out of sorts with the owner (turf war was probably more accurate). Regardless, Kíli did as he pleased, and it apparently had worked out just fine in this instance.

Although that did raise a question.

Where was pencil boy?

Naturally, Éowyn chose that moment to finish her argument with Bofur and leant over to wrap an arm around Arwen’s shoulders. “If he ever actually succeeds in shoving that bitch of a piano into his car.”

The dark-haired woman snorted softly. “He’s just running a little behind. Ori will be here in due course, but for now we should get on with setup. You know he’ll want to run soundchecks as soon as he’s plugged in.”

Letting out a mock groan, Éowyn rose up on her toes to press a small kiss to her cheek. “No downtime, that one. Alright, I’ll pop my head in and get the kit up. Now-” she turned back to Fíli, “-you said help?”

Thankfully, it didn’t take that long to get all their gear in from the van. Despite it not being anywhere near his job’s description, Dwalin often came in some hours before his shift to force Thorin to take a break from his misery and leave his office, and he was not averse to helping move equipment, if the occasion called for it. Which was good, because Fíli was pretty sure that he had the strength to carry a small car. A drum kit and a few boxes of assorted gear were not difficult.

Thorin had agreed to let them leave their setup on site overnight, so everything – barring Cynthia and the other guitars – would be staying put for the duration of their time at the Pit. Although possibly everything could include a little less than anticipated, if the fabled Ori Staedtler turned up any later.

It was already dark outside; the cold February air leaching all light from the sky at an hour that was still a surprise, even though the solstice had long since passed.

And the elusive pianist was still missing.

Fíli huffed, scrubbing his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to stay warm. He thought he’d heard a vehicle pulling up some minutes ago, but once the doors had been flung back, it was clear the car park only contained the Transit and Fiesta the rest of the band had driven in with, his mother’s Hyundai and Dwalin’s Harley.

“Any sign of him yet?”

Fíli sighed, spinning round to poke his head back into the warmth where Thorin was watching with a slightly pinched expression. “Not yet.”

His uncle sighed. “The other members seem rather positive. This appears to be a common occurrence, if I’ve inferred correctly.”

“Still,” Fíli muttered with a vague shrug. “They’re not going to have time to soundcheck at this rate.”

“It’ll work out.” It has to went unsaid, but as Thorin disappeared back into the staff area, it was so apparent how much was riding on this one night. Too much.

Fíli sucked in a deep breath between his teeth before letting it out slowly as he straightened up back into the cold. He wasn’t going to dwell on what-ifs and maybes. Ori Staedtler would show up. His bandmates had been certain on that count. A few more minutes, and everything would be fi-

“Fuck!” a voice hissed behind him, but Fíli didn’t even have time to turn before something very heavy collided with his back, sending him sprawling into the gravel. The sting of the rough ground beneath his knees dragged a hiss from him, although worse than that was the burn of his palms. He’d grazed them; a few small particles gouging his skin and bringing a red flush to the surface.

“O-oh shit!” the voice from behind shrieked, and with a pained moan, Fíli pushed himself to his knees to glance up at whatever had hit him-

Only to realise that they weren’t even looking at him.

“Ohhh this is not good,” the stranger moaned, bending over in the gravel to frantically unzip a large black bag, his hands shaking the barest amount as he struggled with the closure. “Please be ok, please be ok, please…”

Even from where he was now slumped on the floor, Fíli couldn’t see much further than the mop of fluffy brown hair that obscured this odd person’s features. He was wearing a lumpy jumper – a hideous green and brown thing that swamped him from mid-thigh to neck, covering his hands and fingers in wool. It was no real surprise that he was struggling to open the case, especially when the fibres kept getting jammed in the zip.

And he still hadn’t said a single word to Fíli, not even the barest hint of an apology.

“Do you mind?” he hissed, dragging himself up to a sitting position to pick the gravel from his palms. “A sorry would have been-”

“Yes, yes, horribly sorry, look, if you could just wait one- aha!” The zip finally made it the whole way around the bag and the stranger threw back the cover in a frenzied flourish to reveal-

Keys.

White and black piano keys.

This stranger was Ori Staedtler?

He certainly didn’t look like the musician that Kíli had described. On top of the truly repulsive jumper, he was wearing a huge pair of glasses – and although Fíli knew full well that such a thing shouldn’t really affect a person’s demeanour, somehow they did. The massive frames hid most of his face, and what wasn’t obscured by the fogged-up lenses was covered by his hair. The only thing that could really be discerned about his features was the little nose ring glittering away in the lowlight. And the ungodly number of freckles peeking out from under all that frizz.

“Uhh keys are fine, paint still intact… oh, thank fuck for that.” Ori sighed, flopping onto the floor himself and shoving a hand through his floppy hair in relief.

Fíli was far less relieved. “You dropped a piano on me.”

“O-oh!” It appeared that the intactness of his instrument had distracted Ori to the point that he’d forgotten anyone else was present, let alone that he’d literally thrown a piano on top of them. He started, spinning to face Fíli and shoving his glasses up his nose with a harried jerkiness that revealed wide brown eyes. “I am so sorry. I was in a bit of a rush and uhh, admittedly I should have asked for help, but-”

“You dropped a piano on me.”

“Umm, technically it’s a weighted keyboard… but uh. Yes?”

Pedantic. “And you didn’t even ask if I was alright? Christ, how much does that bloody thing weigh?”

Ori scowled, his hair falling back over his face. “Twenty-seven kilograms, if you must know. And she’s older and far more delicate than you; have some fucking respect.”

“Oh, allow me to extend my apologies to your geriatric piano. Did she hurt herself nearly giving me a concussion-”

“Oh, there you are!” a bright voice called from the fire doors, and despite refusing to tear his gaze away from Ori’s irritated face, Fíli could tell that the other members of PEN/KNIFE had arrived.

“Late as usual,” Éowyn laughed, crunching over the gravel and crouching down beside the piano. “Your car not start or something?”

“Nori had to jump me,” Ori muttered, finally breaking the eye contact to lean forwards and zip up his case. “I need a new battery imminently.”

“Like we’ve been telling you for months. It’s a miracle that disaster of yours even got here in one piece. I’m sure you could part exchange it or something-”

“Nope!” Ori said cheerfully, sealing the soft bag shut with a flourish. “Anyway, I’m here, let’s get this set up and soundcheck underway.”

Éowyn huffed in derision, but she did help. Taking one end of the ancient instrument under her arm, she lifted and stood at the same time as Ori, heaving the piano up.

And then the pianist paused. Glancing back down to where Fíli sat, still slumped on the ground, his face briefly flickered into something vaguely resembling remorse.

“I did say I was sorry,” he muttered, before marching off into the club with the rest of the band in tow.

Well, most of them.

“Sorry mate,” Bofur mumbled, extending a hand to help him up. “Ori isn’t exactly uh… what I mean to say is-”

“It’s fine,” Fíli quickly interrupted him. Checking his palms to see which was the worst grazed, he grimaced before sticking out his left to accept the help. “We’ve had plenty of temperamental musicians in over the years. He’s hardly the first.”

The guitarist sighed hard. “He’s not temperamental. Not normally, anyway. He’s ah. He’s got a lot on his mind right now.”

It didn’t really excuse his attitude, but Fíli just nodded in response. Arguing with the talent was not a good look, and the Pit needed positivity right now. Besides, he’d sworn to help Thorin and his mother, and scaring off an act that apparently promised more foot traffic than anything they’d had in a very long time would absolutely ruin any chance of that ever happening.

“It’s fine,” he repeated. And it was. It would be, at any rate; at least once his palms were adequately addressed. He was not logging this in the accident book either, because frankly Thorin didn’t need that stress too. There was a pharmacy a short walk away where he could get some disinfectant and plasters without alerting anyone on the premises to what had transpired, and the less his mother and uncle heard about the accident, the better.

*

By the time Fíli made it back to the club, he’d missed the soundcheck entirely. It was no major loss; the sheer number of times he’d heard a detuned guitar screeching over the PA system whilst dragging his feet with whatever task he had to complete before the doors opened had put him off attending them for life.

The band had vanished off into the tiny hangout room in the back quite quickly too, although that wasn’t really a surprise. Especially with a diva like Ori fucking Staedtler in their midst. Frankly, Fíli had no idea what Kíli had been going on about, because as cute as he was (and yes, he would admit that the awful man was relatively adorable), there was no way that the argumentative, ugly-jumper-wearing prick was the sex symbol he’d been assured was the major selling point of PEN/KNIFE.

Thankfully, it seemed that Kíli had been right about one thing.

The Pit was packed.

They didn’t sell door tickets unless there was a band playing, but in this instance it barely would have mattered. Fíli had been rushed off his feet since doors open; the clamour for the bar so ridiculous that Thorin had stepped out of the back to assist. He was still here pulling pints three hours into the shift, and it didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. By Fíli’s estimate, they’d already broken even on drinks alone.

And it seemed Thorin was fully in agreement. Every time he turned to reach for a VK from the bottle cooler, he caught sight of a flash of teeth and a bright smile that had not been seen within these walls for the longest time. The sting of spilt alcohol that seeped into the scrapes he had been unable to cover hurt so much less when faced with that.

“I didn’t expect so many!” Fíli called over as he began to make up yet another rum and coke. “When Kíli said they were popular…”

“Half the alt scene in the city’s here,” Thorin chuckled in response. “The young ones, anyway. That’s not something we see often.”

It really wasn’t, and as he slid the drink over to the eager patron, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be like this for the rest of the band’s stint at the Pit.

And then he wondered no more when his hearing was suddenly obliterated by a scream so enormous that his earplugs did nothing to supress it.

It seemed PEN/KNIFE had arrived, and with them they had summoned the kind of enthusiasm only really seen at sold-out shows in stadiums. The air was electric; every head in the crowd turned towards the small stage in the corner, and Fíli had to stand on his tiptoes to satisfy the burning curiosity to see what all the fuss was about.

At first glance, the only person he recognised was Éowyn. Her blonde hair was still up in a ponytail, her loose-fitting dungarees still sagging off her shoulders as she stomped across the stage to seat herself behind the kit.

That was where the similarities to the group he’d met earlier ended.

For one thing, every member of the band actually looked like they were in a cohesive unit now. Their clashing aesthetics had been smoothed over into a strange grunge fusion – although fused with what, Fíli couldn’t entirely tell. Arwen’s low-rise jeans and cami were almost at-odds with Bifur and Bofur’s punk aesthetics, but there was something else at play here. Something uniquely them, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

And the cheering just kept getting louder. Strangely enough, as he peered through the gaps in the bodies all screaming in delight, Fíli still couldn’t see Ori. There was someone on the stage adjusting the piano, but it certainly wasn’t the man he’d had the displeasure of meeting earlier that day. Just like him to be late for his own bloody performance.

“Hello Orc Pit!” Arwen shouted through the mic, to rapturous cheering. “We are PEN/KNIFE – ah, you know, I see that merch!”

There was a scream from somewhere near the front and Fíli chuckled lightly, eyes still searching for the subject of his apathy. They were starting without him? Strange indeed.

Because there was no way that the stranger standing behind the piano was Ori Staedtler. He knew what the pianist looked like. He was jumpers and floppy hair and an awful attitude, and the person lounging dead centre on the stage was…

Decidedly not any of that.

Fíli gulped.

Oh… oh, that couldn’t be…

There was no way.

A mesh shirt. Low-rise jeans, with a belt that wasn’t even bloody fastened. Hair in the stupidest little half-ponytail that only served to hold it away from his sharp eyes-

And then the figure standing behind the ancient piano’s shoulders dropped slightly, like a breath had forced its way from his chest to leave room for something wild and massive.

The smallest flash of a toothy smirk was all the warning Fíli had; a tiny gap of a tongue flicking over an exposed canine.

And then Ori Staedtler smashed through every layer of his consciousness with one single chord.

It was no wonder he hadn’t recognised him at first; the change in the pianist’s whole demeanour was beyond belief. For one thing, his posture was incredible. Relaxed shoulders, a straight back, despite being tilted forwards over the keys… this was a classically trained musician in the flesh, but more than that, he somehow managed to make it look effortless. He didn’t sit, but there was a stool pulled close enough to the piano that he could – although from the high-energy wall of sound blasting from the stage, it didn’t seem likely that he’d be choosing to for a while.

Especially not when his whole body was thrown into the performance, because yes, Fíli had barely noticed him before the music had started, but now there was no way he could look anywhere else.

Kíli had been right.

Ori Staedtler fucked.

He could see it in the roll of his hips, one side rising in an almost seductive sway as the pedals were pounded through the very floor. He could see it in the choppy way his fingers danced, moving with the assuredness of one who was not thinking so much as they were feeling. He could see it in that smile – that bloody electric smirk that seemed to spread so much further than just his face, rolling through his loose shoulders, his mesh-shirt-clad chest, his-

“First time?” a voice shouted, and Fíli only had the presence of mind to rip his eyes away from the stage for a mere second to take in the blonde punk leaning on the bar.

“Uh. Yeah.”

She laughed, the sound only just audible over whatever bewitching magic filled the air. “You had that look about you. They hit like a fucking truck.”

They did. Now that Fíli was actually listening rather than simply being entranced by the figure currently shredding the keys to bits, he could hear the music for what it was.

And what it was, was outstanding.

Éowyn was an absolute beast; her ponytail flicking behind her as she laid into the kit like it owed her money. Every so often, she moved from the toms over to the Octapad, ghosting fluidly to transform the beats from acoustic to electronic without missing a single hit. And she was having fun; smiling even as her brow visibly began to sweat. There was an almost feral nature to it, although her movements were so highly controlled and tight that it was impossible to see it as anything but a master at work.

Besides her, Bifur’s bass and Bofur’s guitar filled the gaps; blooming into the spaces left behind like a driving force and letting the melody swell and thrash with life and vibrancy. Fíli understood the necessity of basslines, he recognised their importance within a band (especially of this genre), but he didn’t actually think he’d heard how full they could make a song sound until that very moment. It was like the walls themselves felt warm and lived-in; a beat he could feel reverberating through his chest and making him subconsciously lean into the sound.

On top of that, Arwen’s ethereal lead guitar sang away. Something about the way that she played made her voice almost meld with the notes screaming from her white Fender, although each word was so clear that Fíli had a half mind to find the person responsible for the levels and shake their hand, because it resulted in this beautiful cacophony of sound that somehow made the most perfect sense.

And all the while, Ori played away.

“I’ve… I’ve never…” He didn’t even have the words to describe it.

The punk just smiled. “I’m telling you now, you’ll be looking them up the moment their set is done. If you haven’t already by then.”

Fíli could already feel his fingers itching towards his phone. If PEN/KNIFE were this good live, what the fuck did their studio recordings sound like? He didn’t know, but he was rather desperate to find out.

“Oh, tonight is going to be good,” the blonde added with a nod towards the stage. “He’s angry.”

Ah.

Unfortunately, she was right, and Fíli didn’t have to be a genius to know what had got Ori in that state. Something in the flash of his eyes almost stung; a layer of venom and bile behind every note. Each and every note was hammered home, as if he were screaming at the top of his lungs exactly what was on his mind, and although the lyrics themselves were nothing of the sort, Fíli could almost hear his voice echoing through the piano.

I did say I was sorry, the chords hissed, slamming home his frustration like a bullet to the chest.

He had apologised. He had apologised, and Fíli had been angry that he hadn’t fussed over him – a grown man who had walked away from the accident with nothing worse than scraped palms – instead of his piano.

“…I think I fucked up.”

The blonde choked on her drink, shooting him a snide little look of disbelief. “You’re why he’s so angry?!”

He hadn’t intended to say that aloud. Oops.

“Uh. He may have dropped his piano on me earlier and I possibly did not respond in the best way-”

“HE DROPPED HIS PIANO?”

“On me!”

The blonde visibly cringed. “I am sorry about that, but… that’s Ori Staedtler’s piano. He doesn’t play anything else. Ever. If it’d broken…”

Oh, Fíli fully understood that now, and it was with a slightly sick feeling in his stomach that he realised that perhaps his own reaction had been a little… overdramatic. Instruments were not cheap, and it went without saying that musicians tended to become more than a little attached to their favourites. He knew that. He’d been around enough of them over the years to understand. Even Thorin had been precious over his battered six string when teaching him the basics all those years ago.

“Potentially, I may have colossally fucked up.”

The blonde rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. “You think? He doesn’t play like this unless he’s really needing a vent.”

And he was venting. The way Ori’s hands danced over the keys was a rant, spoken so plainly and simply that anyone could hear his frustration. It was fury and catharsis rolled into one; a voice that screamed at the same time as taking solace in the utterance of its grievances. It was obvious in the way that Ori’s shoulders were becoming more and more relaxed as he played, the intense emotion softening somewhat as the song changed and bloomed.

That was not to say that this fresh melody was any less intriguing. The anger may have simmered down, but every ounce of passion was still there, writhing beneath the surface and bringing the music to life.

And the crowd ate it up. Every last drop; every key change to match the acrobatic feats of Arwen’s voice, the drums that made the floor pulse, the echoing of the bass turning Fíli’s chest hollow… yes, it was all passion.

It didn’t end there.

He wasn’t entirely sure when it had changed – the songs all blending into one seamless mass with little to no breaks between tracks – but somewhere along the line the music had taken a detour from adrenaline-inducing rock to something almost… sexual. No, it was definitely sexual; the lilting guitar mirroring Arwen’s breathy voice as she pressed her lips to the microphone and crooned…

Although there was something wrong with the picture. Yes, the song was incredible, the instrumentation fluid and beautiful… but the focus wasn’t on Arwen.

It was on Ori.

Despite not having a microphone, his lips were moving; unheard and subtle. As if it were his to sing.

“You’re so needy. Got your tongue between my teeth, boy, I’m so greedy.”

Those were not Arwen’s words. This was not her song, because Ori was radiant. His head was thrown the whole way back, hips pushed forwards against the frame, the slightest trickle of moisture running down from his chin to his collarbones… and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Kíli’s voice loomed forwards unbidden.

I have genuinely never seen someone who exudes that level of raw horniness whilst playing a piano before.

Well, Fíli certainly had now. The position, the sweat… it was so utterly sexual that he was feeling a little hot under the collar himself.

And then Ori’s head rocked forwards and their eyes locked.

Even in the aftermath, Fíli wasn’t entirely sure if it had been the drums or his heart pounding in his chest, but something had.

When Ori’s lips lifted in the tiniest smirk as he rolled his pelvis forwards and against the piano…

Yeah. That was not the drums.

“Fuck, I want to bite those hipbones.”

At the sound of his very thoughts being voiced, Fíli jumped and wheeled around to see that the blonde was still watching, her contented eyes following the sweep of Ori’s waist as he moved with the music. The moment she realised he was looking at her, she snorted, shoving off the bar with a pronounced eyeroll.

“Can’t blame a girl for dreaming. Not like he’s into women anyway, but I can appreciate the art without wanting to buy the painting.”

It was an odd metaphor, but she was right on one level. Ori was art; every little piece of his self-expression dripping with grace and talent… but all of those thoughts were pushed aside when his brain finally caught up with the first thing that she had said.

“He’s gay?”

She shot him a look that said something along the lines of obviously. “Can you not see the patch on his jeans? Very homosexual. Very open.”

Frankly, Fíli had been slightly too distracted by the fact he was essentially grinding against the piano whilst playing one of the most complex melodies he’d ever heard. But now he actually was paying attention, his eyes caught the flash of two stitched patches over his left thigh. Even under the ever-changing lights, he could see the distinct colours of both the Gay Men’s and the Transgender Pride flags.

“Oh,” Fíli said softly; his voice lost in the music but the unmistakeable shape of the word seen and recognised by the blonde, because she smirked before draining her glass and plonking it back onto the bar.

“Good luck,” she said plainly, eyes twinkling under the coloured lights. “Someone who can piss Ori Staedtler off enough that it shows in the music is someone to be feared indeed.”

And with that, she vanished into the crowd.

When Fíli finally glanced back up at the stage, Ori wasn’t looking at him. Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t like him any more now than he had on the gravel of the car park… although he was going to try his hardest to change that.

The rest of the set flew by in a blur, although whether that was due to Fíli’s mounting anxiety at his impending apology or the mere fact that PEN/KNIFE were simply so good that it felt as if it were over too fast could not be discerned. It was probably both, but before he knew it, the final song drew to a close and the Pit erupted into noise once more.

“Thank you, Orc Pit!” Arwen screamed over the PA, her voice only slightly hoarse as she lifted a hand to swipe the sweat from her forehead. Chucking her pick into the crowd, she turned to exit the stage, long hair flicking out behind her as she was followed by the rest of the band.

Curiously enough, Ori paused.

And in one very deliberate movement of his head, turned to look directly at him. Through the lights, through the crowd.

Only him.

Something unidentifiable in Fíli’s gut lurched. Perhaps it was the final vestiges of irritation leaving him, being drawn out into the overheated air like a cancer on a slide, ripe for dissection… but no. No, it was warm. It was hot. Something about the way that the purple of the stage lights glistened over his face, catching cool-tones over his sclera before dissipating into nothingness as he blinked felt almost heady; a burble deep within that did not die as Ori simply stood.

And smiled.

And Fíli could only stare dumbstruck as he turned, leaving the pure reverberation of that moment hanging like a fog.

Fuck, what… what was that? His heart was hammering in his chest as if the vibrant tones of PEN/KNIFE still echoed through the Pit. It felt like a vice around his lungs, leaving him unable to fully catch his breath, and as the stage lights finally flickered off, fading into the normal semi-darkness that enveloped the club, the sensation did not recede.

No, it only intensified.

It had been a nice smile Fíli thought as he poured a coke out, lobbing a lemon slice in on top of the ice through sheer muscle memory. Something vaguely smug, but nice, nonetheless. Exhilarated, even. Although frankly, after performing a whole set like that, anyone would struggle to not feel some form of euphoria when stepping down from the stage.

And Ori certainly looked elated. Even from the bar, the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead (and stomach, frankly, but Fíli wasn’t going to think too hard about why he’d been looking) was obvious, catching on the lights and sparkling away. Totally at odds with the scruffy young man who’d dropped a piano on him.

And that was intriguing as hell, because now that the stage was empty and the whirlwind of contradictions had vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared, Fíli was stuck in mulling over just who exactly Ori was with burning curiosity.

He’d been poised to apologise before, but now… Lumpy jumpers or mesh shirts and eyeliner? Which was the mask?

Fíli didn’t know, but he was dying to find out.

“You’re due a break,” Thorin murmured, shattering him from his musings by bumping him lightly out of the way to clear down his terminal. When Fíli opened his mouth to protest, he only snorted, shoving him that bit further towards the end of the bar. “Go. Most of this lot will be leaving now the set is over, and your mother will actually have my head if you don’t get your half hour.”

That was fair enough, and really Fíli had places he needed to be. One of those places was going to involve just the teensiest bit of grovelling, and he couldn’t say he was altogether looking forward to that, but the enigma that was Ori Staedtler pulled like a lodestone. He had to know more, and to uncover any of that, he first had to apologise.

Half jogging to the staff door (and Fíli would deny that until the day he died), he dodged past the locker room, past his mother and Thorin’s joint office space, and all the way to the strange little dressing room area without any hesitation. Taking a steadying breath, he knocked on the door…

…and promptly forgot everything he’d been about to say when it swung back to reveal the very object of his fascination.

Ori’s hair was wet; plastered down against his neck and face as if he’d poured a bottle of water over his head. In fact, he probably had, given the half-empty container hanging loosely by his side. He was still wearing the jeans from the show, but that horrifically tempting mesh shirt had been abandoned in favour of his lumpy jumper from before.

For lack of a better word, he was breathtaking.

Unfortunately, his sudden lack of verbosity meant that Fíli didn’t realise he hadn’t actually said anything until Ori’s laughing gaze slid from where he’d been talking to someone inside the room to rest on his own, suddenly falling slack.

“Oh. Uh. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Silence.

Well what the fuck was he supposed to say when face to face with the person who he’d essentially been drooling over for the better part of an hour, especially with an unsaid apology hanging between them?

“Um. The set was… it was really good.”

“Oh, uh. Thank you.” Ori shuffled, pushing a hand up into his damp hair to shove it out of his eyes. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry about the whole-”

“Oh, is that my dear, wonderful, darling brother, come to crash the party?”

Ah. That could be a problem.

Fíli knew that voice. He knew that voice too well, and as the door swung open further, he was not in the slightest bit surprised to see Kíli lounging on the ratty sofa, a shitty wine spritzer in one lax hand, his camera in the other, and a lazy grin plastered over his face.

“Kíli, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Eloping with Cynthia,” he said seriously, the smirk never fading. “We’ve grown attached.”

Bofur snorted – and to Fíli’s dismay – cuddled his guitar closer. “Hands off, lad. Cynthia doesn’t date.”

Kíli just snorted, slouching further against the cushions and absent-mindedly twiddling his camera wheel to scan through his photos. “We’ll see about that after you get a look at the pictures I’ve got of her. She looks so hot, dude.”

“Cynthia is a perfectly respectable lady.”

“Cynthia is a fucking guitar,” Éowyn huffed, flinging a balled-up shirt at Bofur. “A nice guitar, but a guitar, nonetheless.”

“A sexy guitar,” Kíli chimed in with a smirk. That earned him a second shirt to the face, but he was ready for it, deflecting with an elbow as he continued to scroll. “Anyway, I’m chuffed that the lot of you asked me for photos. Really guys, you won’t regret this.”

Ori snorted softly. Leaning over a little closer – and fully entering Fíli’s personal space as he did so – he dropped his voice to a murmur. “He offered. His Instagram was good, so we said yes.”

“Did you happen to see the-”

The noise Kíli let out was aggrieved. “We are not discussing that photo now. Nuh-uh. Nope. I am a staunch professional.”

“…who accidentally posted a picture of his-”

“Fíli!”

And that was his cue to shut up. There are certain tones of voice that siblings exhibit when discussing matters of great import, and Fíli was well aware he was toeing a line right now.

“Fine,” he purred, smirking the tiniest bit at his brother’s reddened face. “Still, the question stands; why are you here, Kí?”

“What, I can’t hang out backstage? I can’t express my admiration to my favourite band and show them photos of how ridiculously incredible they looked out there?” He snorted. “I was actually invited this time.”

Arwen chuckled lightly. “He was. Kíli is amusing.”

“Like a court jester,” Bofur muttered.

“More like the village idiot.” Éowyn added.

“Hey, I resent that! Would you have played a stage so much nicer than Azog’s if it weren’t for me? Nooo.” He stuck out his tongue. “Smart people are allowed to do stupid things from time to time. It just so happens that I’m usually about six steps ahead of the rest of you, so what may look dumb now is actually a well-thought-out stage in my master plan to dominate the universe.”

“Does that include accidentally getting your cock out on Insta?”

Kíli shot him the single most betrayed look he’d ever received. “My brother. You have forsaken me. I shall spend the rest of my life plotting revenge, and you shall rue – rue, I say – the day you decided to reveal such an embarrassing transgression unto these poor mortals! I shall have my vengeance, brother!”

Fíli took the opportunity to throw a bottle of water at him. Kíli shrieked indignantly, nearly sloshing his spritzer over the sofa in his torment.

“He’ll calm down eventually,” Fíli added, rolling his eyes at where his brother was moaning face down in the cushions, camera hanging loosely from his hand as Bofur tried to balance an empty plastic cup on his head. “What is family for if not to embarrass you?”

Ori’s answering chuckle was very light. “Wise words. I’m the youngest of three, so let’s just say that the mortification is understood.”

“Three?” Letting out a low whistle, Fíli grimaced slightly. “That’s uh. That’s a lot.”

“Mmn.”

Ah. He’d overstepped. Turning back to face Ori – and absolutely ignoring the way his damp hair had begun to twist up in these funny little waves as it dried – Fíli schooled his expression into something neutral.

“Look, I came here to say I’m so-”

A fresh wail from Kíli (and the responding howl of laughter from the rest of PEN/KNIFE) promptly droned him out. Thankfully, Ori seemed to have had enough of the noise too, and he inclined his head to the door.

“Fresh air?”

Fíli nodded, grateful for the suggestion. He was feeling more than a little hot under the collar himself right now, and the cooling February breeze would help immeasurably. “The car park should be empty. Fewer people to spot and subsequently swamp the great Ori Staedtler.”

A laugh, tiny… and a little strained, if Fíli was being totally honest. “Wherever you like. Nobody recognises me. Not once I’ve um… de-staged myself, anyway.”

“I didn’t know it was you until you started playing,” he admitted, holding the door open as Ori dragged a jacket on, grabbed a water bottle and reversed out of the room, his arms half in the sleeves.

“I’d be surprised if you had.” A shrug and a gesture for Fíli to lead the way. “The perks of having a very specific image; no one expects to see you as anything else.”

“You’re a chameleon.”

“A bit. Just enough that I can keep the Ori up there and the Ori out here separate.”

“You’re very good at it,” Fíli murmured, shoving open the staff exit with his hip, unwilling to look away from Ori’s slight smirk.

“It’s all performance,” he said softly. Turning back to face Fíli as he walked out into the cold, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes it gets a little confusing for people to wrap their heads around, but it’s easier if… if that up there is not me. I’m Ori Staedtler, but Ori Staedtler is not me, if that makes sense.”

Strangely enough, it did. Whether it was through spending too much time with musicians or merely the fact that Fíli himself had been used to putting on an act for far too many years when he was younger, he understood fully.

“No, I…” he trailed off slightly. “I get it. It’s a persona. An act.”

“Mostly. I still stand by who I am out there, but when I walk away from it all, I’m just not…” he sighed. “Ugh, distracted. I’m sorry, this took a tangent I wasn’t expecting.”

Fíli shrugged, plonking himself down on the low wall bracketing the car park with an unceremonious huff. “It’s fine. You’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

“Still.” Ori didn’t sit, instead taking the opportunity to suck in a deep breath of the chilly air. “I ah. I meant to apologise for earlier.”

That was surprising. “Why? I yelled at you. Think that puts you well within your rights to shout back.”

He snorted. “Wouldn’t really call that shouting, but I did drop a piano on you and not even stop to see if you were ok before checking my instrument over. That wasn’t exactly pleasant behaviour.”

“And I called your piano geriatric. I’d say we’re even.”

“Hardly.” The tiniest frown, a little jerk of his eyes to where Fíli’s palms were braced against the brick of the wall. “…you’ve got plasters on your hands.”

Shit. Shoving them into his pockets, Fíli shrugged. “Just a few. I’m fine.”

“I hurt you,” Ori hissed, all passivity gone in a flash. “I hurt you, and you’re trying to apologise to me?”

He really was unfortunately hot when he was angry. Shaking himself, Fíli lifted one corner of his mouth in a little smile. “From what I’ve heard that instrument is your life. I know musicians. I could have been more understanding than shouting at you. And I wasn’t really hurt, just a few grazes.”

“But you still worked behind a bar all night.” A huff. “How badly do they sting? And be honest, I’ll know if you’re not.”

He would. “A fair bit.”

Ori sighed. Twisting the cap off his water bottle, he gestured for his hands. “Come on, blondie. Plasters off.”

B-blondie? He wasn’t going to question it. Pulling his hands from his pockets, Fíli removed the dressing, exposing his pathetic little grazes to the air. And they really were pathetic; the tiniest patches of redness and irritation where the skin had been scraped away. Nothing that would warrant-

“People always forget just how much they do with their hands,” Ori said softly, tipping a little of the cool water out so it ran over his palms, washing away the irritating sting that the stickiness from the bar had been causing for some time now. “You use them for everything, all the time. Injuring even a finger can be such a disaster.”

“And you would know,” Fíli murmured, eyes flickering between Ori’s face and the steady stream of liquid.

“I’m a pianist; of course I would know.” He sniffed. “You don’t play every single day without understanding exactly which injuries spell time off. I broke my thumb a few years back, do you know how bloody frustrating that was to recover from?”

“Like an athlete breaking a toe?”

“Exactly!” He capped the bottle, popping it on the wall with a satisfied hum. “You’ll want to rebandage those once they’re dry. And use gloves, for fuck’s sake. You don’t need that getting infected.”

“Alcohol is sterile.”

Shooting him a snide sidelong glance, Ori sighed. “I don’t think that any medical professional would be too pleased to hear you’ve been sanitizing your wounds with WKD. Gloves, Fíli.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You have a brother.”

“Ah.”

That he did, and Fíli was all too aware that said brother was probably plotting his downfall as they spoke. Leaving him unattended in the back with the band was not the smartest idea he’d ever had. Which one of his terrible little secrets would be spread around on his return? Knowing Kíli, it would be something about that one time he’d accidentally eaten an entire pack of chocolate liqueurs as a child and promptly gone on a clumsy stripping rampage around the house, too slippery for their mother to catch until he’d fallen asleep in the empty bathtub. That, or the time he’d locked himself out of his flat wearing nothing but his boxers and his (at the time) boyfriend’s too-small shirt. He’d had to call Kíli to get the spare keys, because it was three in the morning and anyone else who could have helped was fast asleep.

The fact remained; his brother had just as many embarrassing stories as he did. Giving him reason to use them probably hadn’t been the wisest move… but then again, Fíli didn’t really consider himself wise.

He didn’t notice Ori reaching for his pocket until the sound of rustling met his ears, and then he could only stare in confused amusement as the pianist produced what looked like a little bag of sweets.

“Pop rocks,” he said in response to Fíli’s raised brow. “The fizzing is nice.”

“Didn’t picture you as the sugary type.”

Ori shrugged. “Everyone’s got a vice. Mine just happens to be strawberry flavoured.”

That was true enough. Fíli’s own came in the form of long showers and quiet time at the end of a shift, but he was all too aware of his uncle’s illicit cigarettes, smoked only when he thought no one was watching.

“So you’re a pop rock enjoying, ridiculously talented pianist, with the ability to literally shapeshift. Got it.”

The dim lights of the car park made it almost impossible to tell, but Fíli could have sworn he saw the colour of Ori’s cheeks darken a shade. “Didn’t know you dealt in flattery, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy? He was going to ignore that for now too, even if the statement had ignited something fluttery in his stomach. “I speak nothing but the truth. You were incredible out there.”

Ori sighed. “I’m not one for downplaying my abilities. I was good, yes, but incredible is a tad far-fetched. I flubbed too many notes for that.”

“None that I noticed.”

“Mm, but I noticed. That’s enough.”

“Alright, I’m adding hypercritical to the list.”

Oh, Fíli was not going to forget that laugh in a hurry. It was almost a snort; Ori’s sleeve coming up to cover his face as he chuckled, before ripping open the bag of pop rocks and depositing the whole load into his mouth at once. The fizzing was somehow louder than his amusement, and it only increased when the pianist crunched down hard on the sugar, making them crack violently.

“What?” he muttered. “Sh the beshht way to enjoy ‘em. Angry.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Fíli chuckled. “Personally, the fizzing makes me want to claw my face off.”

Ori swallowed, the vast majority of the noise immediately dampening. “And what a terrible shame that would be.”

Brushing off the compliment with nothing but the tiniest blush that vanished into the night air, Fíli turned his attention instead to the soft glow of the streetlights and the red Orc Pit sign around the corner. The pavement that stretched to the front of the building was bathed in it; a deep crimson that spilt over the concrete and tarmac like a bloodstain. One that couldn’t be removed until the lights themselves turned off.

He’d always thought comparing himself to that stain was rather apt, although in that moment he couldn’t really think of anything but how Ori was anything but. His lights didn’t turn off, nor did they dim. Both onstage and off, they were always on.

And then Ori shattered the silence once more with a voice so small that he could barely believe it came from the pianist.

“What… what did you think?”

There was an easy answer to that. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, Fíli unlocked it and turned the screen so Ori could see.

“I bought the album during your set.” He shrugged. “And every single. And that collection of live sessions you did.”

“Just like that?”

“You’re good. I know what I like, and… yeah.”

Ori blinked.

Ah. Perhaps Fíli should have thought his words through a little more because that statement had come across slightly lewder than intended. But before he could backtrack, the pianist’s face lit up in a smile.

“Thank you. I’m… proud of PEN/KNIFE. It means a lot that it connected with you like that.”

“You should be proud. What you’re doing… it’s incredible. All of you, but I didn’t ever think I’d see…” he swallowed hard. “Someone like me doing things like you do.”

“Oh. Oh.” Ori’s eyes widened as he cocked his head to one side, the slightest smile creasing his cheeks. “Holy shit, really?”

That was enough to drag a little chuckle from him. “I’m hardly stealth, but it’s nice to hear that I pass.”

Ori’s snort was almost deafening. “The ponytail? The muscles? You look like a walking advert for kombucha. Whatever testosterone you’re on is not the same as mine.”

He raised a brow. “I had to be uh. Directed to the patches on your jeans.”

“You’re horrifically unobservant. I’ve been wearing them all day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was slightly more attentive to the attempted death-by-piano you nearly treated me to,” Fíli muttered teasingly, before sobering. “We’ve built a community here. Half of the staff are some flavour of Queer, and those who aren’t are good people. I’ve never once felt like I have to hide who I am.”

Ori hummed, wandering over to plonk himself down on the wall. It was slightly too close; just that tiniest inch nearer than someone would normally sit next to a stranger, but Fíli really wasn’t complaining. “I did notice your bouncer’s keychain when he let us in the back room,” he said softly. “Pink and blue. Very distinctive.”

“What, Dwalin’s? Big bloke, blue mohawk?” At the nod, Fíli smiled. “I didn’t know the two of you had even crossed paths. He’s basically my older brother. Taught me… well, everything, I suppose.”

“I don’t think a lot of people understand just how safe seeing something like that makes you feel. I’m not about to pretend to be anything other than myself, but having a visible mark like that… I’ve felt safe to express myself since walking through the doors, and it shows in the music.”

It had. Fidgeting with his sleeve a little, Fíli gazed off into the darkness at the other end of the car park. “You’re authentic. Stunting that with pretence would be a crime.”

For the longest time, Ori didn’t reply. Neither did Fíli, and the silence bloomed around them like a comforting weight; something heavy and dense. It was sluggish out here in the cold, the songs all melding into one as the club continued to pour music into the darkness like a gentle balm… well, if balms came in the form of thudding basslines and screaming guitars.

Fíli’s did. It always had.

Eventually, Ori spoke.

“I always wanted the lyrics to reflect that,” he murmured. “That I was… well, that I was speaking for people who couldn’t say the words themselves. I remember a time when that sort of expression was so far out of the realm of reality for myself, and I know how horrible it was. My music – our music – is a safe space. For everyone who needs it.”

It was so true from what Fíli had heard, but something in the statement stuck. Ori was talking as if…

“You wrote them? All of them?”

Ori shrugged, ripping open a second pack of pop rocks and chucking back a handful, biting down as they began to crackle in his mouth. “The lyrics, at least. A good chunk of the instrumentation was a team effort, but Needy is mine. I wanted something that… meant things. To the right people.”

“Is that why you were singing it?”

The snort was almost disbelieving. “You saw that?”

Fíli wasn’t going to mention that the only reason he’d seen was because he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ori. He wasn’t going to mention how that particular song had made him feel. And he certainly wasn’t going to mention how it still made him feel, sitting on the low wall of the Pit’s car park in the kind of darkness that made every little thought seem like the best idea he’d ever had.

There was only an inch or so between them. Close enough that he could hear every last pop and snap of the horrible sweets Ori was consuming.

Ignoring the odd little feeling that had settled deep in his chest, he shot a curious glance at the pianist. “Why were you singing if no one could hear you?”

“It’s not about hearing me,” he replied nonchalantly. “It’s about hearing me.”

“…you just said exactly the same thing twice.”

Ori sighed. “And that’s how I know you’re not listening.” Twisting his dusty Solovairs in the gravel, he dumped another little handful of pop rocks into his mouth. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

“How do you know I’m smart? I could be incredibly stupid and very good at hiding it.”

“Call it a hunch,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve spent a little too long hearing your brother complain to think you anything but intelligent. And a total narcissist with a stick up his ass, but I think that may just be a Kíli thing.”

“…how much has he told you about me, exactly?”

Ori shrugged, the faint traces of a sly little smirk playing about his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, lemon boy?”

Well, that statement told him two things. The first was that Ori knew what his primary sidework task was. The second was…

“You know I called you ‘pencil boy’.”

It wasn’t a question.

“It is absolutely not the worst thing I’ve been called, but points for creativity. Unfortunately, I need more time to come up with an equally soul-crushing nickname for you.”

“Why? You’ve been calling me blondie and pretty boy since we sat down.”

Ori’s smirk grew ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment there was this odd little flash of something in the chilled air. Something… warm, almost.

“Yes, but I think you like those nicknames,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and over Fíli’s lips in a very deliberate pass. “You would have told me to stop if you didn’t.”

Oh.

Oh, that was…

Fuck, Fíli was actually lost for words.

He hadn’t expected Ori to be smooth. He hadn’t expected him to flirt, to talk to him like he wanted… well, what the slow drag of his eyes was implying.

And Fíli hadn’t expected to be quite so into it as he was.

“I…” he sucked in a tiny breath, the air suddenly hot in his lungs. “I did… like-”

Naturally, that was the moment the staff door banged open, and Fíli’s head spun around so fast it very nearly detached.

Ah. Wonderful.

“Fuck, it’s frigid out here,” Bofur hissed, rubbing his arms through his thin jacket. “Wyn, your heater better be fixed. I’m not freezin’ my tits off the whole way back.”

Éowyn huffed, shoving him lightly to the side. “You’re riding with Ori. I’m not driving in the opposite direction for an hour when I’m half asleep.”

Bofur groaned. “In the Micra? Cynthia won’t fit, not with Bif too.”

With a sigh, Ori popped up from the wall, shooting an apologetic little glance at Fíli as he folded his arms over his chest. “You’ll fit. You always bloody do.”

The sound Bofur let out then was nothing short of pained. It was tempered somewhat by Bifur throwing a hand over his shoulder and leading him off to the space beside the Transit, where – on closer inspection – the tiniest sliver of a car poked out.

“Ohh,” Fíli said, shaking off the vestiges of whatever strange headiness had filled the atmosphere until that moment. “That’s why I didn’t see you earlier. How small is that-”

“Aaaa-” Ori interrupted him, waving a finger in his general direction. “Practical. Not small. When I park, I fit on the first try.”

There were absolutely better turns of phrase he could have used, and Ori bloody knew it if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by.

The tension was back. Fuck, it had never left; the air stretched and thrumming as the pianist rooted through his pockets for his keys.

This was going to be a problem.

Fíli didn’t care.

A whistle had Ori’s gaze snapping up to meet Bifur’s, and his hand flicked out to catch something as it was thrown.

“Left them in the dressing room,” the bassist muttered before continuing to console his sobbing cousin.

Ori sighed, sticking one thumb up. “Thanks, Bif.” Turning back to Fíli, he shot him a sad little smile. “Duty calls, I suppose. Thanks for… well, for apologising, as unnecessary as it was.”

Fíli shrugged, trying to quell the odd little disappointment that had taken residence in his throat. “Thanks for playing. And being a fascinating person.”

“I try.”

And that was it. Ori jogged across the car park, sparing a handful of words and a hug for both Arwen and Éowyn as they hopped into the van and Fiesta. It was odd, he thought, watching the pianist unlock his car to let the two remaining members in. There was a strange sense of loss setting up in his stomach – more than there should be, considering the fact that he barely knew him.

And whatever that moment had been was not helping matters.

Would Ori have kissed him? Was it just more teasing?

Was it-

“One second.”

His chest lurched. Turning back to the pianist, Fíli suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a rather intense stare. It was neither as heady as before, nor as angry as such a glare may have once been.

Softer.

Curious, even.

“You’re working tomorrow?”

Fíli nodded. “Every day this week.”

A tiny exhale. “Good. That’s… that’s good.” And then he winked, all traces of that mysterious nervousness gone. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, pretty boy.”

And really, what else could Fíli do in the face of such words than snort back, nodding as the weird pianist climbed into his car and drove away, the sound of Bofur fiddling with the radio audible above the broken cough of the engine.

Fuck.

Ori Staedtler was…

“I said you’d like him.”

Fíli very nearly jumped out of his skin at his brother’s soundless approach, but somehow he managed to dial back his reaction to simply shrug, gaze quickly flicking from Kíli’s smug expression to the fading brake lights of the Micra.

“He’s… something.”

“Told you.” There was a faint sound of jingling, and suddenly the dim light of a camera screen was shoved in front of his face. “Seems to me that you agree with my assessment that Ori Staedtler fucks.”

It took a minute for Fíli to realise what he was looking at, but the moment he did…

Ah.

That could be problematic.

Because on Kíli’s horribly cracked screen was a picture of him – and not just any picture, oh no. It was beautifully framed; the pink and purple stage lights illuminating the bar in a lucent kaleidoscope. More to the point, it broadcast the exact moment that PEN/KNIFE had begun to play.

The exact moment Fíli had realised who the mesh-shirt-clad stranger had been.

And he looked dumbstruck.

“Y-you took a photo?” he hissed. Kíli – true to form – simply cackled.

“I am a photographer, Fí. Always looking for a perfect picture.”

It was a good picture. And that was an issue.

“What do I have to do to make it so that photo never sees the light of day?”

Kíli cackled, flashing him a grin that screamed of nothing but trouble. “Now that you mention it, mum’s got me cleaning the toilets tomorrow evening – a punishment I frankly do not wish to do. I don’t suppose you’d like to take over for me?”

With one last glance down at the camera, taking in the way his mouth was hanging ever so slightly agape, Fíli sighed.

“You’re horrible, you know that.”

“And don’t you ever forget it,” Kíli replied proudly.

*

As it turned out, the magic that was PEN/KNIFE was not a one-time-thing.

Actually, Fíli rather thought they sounded better today.

After going home to a fitful night of sleep (punctuated by brown eyes and sharp hipbones, although he was hardly going to admit to that), he’d dragged himself back to the Pit just in time to comply with Kíli’s ‘request’. Naturally, that had left him elbow-deep in a toilet during PEN/KNIFE’s soundcheck, and listening through the wall simply wasn’t enough.

But more than that, he hadn’t seen Ori all day.

It was strange. He’d arrived on time for once – Fíli knew because he’d heard him – but by the time he’d dragged himself from the bathroom and changed into his usual black tee and jeans, Ori had vanished into the back with the rest of the band.

Of course Kíli had found this intensely amusing. He’d spent most of the time before Fíli’s shift had begun lounging at the bar and shooting him text messages of the heart eyes emoji (and dodging both Thorin and their mother in the process).

Fíli was already concocting a plan as to what he’d have his brother do the next time he owed him a ‘favour’. Something like sending him to various shops with an ever-increasing list of ridiculous items that seemed innocuous when purchased alone, but together…

He chuckled softly as he scooped ice into a glass, resisting the urge to stare at where his younger brother sat perched at the end of the bar. Oh yes, Fíli would have his revenge. But planning in full could wait until later, because a good portion of his attention was being taken up by PEN/KNIFE’s set, and frankly he wasn’t wasting the opportunity to see them live again by losing himself in speculative embarrassment.

And – as he’d already noted – something about their set was elevated today.

It wasn’t anything obvious. The band still played with just as much energy; the instruments hammered with a fervour that was hard to beat, but there was a certain quality hanging in the air that Fíli couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Not that any of the amassed revellers seemed to notice. The dancing was just as aggressive as it had been the previous night, the cheers just as wild. But as the set marched ever onwards, Fíli couldn’t help but feel something was amiss, and it wasn’t the fact that they’d reordered the songs.

“Busy drooling, are we?”

Sighing at Kíli’s comment, Fíli elected to totally ignore him. Instead, he poured out a glass of coke before sliding it over to a waiting patron, taking the next order with a practiced ease only really achieved from years of working in such conditions.

‘Such conditions’ here referring less to the clashing greatness of the instruments and the screech of the crowd, and more to the presence of the single greatest irritant any older sibling can experience.

“Oh fine, ignore me why don’t you,” Kíli cackled. Raising his camera up to the stage, he adjusted the focus before snapping a photo over the heads of the dancers. “Not even a scrap of thanks for introducing you to your new favourite band.”

“Who said they’re my favourite band?” Fíli replied tersely, immediately rising to the bait and cursing himself for it.

Kíli snorted. “The last time I saw you this taken with an act it was fifteen years ago, and we were barrier at Panic.”

“A lot has changed since then.”

“Mm,” Kíli hummed, leaning in to sip his spritzer through the ridiculous silly straw he’d produced from his pocket. “You thirsting over men in tight trousers hasn’t gone anywhere though.”

Forcing his gaze away from Ori’s outfit-du-jour – purple crop top, fishnet shirt beneath and a pair of jeans that were artfully unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of waistband – he scowled. “You need your eyes checked.”

“Fine, his jeans aren’t that tight-”

“I’m not thirsting,” Fíli hissed, cutting him off. “He’s talented. I like the music.”

“Thiiiirsting.”

“Shut up, Kí.”

Unfortunately, he was probably right. No, scratch that; Kíli was definitely, horrifyingly, awfully right, because Fíli hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Ori since he stepped onto the stage. It didn’t help that he’d barely slept (or that when he finally had, his dreams had been decidedly unsavoury and not restful in the slightest), but Fíli was certain that he would have been just as entranced regardless.

He understood that it was all part of the persona that made up Ori Staedtler, but he was really hot today. Like, really hot. So hot that every little bead of sweat travelling down from his exposed midriff to ghost into his waistband left a searing trail. The lights sparkled against every one, drawing his eye in and tracking the path with a hunger that some feral part of him wished he could follow with his tongue.

It probably wasn’t entirely healthy to be lusting after someone he was on the barest speaking terms with like this, but that was the paradox of Ori’s whole… Ori-ness. He was two distinct people wrapped up in a bundle of cable and sheet music. They were separate but somehow the same, and both pulled him for different reasons.

Ori Staedtler was raw sex appeal. Each and every roll of his hips was a sonata, and that was the whole point.

But Ori… Ori was something else entirely. As the music changed, the song blending into the familiar opening chords of Needy (he knew immediately from spending rather too long listening to that particular track the previous night), Fíli allowed himself to ponder just what that meant.

He was attracted to him. That was obvious; he’d have to be literally dead to not feel some form of lust for the flirtatious pianist and his outrageous hipbones. But it was more than that. He was actually attracted to Ori’s personality, and that was far rarer than admitting that someone was simply hot.

And the music. The lyrics were decadent. A sharp intake of breath. A wait. The moment between realisation and reality. And knowing who had written them…

It was strange, he thought as he watched Ori continue caressing the keys, his dexterous hands pulling off a flexibility that no mere mortal should be able to achieve. His previous day’s misconception that the piano could not be played in such a sexual manner had been shattered once again, because Ori’s movements were so downright erotic that it was a miracle the club hadn’t caught light.

His skin prickled uncomfortably, a wave of heat making its way down from his collar to his tailbone in a searing pass.

Something was on fire, at least. Fíli was burning up beneath his black shirt, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to stop. If the heat – this unbearable smouldering – meant he could bask just a little longer in the twist of Ori’s fingers against the keys, then he would happily be consumed into nothingness. He would ache, he would watch as those smirking lips curled up and mouthed every lyric.

He could almost hear him.

And then – for two long beats of his heart – Ori met his eyes.

One.

Two.

It’s not about hearing me. It’s about hearing me.

Fíli was listening now. Fuck, he was listening.

“Kíli, you’re watching the bar,” Fíli bit out, ripping the cloth from his pocket and stalking out from behind the counter before his brother could even begin to object.

“Wha- Fíli!” he hissed, waving his hands in exasperation, but he didn’t stop, didn’t even look back.

He’d heard him.

Ori had stared down from that stage, out into the glare of the oncoming lights, and found his gaze. Fíli knew he could see from up there and he’d chosen that exact moment to look.

Needy is mine. I wanted something that… meant things. To the right people.

Fíli really hoped that he was one of the right people tonight.

Bypassing the staff room, he slid into the little walled off area behind the stage and as the crowd roared a final bellow and cheerful voices began to filter through where PEN/KNIFE had played their last notes, he simply waited in the shadows.

“-show tonight!” Bofur called, a little twanging noise ringing out as he caressed Cynthia. “Killed it, the lot of you.”

Éowyn shrugged. “I was off on Arson. Pisstake, actually.”

“Sweetheart, that song – and forgive my language – was made to be a bitch.” The soft sound of Arwen’s laugh filtered through the air. “You do remember the argument you and Ori had the day before he showed us the draft.”

“No? Why does everybody seem to remember these fucking arguments I apparently constantly find myself in but me?”

“Because you fight anyone and everyone all the bloody time.”

As the laughter – and Éowyn’s irritated grumbling – faded off into the distance, Fíli stepped away from the wall.

And immediately found himself being shoved back against it.

“You listened,” Ori breathed, eyes bright. His shoulders were heaving with adrenaline, fingers tight against Fíli’s shirt, that hunger so obvious over his features-

“I heard.”

“You know what you’re getting yourself into? I’m asking for consent now, blondie.”

That nickname was going to fucking kill him – if he didn’t spontaneously combust from need beforehand.

“Consent granted,” Fíli rasped, pitching forwards at the exact moment Ori grabbed him by the ponytail and dragged him down, and oh, fuck he tasted good. Like spearmint and shitty strawberry pop rocks and sweat-

And he was so hungry. As the club music started filtering back in through the wall, Ori practically snarled; his nimble fingers stealing the hairband from his blond locks and looping it onto his wrist to delve deep and yank him closer, and Fíli groaned into the kiss, his mouth open and breath harsh.

“Here?” Ori half growled, pushing his thigh against the crotch of his jeans and leaning into it hard.

“Fuck- yes. Here.” Fíli didn’t think he could wait another second, his blood racing as he ground back against the contact. “You’re so hot, oh my-”

The rest of his words were deleted; simply erased as Ori lurched forwards to take his mouth again, rocking against him like he needed this just as much as Fíli did, like he was just as eager to touch him. And Fíli was eager – more than that, he was desperate. He was bloody unhinged. To want this here, to be touching Ori like this mere feet away from where the entire club was still basking in the afterglow of his performance… it was another level of stupid.

Fíli didn’t care.

“Tell me how bad you want me.” Ori ordered when they broke apart, his fingers already dropping to his belt and ripping the buckle free.

“Hh… so fucking bad, oh my God, you’re all I’ve thought about since-” He bit back a curse as Ori forced his thigh forward even harder, pressing so roughly that Fíli thought he might actually white out. “Fuck, please just touch me.”

Ori snorted. “That song was made for you, blondie. You’re so needy it almost hurts to watch.”

He was. Fíli didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything this badly, and as steady fingers slipped into his boxers, he couldn’t help the literal moan it ripped from him.

But he needed to… before this went any further…

“I’m uh…” he gulped, head caught between desperate lust and knowledge that he had to speak, although as Ori’s hand stilled ever so slightly, he found the drive easier to uncover. “I don’t… fuck, please don’t get me wrong; I need this. I need you. But I-I’m not entirely comfortable with…”

Myself went unsaid, but Ori seemed to understand. “What are you comfortable with?”

“Uhh, I’m good with… uh. N-not inside.”

“That’s fine with me,” Ori purred, his hand ghosting down the slightest bit further. “Can I jack you off?”

“Please.”

The grin was bordering on feral. “I was hoping you’d say that.” And then his fingers moved just that bit more, and-

“Oh, you’re big,” Ori breathed, running a digit over his wet cock. “You wanted this the whole time you were watching me up there, didn’t you? You’re so turned on, holy shit.”

“Y-your fingers-” It was about all he could manage; Ori’s touch suddenly becoming firm and pressing as he started to caress him in earnest.

“That’s what gets you off? Watching how good I am with my hands?” He snorted. “Imagining how that translates to other things?”

He didn’t need to imagine anymore; the proof was right there, driving him insane in his ruined boxers. “Y-yes- fuck, you’re so…”

“I’m so what? Say it, pretty boy.”

“Y-you’re so… so good-”

Apparently, that was the right answer, because the moment the words passed his lips, Ori pitched forwards, his mouth latching onto the side of his neck and sucking so roughly that Fíli nearly yelped. The sound that actually left him was some little moan – pathetic and tiny and growing as Ori decided it clearly wasn’t enough and dragged the bruising skin between his teeth.

He hadn’t been given a hickey in years. It was something he’d never really seen the point in; a childish emulation of possession he’d stopped engaging in before even entering his twenties, but here, now, Fíli needed it like his next gulp of air. To be marked by Ori, to tell the world that he’d been fucked by him, and that he had liked it enough to leave a reminder on his flesh that it had happened. The pianist’s hand was still locked in his hair, dragging his head back against the wall as he feasted on his throat, his other trapped between them and still jerking him off with a very deliberate rhythm that had the heat beneath his skin building violently. And it was so good, so unbelievably raw and delicious that he could feel himself careening towards the edge faster than he had previously thought possible.

Then again, it was no real surprise that after all those heated glances and clenched fists, he came from a simple harsh exhale against the aching skin of his neck.

“Fuck!” he hissed, hips bucking up against Ori’s hand as he chased the aftershocks, pushing himself to the very brink of overstimulation before backing off and sagging into the brick.

Ori chuckled, withdrawing with one final rub that sent a pulse of something bordering on pain through him. “You are so easy, holy shit. You’d think I’d been working you over for hours.”

“You… you have been.” Fíli’s breath was coming out hard and laboured, his legs struggling to hold him up as the pianist moved away. “Every… every part of that fucking act… foreplay.”

“I know. Open up.”

As temporarily spent as he was, Fíli moaned when Ori’s fingers pushed past his lips, his tongue immediately setting about licking them clean.

Oh, he was developing a serious thing about hands. Ori’s broad palms and slender fingers were already a weak point where his fantasies as of late had been concerned, but the combination of those wonderful digits and the taste of himself was almost too much to comprehend.

That was him on Ori’s fingers. That was irrevocable proof that he’d touched him, that he’d made him come – and just as much as the bruise on his throat, Fíli felt borderline possessed by the realisation.

The moment his mouth was free, Ori lurched forwards once more to kiss him, his tongue slipping inside the seam of his lips. To taste him, Fíli realised with a jolt. Ori wanted to taste him.

And they weren’t done yet.

“Do you want to suck my cock?” Ori panted when he pulled back, his grip tightening to an almost crushing degree. “Are you going to get on your knees for me, pretty boy? Will you let me fuck your face until you’re a blubbering mess, because I really think you want to.”

Fíli’s head rocked back against the wall, following the direction his hair was being yanked in. “I’d love to,” he gasped, grinding down hard against that wonderful knee again. “But you’d better not hold back. I want every bit of what you can give me.”

“Oh, I can give you a lot.” With one final pull, he released his hair. “Get down there, blondie.”

Fíli was on his knees in seconds. There was no time for hesitation, not when he was finally getting to do the very thing that had been on his mind since seeing just how sharp those glorious hipbones were. As his fervent hands unzipped Ori’s fly and dragged his jeans down to his knees, he took the chance to run his mouth over the ridge on his flesh, silently gasping when the pianist moaned; pushing his hips forward into the caress.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Ori half purred, his breathless voice mingling with the echoed music in an oddly heady combination. “You look like you want to be.”

It went without saying, and as Fíli groaned into his skin and tugged his boxers down far enough to finally see him bare, the notion only intensified further.

His T dick was huge. Fíli had suspected as much – there was literally no way Ori could act like that, move like that without packing something seriously impressive beneath. He had this ridiculous confidence that poured off him in waves, leaving him half-drowned with every little flip of his hair or flex of his hands. And Fíli wanted it all.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare at me, or are you actually going to do something?” Ori murmured teasingly, dragging a hand deep into his hair once more and nudging his face closer.

Frankly, Fíli didn’t need any further encouragement. Flicking his eyes up to lock with Ori’s heady gaze, he pushed forwards, bunching the denim of his jeans in both desperate hands, and deliberately licked a very light swath over his cock.

“Ohh, you tease,” Ori breathed, his grip strengthening just that bit further in his hair. “Do I actually have to fuck your face to get you to do something?”

Well, that was Fíli’s goal… and apparently the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes did not go unnoticed. The pianist huffed a laugh, his other hand slipping up into his messy locks and pulling his mouth flush against him.

“I did warn you,” Ori murmured.

He had warned him. He had told him this would happen, and frankly the moment Fíli found himself being dragged and ground against with that much force, he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. Ori was obscenely turned on; his cock so wet and hard in his mouth as he rutted against his face with a roughness that only served to pour fuel on the fire burning away beneath his skin. It had been tempered by coming, but the pure savagery that Ori was taking his mouth with had him snapping back to the precipice so fast it almost made his head spin.

And the music.

Whatever stupid track the DJ had put on was so heavy on the bass that it nearly made Fíli feel drunk. He was drunk; the musky flavour of Ori’s T dick and sweat combining in a cocktail that only served to make everything a little fuzzy at the edges, and as that deep pounding in his chest thumped away harder, the exhilaration began to feel like his body was no longer purely his. Here against the wall, it was shared.

Here against the wall, it belonged as much to Ori as it did him.

Dropping a hand into his own soaked boxers, he jerked himself in rough swipes – the pads of his fingers and thumb just shy of too much against his aching cock – and when Ori’s hips shuddered against him, the cries beginning harsher and harsher as his face was soundly fucked, Fíli knew a second orgasm was on the horizon.

And then his eyes flickered up and met Ori’s flushed and ecstatic gaze, and he was there.

“Such… such a good boy for me,” the pianist moaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly in his hair. “You take me so well, blondie.”

He did. Fíli did, and he was being so good, so obedient, he would do anything Ori told him to and be thankful for it, because he was being allowed this tiny slice of attention, he was being allowed to suck Ori, to touch Ori, to be fucked by Ori, Ori, Ori, Ori-

Ori came on a groan, his fingers nearly yanking out a chunk of Fíli’s hair in the process as wetness coated his tongue, and that in itself was enough. It was more than enough; it was perfect, and he had to withdraw to slump against the pianist’s leg as the aftershocks rumbled through him.

The bass was still thundering in his chest. His veins were still charged with that electric energy… but Fíli was so exhausted that he could barely lift his head.

“Fuck,” he breathed, panting against Ori’s exposed thigh. “That… that was…”

It seemed the sentiment was returned. “Hah- oh fuck,” that silky voice gasped from above. Fíli didn’t quite have the energy to look up, so he just remained breathing hard against his skin. “I… oh you have no idea how much I needed that.”

“Me… me too.” He was still throbbing; his cock aching after being punished by both his own hand and Ori’s.

Fuck.

This was going to be a problem.

When Fíli eventually managed to rip his gaze up to stare to the face half-occluded by the darkness, it was into something almost as disbelieving as his own expression must have been.

“I can’t…” Fíli sucked in a deep breath, coughing slightly as it hit his lungs strangely. “Can’t believe we just… backstage, it’s so…”

“Irresponsible?” Ori replied with a soft chuckle. “Must admit that I’m not usually one for public stuff myself, although you seemed pretty into it.”

“Oh, I was,” he murmured, trying to ignore the awful wet feeling in his trousers. That was going to be a little uncomfortable to finish a shift on. “Were you… I mean, you enjo-”

He was interrupted before he could finish his sentence. “Considering the fact I came in your mouth, I’d say I enjoyed myself perfectly adequately.”

Fíli relaxed a little. “Good. Goo-uh, we should… should probably…”

Ori laughed. “Yes, yes, I’ll put my trousers back on. Can’t have anyone knowing that you sucked my cock in a moment of pure depravity.”

“I’m more worried about someone seeing your cock than anyone knowing.”

A shrug. “That’s fair enough… although I didn’t see you complaining about seeing it.”

“Because I was literally sucking you off at the time.”

“And were you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Fíli didn’t really have that many clothes to shuck back on himself, but he watched in mild fascination as Ori dragged his jeans and boxers up his legs, buttoning and belting them back into a state of-

Hold on.

“Sex appeal,” Ori said cheekily, tracing the edge of the buttonhole that had remained undone for the whole set ever so slightly. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”

“You’re actually horrible,” Fíli muttered, although the lazy grin that had glossed over his face didn’t shift. “A terrible, terrible person. No redeeming qualities whatsoever – well, apart from your music.”

Ori snorted, extending a hand to help him claw his way off the floor. Fíli accepted it, and his knees only protested the tiniest amount as he drew himself up.

“Mm, I really didn’t hear you saying that when I was getting you off. Want to rephrase that statement a little?”

Something in Fíli was telling him to be a shit.

He was listening to it.

“No, I don’t think I do,” he chuckled, sticking his tongue out in a very mature move as Ori plonked a hand on his hip and scowled.

Apparently, it was a red flag to a bull, because the pianist chose that moment to snake his hand up behind his hair and drag him down to kiss him deeply. It was messy and slow, but Fíli relished in it, slowly moving his lips against Ori’s in a soft caress.

Too soon, he pulled away, and Fíli tried not to feel bereft at the loss of contact.

“I’m absolutely going to be missed in a moment,” he sighed. “And so are you, I suppose.”

If he wasn’t being missed already. And now Fíli was really thinking about it…

“Fuck,” he muttered, remembering just who he’d left in charge of the bar. “Yeah, I uh. I need to get back.”

Ori’s answering huff was soft, but he did lean in for one final press of his lips before retreating completely – the scent of strawberry pop rocks fleeing with his departure.

“I suppose I’ll see you around then, blondie,” Ori murmured with one final wink in his direction. “And… thanks. I really needed that.”

Fíli just smiled, trying hard not to think about the horrible little sick feeling that had settled in his stomach.

It was sex. It had only ever been sex, but something about letting Ori leave just like that felt wrong. Abhorrent.

He had no right to complain. None whatsoever.

So why did he feel… fuck.

Yeah, Fíli was absolutely not going to think about that. He’d just had a perfectly pleasant shag behind the Pit’s stage, and he’d been thoroughly and expertly taken to pieces before cordially parting ways. He could live with that.

Unfortunately, what he could not live with was the mess that Kíli had made of his bar. The moment he emerged back into the club proper, it became immediately obvious just how ill-thought-out his plan had been.

“Fí!” Kíli waved from the bar, his voice lost in the music, but words clear regardless. As was the anxious flashing of his eyes.

The reason for that was standing directly next to him.

“A-ah, mum!” Fíli all but squeaked before clearing his throat. “S-sorry, I had to-”

“You had to nothing,” his mother hissed, pulling another pint and scowling as she did so. “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but really? Leaving Kíli behind the bar? And what happened to your hair?!”

Oh, he was going to be paying for this.

Fortunately, the tiny smoulder in his chest (and the accompanying ache) were telling him that it had indeed been worth it.

*

“Do you work literally every shift available, or am I just lucky?”

Resisting the urge to drop the crate of beers he was about to decant into the cooler, Fíli took a brief moment to calm the storm that had kicked up in his chest at those words. He lowered it to the floor. Sucked in a breath. Turned.

Yep. Ori Staedtler was sitting at his bar.

That was fascinating.

“Most shifts,” he replied with a shrug, unable to stop the little grin that had begun to wind over his features. “But I am here all week… although I didn’t know if you’d be too keen on seeing me again after…”

After what went unsaid; the events and subsequent parting of the other night still fresh… but Ori didn’t seem too bothered. His posture was totally relaxed, elbows propped up on the bar as he took a sip from his water bottle. The expression he was wearing was pretty unreadable, but the sly little passage of his eyes down the front of Fíli’s shirt did not go unnoticed.

And then he laughed. “Why on earth would you think that? As far as I remember, we both had a very nice time indeed. Unless of course you didn’t want to see me again…”

“No,” Fíli said slightly too quickly, wincing at the rushed way his words came out. He was trying very hard to stay rooted in the moment, but the delightful slide of those eyes made it almost impossible to think of anything but nimble hands in his hair, and the missing elastic he was almost positive remained looped around a slender wrist. “No, I uh. That’s absolutely not the case.”

“Good. We’re on the same page then,” Ori hummed, slouching further against the bar. “You’re actually not a bad person to talk to, and frankly I’d rather be out here than listening to Bofur and Éowyn bickering over whose turn it is to buy food.”

Fíli made a little noise of compassion. “They argue a lot, don’t they?”

“That’s putting it lightly. The pair of them do actually like each other, but they have a funny way of showing it.” He sighed, taking another sip from his bottle. “It’s almost a daily ritual. Teasing each other until either Bifur or Arwen step in and then performing like they’re the best of bloody friends. They should have been born siblings, I swear.”

“That sounds familiar.”

Ori laughed. “I had assumed that you and Kíli were similar. The way the pair of you acted the other day was pretty recognisable.”

“Are you like that with your brothers?”

“Sometimes. Dori’s a bit of a mother hen, and that can get on my tits from time to time, but he hasn’t been as bad since I moved out. And as for Scoutmaster Nori…” a snort, “if he’s got someone else to torment, then I’m in the clear.”

“Scoutmaster Nori?”

Ori shrugged. “An inside joke. He’s… how do I say it… enthusiastic, I suppose.”

Ah. “‘Be prepared’. Was never in scouts myself, but the motto sticks.”

“He wasn’t either. It still stands.” Gently spinning the bottle over the countertop to pass it from hand to hand, Ori smiled absent-mindedly. “We get on each other’s nerves sometimes, but it’s better now I’m actually out in the world myself. Age differences and all that. I was a bit of a late-life surprise.”

That made sense, from what Fíli had heard. But something about the whole scenario was bothering him, and as the bottle twirled between them, it became increasingly obvious as to what it was.

“They raised you.”

Ori’s hands paused slightly. “They did. Rather not go into exactly why, if you don’t mind.”

Fíli nodded, reaching for the chopping board and container of lemons he had fully intended to finish slicing some time ago. “Family is complicated. I won’t pry.” Plopping one of the yellow fruits out and finding his knife, he began chopping. “You’ve met all I’ve got, anyway.”

Ori didn’t respond to that with much more than a sympathetic sigh, and Fíli decided to let the moment die naturally, hung in a comfortable silence that reverberated between them to a backdrop of muffled chatter and the thunk of the knife.

Nothing about it was awkward, however. Even as Ori’s steady gaze tracked the thunk and swish of the blade as he began to attack the pile of lemons in earnest, it seemed that his interest was born from nothing but curiosity. Which was good, because Fíli was trying very hard not to slice his hands in an attempt to figure out exactly why he had an audience.

Ori had been rather clear on the impulsive nature of their activities the previous night. He’d all but spelled it out by walking away like that – not that Fíli had expected anything more. A shag against the brickwork with someone he was likely to never see again after the week was out… it was almost worthy of being called a one-night-stand.

But Ori was here, and his palms were prickling with lemon juice. That had to count for something.

Naturally, his train of thought was abruptly derailed when the pianist tsked, shuffling in his seat to pull out a tiny notepad and a pencil stub. He set them on the countertop before scrawling down a line of text in a hand so tiny that Fíli couldn’t read it… not that he was being nosy.

Fíli was absolutely being nosy.

“Lyrics?”

Ori hummed in assent, continuing in his scribbling for a few more seconds before shoving the pad back into his pocket. “Just something I’m playing with.”

It seemed to be all he was getting on that front. Fíli speared another lemon on the end of his knife. “Is there ever a time when you’re not playing with something?”

That earned him a filthy little look; one tempered by a crease of humour at the corners of Ori’s eyes. “I can’t control when inspiration strikes. If I don’t write them down as they come to mind, I’ll lose them.”

“So that’s a no, then.”

The sigh was only slightly dramatic. “Unfortunately. I do have downtime, but I’m generally always mulling something over. Curse of the creative, I’m afraid.”

“It pays off. In case I haven’t said it enough already, you have real talent.”

“It comes from practice,” Ori muttered, rolling his shoulders in a little stretch. “A lot of practice. Anything good does. You don’t just wake up one morning and expect to be a virtuoso, or that your lyrics are suddenly going to be amazing right off the bat. You work at it, and hard. You want a new skill? Learn it.”

That statement spoke volumes. “With the current state of music, I’m not surprised you feel that way.”

Ori shrugged. “I always have felt that way, but being told at any given opportunity that a machine could do what I do, and faster… A machine has not played an instrument until its fingers bled. A machine has not felt the things I have. A machine does not know what it’s like to drop someone’s hand in public because its afraid of what people might think. There’s a wealth of knowledge in just being human, and I am genuinely disappointed that we’ve ended up delegating what should be the culmination of our experiences to a computer purely because it is faster. The greatest lie we’ve ever told ourselves is that we can be replaced by something that knows the right words and how to order them.”

“Not to get political or whatever, but accessibility was never the focus until people wanted a scapegoat for immediacy… and frankly, it’s a very telling thing when the powers that be are desperate for everyone to be on the same level. Creativity should not be tied to the press of a button and the deaths of people just out of view.”

“That’s the thing though,” Ori huffed, gesturing over to the stage. “Art is political. My very fucking existence is political. It shouldn’t be, but we’re used like tokens for campaigns; like whoever gets in power is suddenly going to make it so that we were never here in the first place. But I am here, and I am going to continue using my words. Not the ones that come out of a machine championed by people who’d rather us all devoid of individuality.”

“You’re right,” Fíli murmured softly, laying the knife down for a moment. He couldn’t really think of anything more to say than that, so slipping his slightly sticky palm over the bar top, he covered the back of Ori’s hand with his own and squeezed lightly. “Nothing about these issues has ever been clear-cut, but the best act of resistance and rebellion we can choose to do is to continue to exist. And you and your lyrics touch so many people. I’ve seen it – I’ve felt it.”

Ori huffed, but his hand didn’t move. He just glanced up, brown eyes boring into blue.

“You really think so, don’t you?”

“I know so. I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t.”

For two long beats of his heart, Ori didn’t budge. His gaze remained steady; an ocean of warmth stretching out and enveloping Fíli in nothing but soft ochre.

But despite the softness, despite the cozy jumper and oversized glasses giving him the overwhelming facade of fuzzy gentleness, there was something in his eyes that spoke of anything but. A tiny glimpse of wildness; a spark, just out of view of the casual observer. It was a fuse, lit and hidden at the back of a darkened room. A danger, an unpredictability that lurked behind all of his layers.

Fíli had been wrong. He’d been so wrong.

Ori’s stage persona had never been separate from himself. It was him. An aspect of his anger, his passion. A trait that magnified when he felt he had something to say. It was strange though. As intense as it was, somehow there was more.

Because yes, Ori was alive when he played. He was fire and glory and energy, but every now and again, these little pieces slipped out and made the rest dull. Muted. He’d seen it in flashes – that fury and enthusiasm leaking out and bleeding into his personality when he truly felt. He’d seen it last night.

He could see it now.

And then something in him softened, and the fire slid from view once more.

“Thank you,” Ori all but whispered. “It’s… it’s nice to know that my feelings – our feelings – were conveyed.”

“I think you’d have to be very staunchly not listening to not understand.”

He laughed; that wonderful, raspy little snort that went straight to Fíli’s gut. “You’d be surprised. Our last reviewer thought we were overhyped and overplayed performative snowflakes with no substance.”

“I bet Éowyn took that well.”

“I’ve never been more thankful for the soundproofing in her basement.” He sighed exasperatedly. “I have no idea how many sticks she went through that day, but by the look of the splinters under her kit, I really don’t think she was aiming for the drums. Bofur managed to convince her that he was just a moron who hadn’t bothered to listen in the end, but I can tell you about three new songs came out of that mess.”

Bofur comforting Éowyn sounded almost too strange to be true, but considering what Ori had said about their odd relationship he didn’t doubt it for a second. “Which songs?”

“Ah, two of them were scrapped in the end, and the one we kept…” he trailed off. “We haven’t performed it yet. I suppose that one is staying on the shelf for a little longer.”

There was more to it than that. It was obvious in the way Ori’s gaze immediately flitted down and away from his own, like this was yet another topic he was not comfortable fully divulging at this moment in time. Actually, Fíli wasn’t entirely certain why he’d talked to him to this extent at all. Ori seemed like a very private person (for the most part), and Fíli wasn’t exactly-

Ah.

And like a hammer to the skull, suddenly the pianist’s flitting gaze made perfect sense.

Fíli was still holding his hand, and Ori was staring down at it; brow cocked in confusion… or what certainly looked like confusion. Eyes ever so slightly widened, mouth twitching up at the corner- oh fuck, he really should let him go.

“Sorry,” Fíli murmured, immediately dropping his hand and attempting to suppress the overwhelming sensation of bitterness at the lack of contact.

“Oh, that’s fine… although I could have done without the stickiness.”

He certainly didn’t sound particularly aggrieved. And he didn’t look it either. As Fíli rooted under the bar for a wet wipe, he shot a furtive glance at Ori’s face to make sure he hadn’t overstepped.

And something in his chest lurched as he took stock of the new expression dancing over the pianist’s face.

His cheeks were flushed. Nothing particularly noticeable, however the barest pink dusting taking the same passage as that handful of freckles that dotted over his skin and crossed his nose was obvious if you were looking closely enough. But he didn’t seem embarrassed; oh no. He seemed intrigued, and that in and of itself was enough to make Fíli’s heart skip a beat.

Ori was blushing. Considering everything they’d done the other night, that in itself was mesmerizing.

Tossing a wet wipe over the counter, Fíli took a long moment to assess his face. The slightly too wide state of his eyes. The little tuck of his lip where his mouth curled up as if he were biting it from the inside. The jerky little movements of his hands as he swiped away the sticky juice from his skin.

“Are…” Fíli swallowed hard, watching the flush beneath the pianist’s flesh as it vanished down beneath his collar. “Are you-”

A clatter from somewhere behind him split the moment; Ori wheeling around to find the source of the noise, and when he did…

“Ah. Sorry mate!” Bofur called cheerily as he grinned apologetically at where he’d just opened the door into Dwalin’s back. Thankfully, the bouncer just shrugged it off with a grumble, leaving him free to scan the room, his eyes immediately zoning in on the bar.

“Ori! Band meeting!”

The pianist sighed long and hard before raising his hand in agreement. “Coming!” Shooting Fíli a remorseful little smile, he hopped down from the stool before trotting over to the staff door, his eyes never once turning back.

Which was probably for the best, because it gave Fíli the mental clarity to psychologically kick himself in the head.

What the fuck had he been about to do? The question are you free next Wednesday had been poised to leave his mouth, saturating his tongue in an awful cocktail of something anxious and metallic. It was stupid – so stupid, in fact, that he was deeply considering going into the bathroom and sticking his head down the toilet to see if he could find where he’d dropped his sensibility. Because Ori would have said no, and then they’d be forced to inhabit the same space for three whole nights before going their separate ways.

And Fíli could not do that.

Ori was easy to talk to. He was a delightful person – inside and out – and a phenomenal musician. And as for how he felt in other ways… yeah, Fíli really wasn’t going to start thinking about that now, because he was still utterly destroyed from the other night. Ori’s hands in his hair. Ori’s taste on his tongue. Ori’s lips, Ori’s sweat, Ori’s fingers-

“You look terribly distracted, brother of mine.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kí.”

It was probably harsher than he deserved, but the horrific, curious eyes that were peering at him now from the spot only moments ago occupied by someone he already missed were almost hurtful in their difference from those wonderful ochre irises.

Kíli didn’t seem to mind. He hopped up onto the barstool with a tiny grunt, propping his head up on one hand and fixing Fíli with a focussed gaze that seemed just the slightest bit too perceptive.

“You,” he announced after a moment or two of intense scrutiny, “are getting awfully chummy with a certain pianist. Care to tell me what that’s all about?”

“Not on your life,” Fíli muttered, grabbing his knife and a lemon in a staunch attempt to block out the intrusive flash of fluffy hair and unbuttoned jeans from his mind.

“Oh, that’s fineee. You know I’ll find out eventually.”

Unfortunately, that was probably true. Nothing could stay hidden from Kíli for long; be it an embarrassing moment of breathlessness before a pianist who had smashed every expectation, or a one-night-stand that would most likely never be referred to again. Kíli would find out eventually, and Fíli would try not to be too disappointed when everything came crashing down at the end of the week.

*

One more night.

Oh, that was a depressing thought.

Fíli hid his grimace in a polite smile as he handed over a vodka and lemonade to a distracted customer. It should have been amusing that the very reason for the man’s absent-mindedness was exactly the same as his own, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care about what anyone else thought right now.

PEN/KNIFE had just finished their penultimate set, closing out with rapturous applause. Their performance the previous evening had been just as incredible, but Fíli hadn’t been able to find time to swing by after they were done. The bar had been swamped, and as a result the most he’d seen of Ori the entire night had been that wonderful little chat before doors open.

Throughout the set – both the night before and this awful evening – he’d had the sensation of being watched drilled into him, but every time he looked up, Ori’s eyes remained locked on the piano.

He was narcissistic enough to wish that they’d been on him.

That spoke volumes.

He wouldn’t attempt to seek him out tonight. Even if Ori had been shooting him those wonderful, charged glances from the other day, PEN/KNIFE had undoubtedly all gone home for the night now; the dressing room empty and waiting until their final set rolled around. And then it would lie deserted for longer still whilst the Pit searched for another band wishing to perform on their tiny stage.

It had been nice while it lasted, but all good things must come to an end. It just so happened that Fíli’s mind had left with the band.

“You look tired,” Thorin murmured, nudging him lightly. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“I should be the one asking you that. The bags under your eyes have suitcases.”

His uncle snorted. “Maybe they’ll finally pack up and leave.”

“Your specialist won’t be happy.”

“My specialist can worry about numbers, and you are awful at changing the subject.”

With a little sigh, Fíli shot him a weak smile. “I’m getting enough sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

“Tough shit. Worrying’s what I do.” Leaning over to input something into his terminal, Thorin inclined his head at the staff door. “You’re done for the night. Don’t argue with me, you should have clocked out half an hour ago.”

Fíli blinked. Flicking his phone out of his pocket to check the time, he groaned in exasperation. “Really?”

A nod. “And that is how I know you should get some more sleep. Since when do you stay past your hours?”

Since he’d begun to understand exactly what was at stake with the Pit’s future, although Thorin didn’t need to hear that. Instead, he shrugged. “I lost track of time. I’ll get myself home.”

It seemed his uncle had accepted that as an answer, and he really did need to get to bed. But before Fíli could move more than a foot away, Thorin said something so sudden that for a solid moment he didn’t know if the words had been spoken at all.

“I’m proud of you, you know. Your mother is too.”

He was… what?

The second it had passed his lips, Thorin turned back to the terminal, accepting another drink order with a finality that let Fíli know that there was no further conversation to be had here. And as he stumbled out from behind the bar to cross the dancefloor and shove open the door to the staff area, it was all he could hear.

Proud.

His mother and Thorin were proud of him.

Where had the statement come from? Sagging against the lockers, Fíli fought back against the tremble in his hands. He’d not given them anything to be proud of. Yes, for the last few weeks he had worked as hard as he could to ensure PEN/KNIFE’s few days of performance were a success, but he didn’t really have much to show for it. The crowds had come at their own volition – that was more Kíli’s achievement than his own – and so far all Fíli had done was play nice with the band themselves and skive off to shag the pianist. Barely praise-worthy actions.

Other than that, he’d done as he always did. He’d sliced lemons. He’d talked to customers. He’d served drinks. He’d done his job, and that was nothing to be proud of.

Fíli could have spent hours here, slumped against the lockers and unpicking exactly what that phrase had meant, but it was at that exact moment that the pounding in his chest and ears calmed enough for him to hear.

And hear he did.

The soft strum of a guitar. Quiet notes, echoing down the corridor and mostly drowned out by the PA within the club itself. And softer still…

A voice.

Fíli did not know this voice. He had never heard those tenor tones before, but something about the quiet notes that reverberated through the staff area to caress his ears was so familiar it almost hurt. And yet he could not quite put his finger on it.

A version of events where Fíli did not follow the music would never exist. It compelled. It called; summoning him forwards as if staying pressed against the lockers would have caused him irreparable damage. And as he wandered down the corridor following that glorious melody, he realised with a jolt exactly why it had been so familiar.

Because the music’s call stopped at the closed door of the dressing room.

Because the slight accent that flitted around the words matched the one he’d been dreaming of for three long nights.

It would be rude to barge in, and Fíli really didn’t want the music to stop, so he simply stood there outside the door, drinking in the slide of Ori’s voice as he sang away. It was beautiful; a soft tenor that oozed emotion, and the longer he listened, the more he became aware of time slipping away. All that existed were the words, the voice… Ori’s lyrics sung by the person who created them.

And there was no mistaking the lines for anyone else’s. Fíli had not heard this song before, but the tone was so similar to PEN/KNIFE’s other music – even in this stripped back acoustic form – that it was obvious.

Suddenly, the music cut out. A heavy sigh. The sound of the neck of a guitar being held; the strings making that odd little squeaking noise halfway between dampening and echoing.

Fíli took a breath and knocked.

There was a pause.

“Uh… come in?”

To phrase it as a question was odd, but what was even more so was the fact that when Fíli pushed open the door, Ori himself held the guitar.

He was alone.

He was alone… and there was a bright flush rising on his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you… that was…”

In a move that came as a total surprise (considering how public the pianist was with his music), Ori cringed slightly. “Ah. Uh. Yes. Guitar.”

Strange. Fíli sidled in, quietly shutting the door behind him. “You’re good.”

“Um, yes. I’ve been…” he swallowed. “I’ve played for almost as long as I have piano. Nowhere near as good with it, of course, but it’s a useful skill.”

“On the same instrument?” Fíli asked, attempting to alleviate the peculiar tension. “That looks suitably ancient.”

“Not particularly keen on change,” Ori rambled. He reached over to place the battered guitar on a chair. “It’s almost as old as the piano.”

“And your car?”

He grimaced slightly, nodding as he folded his arms over his chest defensively. “If it works, I’m going to keep using it. There’s no point in getting something new if the old one is still kicking.”

But that’s not the case with your piano, is it?

Fíli resisted the urge to ask, instead eyeing up the lyric sheets slung over his knees. “I didn’t know you sing either.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh, yes you do. You sound-”

Ori cut him off. “We’re not having this conversation. I don’t sing.”

But he did. Fíli had seen him onstage, mouthing the lyrics. He’d heard him through the door.

What was stopping him?

Abandoning that train of thought for now, Fíli decided to press for a different angle. Gesturing down at the lyric sheets that Ori was now shuffling into one terrible mass on the low table, he raised a brow. “Is that a new song? I haven’t heard-”

“It’s not new,” Ori snapped. “And you won’t be hearing it again.”

Ok, that was enough. “Look, I can deal with being told to fuck off when I’m prying, but I will not be shouted at like that for asking a question! What is wrong with you?! One minute you’re more than happy to talk, and the next you’re yelling at me like I’ve committed some heinous sin! Will you just make up your mind and tell me what you-”

“Well maybe I’d be more receptive if you stopped-”

“Stopped what, Ori?” he snarled. “Stopped unpicking what you mean when you get defensive? I want to know you, Ori. I want to know who you are, and not just the rage that you slip into when you’re performing, because I know how much that music means to you, and you are holding back!”

“Because we wrote it for me!”

Oh.

The words themselves may have dissolved, but there was no taking them back now. They were written on Ori’s flushed face, carved into his skin like an epitaph to what had been before he spoke them aloud.

“We… we wrote that song for me. For when I’m…” He sighed, gathering the lyric sheets to his chest and hugging them like a life preserver. “I’m getting better with it. I’ve been on T for a while and I’ve been taking lessons and practicing pitch control, but sometimes I hear it back and it still doesn’t sound right. I used to sing all the time – every chance I got – but I haven’t… since the formation of PEN/KNIFE, I haven’t sung at a single one of our performances. There’s a space there, a space everyone has always been so open to me filling, but I don’t know if I can take that plunge yet. And Touch Me Like A Bullet is mine. It was written for me, for people like me – like us – but I can’t… I just can’t.”

“So you mouth your lyrics from the back instead.”

His words had the desired effect. Ori’s eyes flared to life at what he perceived as a dismissal, but Fíli wasn’t done yet.

“You mouth your lyrics,” he repeated. “You sing along where no one can hear you, because even though you can’t voice them, they’re still your words, Ori. They mean something to you… and as a very wise person once told me, they mean things to the right people too. I’m not going to pretend like I know what your voice dysphoria feels like, because I don’t sing. But you’re not just carrying those words for yourself.”

“I don’t play for myself either,” Ori insisted, his voice agitated and angry, but Fíli gently shook his head.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I know that every time you go up there, it’s with more bravery than most people would ever dream of putting out. Because you are brave. Don’t fight me on that; you are. It may not be tomorrow, it may not be this year, but I have no doubt that you will take the plunge. You’re going to sing again, and when you do it will be glorious, because you are Ori Staedtler, and frankly I don’t think fear is part of your vocabulary.”

There. He’d said his piece. Whether Ori listened… well, that was up to him now, but Fíli wouldn’t take a single word of it back.

And for the longest beat of his heart, the pianist simply stared in response.

One thump. The pinch in his brow growing ever so slightly deeper… before relaxing and smoothing out completely.

“I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

Really, that was all he could ask for. He had no right to even ask, but seeing this insecurity, this awful lack of confidence on the face of someone who had always radiated assuredness and certainty was not something Fíli could stand idly by and watch.

He nodded, sagging slightly at the relief of being listened to. “Uh… thank you. I didn’t… didn’t mean to be so-”

“No,” Ori shook his head firmly, lips twisting into a tiny smile. “No. Please don’t apologise. You’ve just… you’ve given me something to think about. And I’m sorry about, ah. About yelling.”

“It’s a tough subject.”

“And I shouldn’t have shouted. Sometimes I forget that people just want to help. I don’t…” he huffed lightly, placing the lyrics on his lap. “I don’t have to be angry all the time.”

Taking the empty seat next to him and leaning back against the cushions, Fíli let his head tilt until he was staring at the ceiling. “You’re a Transgender musician in this day and age. I’d be worried if you weren’t. At least a bit, anyway.”

“That’s fair,” Ori snorted, the sound of his little chuckle making Fíli relax further. “Add in that every member of the band is some flavour of Queer and that we’re staunchly anti-capitalist, and… well, it’s not exactly an easy path to success, is it?”

With a mock roll of his eyes, Fíli shot him a little grin. “So many reasons to be angry, so little time.”

The laugh was stronger. “Shut up,” Ori snickered, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

And he did. For quite some time, actually. As much as Fíli’s mother had always maintained that neither of her boys were particularly good at staying quiet, he did understand when it was required. Besides, it was only a matter of time until Ori had to leave, and Fíli wouldn’t spend their remaining few minutes poking at him.

“I suppose you’ll have to get going soon. Bifur and Bofur already in the car or something?”

“Not tonight,” Ori said softly. “Bif’s driving them back.”

It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room, instead replaced with a sticky heaviness that filled Fíli’s lungs like tar.

“You don’t have to leave yet?”

A tiny shake of his head. “I thought we could talk.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Not really. I just like talking to you.”

The feeling was most definitely mutual. Propping himself up with his elbows on his knees, Fíli shot him an assessing look. “Talking. Yes. We are indeed talking. Having a pleasant discussion. A conversation, if you will.”

“You sound like Yzma.”

“Flattered that you’d compare me to the greatest diva of all time, but I don’t recall mentioning anything to do with llamas. Or poison, for that matter.”

Ori scowled, although the look didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I might start considering it in a minute.”

“What, llamas?”

“Poison.” He snorted, lightly flicking Fíli’s arm. “You are thoroughly irritating sometimes.”

“And here I thought you liked talking to me.”

“Mm, my opinion is changing with every passing second.”

The conversation was… for lack of a better word, strange. Not bad strange, oh no. It was relaxed; a snippet of peace behind the scenes. Neither of them had anywhere to go, and that in itself was thrilling, but there was a certain quality in the air that dredged up the sensation of serenity. There was something else there too, but for now Fíli was simply content to see where this went.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible string, his eyes finally caught sight of the elephant in the room.

“I used to play… a bit,” Fíli chuckled, gaze tracing the familiar wood of the guitar. “Not so much anymore.”

“You can, if you like.”

When he turned to laugh, he realised with sudden shock that Ori was deadly serious. His head was cocked to one side, eyes alight with curiosity… oh dear.

“I’ll be crap. Someone like you doesn’t want to hear-”

“Tough shit. Someone like me is asking you if you would like to play.” Ori scoffed. “What is that even supposed to mean; I’d be a pretty shit person if I was so far up my own ass that listening to other people wasn’t enjoyable.”

“I’m just trying to say that I’m nowhere near as good as you are.”

“And I’m trying to say that I literally couldn’t care less.” Huffing slightly, Ori schooled his features into something softer. Kinder. “Look, play or don’t play, that’s up to you. But you should know by now that an instrument… it’s like a voice. It doesn’t matter how accomplished you are, nobody else will ever be able to do it exactly like you do. It’s impossible to replicate because every time you play it will be coming from somewhere different, and that is the beauty of music. It’s a snapshot into who you are.”

Fíli looked at the guitar.

Swallowed.

Picked it up.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But only – and I do not say this lightly – because it’s you.”

It was a little awkward at first to remember which chords were which. The memories of sitting next to Thorin at the kitchen table and messing around on his battered six string were so fuzzy and distant that it could have been a lifetime ago. It had been a lifetime ago; an age of childhood wonder and free inhibition that had left him curious and eager to learn anything he could get his hands on.

But as the seconds ticked by, his hands strumming away at chords he had long since forgotten, the clearer those memories became.

“My…” he wet his lips. “My uncle showed me how to play. It’s been a very long time.”

Ori nodded, his eyes turning soft. “My mother taught me piano.”

And that was all that would be said on the matter. It was all that needed to be said, because Fíli was becoming quite adept at sifting through the context clues of when Ori wished to stay silent, and this was absolutely one of those times. So he did the only thing that felt appropriate.

And played.

It was broken and full of gaps. Fleetwood Mac blossoming out from beneath his fingers, split by chuckles and huffs as he lost the notes, pausing to recentre himself before continuing. Pink Floyd; the switch between strumming and picking becoming easier the longer he played. The little solo in the middle of Wish You Were Here earned him a giggle, so to really take the piss, Fíli immediately launched into a song better known by their generation for its meme counterpart. And when he decided to sing along to the chorus in character – rusty voice scratching over the notes and refusing to stay in key – Ori himself joined in. Soft at first, but growing louder and more boisterous as their laughter interrupted the song.

When the final strains died away and silence lapsed between them once more, it was less an end than it was something else. A rosy moment; stretching and vast in the quiet.

A beginning, perhaps.

“That was very brave of you,” Ori said quietly. “Thank you for playing for me.”

Fíli just nodded, shifting the guitar from his lap onto the table as he watched those wonderful irises glitter.

That was the third pass they’d made over his face. The third time they’d tracked from his eyes down to his mouth, and something in his stomach was fluttering hard at the connotations.

“Fíli…” Ori visibly swallowed, brown eyes flicking back down in a fourth pass, and he had to supress the delighted groan that threatened to burst forward as that burning gaze settled on his mouth. “Would you be opposed to-”

“Absolutely not,” Fíli breathed, hands already lifting to burrow deep into his fluffy hair.

Ori met him halfway, mouth hungry and demanding as he surged up. The lyric sheets fell to the floor in a cascade of paper, but Fíli didn’t care one bit when he shoved him back onto the sofa, his knees pressed into the cushions either side of his own.

“Uh, perhaps it’s a bit silly of me to say that I’ve been wanting this for ages,” Ori mumbled against his skin; lips taking the slow path down the side of his neck. “Since we last…”

“M-me too,” Fíli gasped. “Fuck, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. Not once.”

Ori paused at his collarbone, tilting his head back to shoot him this sly little smile that set his midsection alight. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I ah. May have been under the impression that this was a one-time-thing.”

Humming lightly, the pianist dropped his lips back to the fading bruise peeking up out of his shirt. “And what if I told you it didn’t have to be?”

The joy – and no small amount of relief – was blinding, although it was immediately overshadowed by need, because that delightful mouth was on his skin, and he could think of little else but-

“Then I’d ask if you were particularly concerned about going home tonight, because my bed has a very distinct you-shaped-spot in it, and I’d like to see it filled.”

Ori chuckled, and before he knew it Fíli was gasping beneath him as the mark on his neck was pulled between his teeth.

“And I’d reply that I know something else with a very distinct me-shaped-spot that needs filling-”

“Oh my God, I knew it!”

Fíli was not a violent person. By nature, he was calm and controlled; peaceful but firm when needed.

That did not extend to Kíli.

Especially when he had obviously been listening at the door… which was now hanging wide open from where his brother had literally kicked it in.

“Kíli…” Fíli hissed, his voice low and threatening (although having Ori draped over the top of him ruined the image somewhat). “What the ever-loving fuck were you doing behind the door?”

“Sneaking,” he said plainly. “Oh! And spying. Definitely spying.”

“I am going to kill you.”

Kíli just smirked. “Oh, by all means. It’s the only appropriate reaction really. I’m just so happy that I go to my death knowing I was right.”

Now that was confusing. “Right about what?” Fíli muttered, glaring up in exasperation at his brother’s ecstatic face. And that enthusiasm didn’t fade one single bit when his infuriating sibling raised a hand to point accusingly at where Ori was perched on top of him, looking every bit a grunge Phoenix Wright as he did so.

“You!” Kíli announced. “The pair of you! I’m hardly stupid, Fí. I’ve watched you both eye-fuck each other so much that I think I need a pregnancy test just from being in the vicinity. Add in the way you stormed off from the bar on Thursday – and the truly disgraceful state you came back in – and I was certain there was more to it. Face it, brother,” he smirked, “I did tell you I would be avenged, and I have done as promised. My soul can fade away with no regrets.”

Silence.

“Ori, get off me. I need to commit fratricide.”

The pianist sighed. “You’ve already said. Unfortunately, I cannot in good conscience allow that. Besides,” he shot a slightly saucy wink at Kíli, “I do actually like your brother.”

“That makes one of us.”

Kíli just smirked. “Well, now that I know my suspicions were correct all along, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it… although I would probably leave soon. I heard Dwalin muttering something about his break coming up, and you probably don’t want to be half shagging in here when he swings by.”

And with that, the youngest Durin swept out, his fading cackling drawing a curtain on the whole experience.

Ori let out a tiny, amused huff. “At least he warned us.”

“I’m still going to make his life hell.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of stopping you, but no outright murder please. I have a date with your bed that I’m rather keen on keeping.”

“Just the bed?”

Swatting him lightly, Ori pushed down on his forearms to kiss him. “Does that answer your question?”

It did… but now that he was thinking clearly, something else came to mind.

“You didn’t look at me tonight. I thought that maybe you didn’t want…” he shrugged. “Never mind.”

Ori cocked a brow at him. “Yes I did. You’re the one who didn’t look at me.”

Shaking his head, Fíli felt his mouth slip back up into a slightly disbelieving smile. “I was. Did… did we just keep missing each other?”

“Like bloody ships in the night.”

That dragged a hoarse little chuckle from him. “I can say with a fair bit of confidence that if you’re up on that stage, I will be staring at you. Biteable hipbones and all.”

The look that Ori shot him was only a hair lewd… ok, maybe it was a lot lewd, Fíli had simply stopped quantifying it.

“And I can say with a similar amount of confidence that if you’re standing behind the bar, that is where my eyes are going… but biteable? Do you want to take me home and drag that fantasy into reality, pretty boy?”

Did he ever. “Let me get my keys.”

*

If the walls of Fíli’s flat could talk, they would have much to say.

Firstly, their occupier’s breakfast habits would be noted. Toast and a black coffee, every day without fail. Plain and utilitarian with no deviation ever. It was the mark of someone satisfied with routine and regularity, someone who was far less spontaneous than most.

Secondly, they would speak of his unhealthy sleeping habits. The occupier dozed off on the sofa most nights; the thin blanket slung over his body as nighttime reruns of terrible sitcoms mumbled away at a low volume. A sure sign of someone with poor sleep hygiene and stress.

Thirdly – and by far the most interesting point on the list – they would insist on gossiping about that one occasion in the early hours of the 8^th of February when he’d collapsed through the door, half-blind due to the figure clutching at his collar and insisting on kissing him rather than making any progress to the bedroom. And when all attempts to lock the door behind him failed, he murmured something incoherent into the ear of his lover, making him pull back and laugh until the key had been sufficiently turned.

But naturally the walls could not talk, so however the pair arrived in the bedroom, it would remain a shared secret between them.

“I need…” Fíli gasped, his fingers tightening in Ori’s hair as his neck was assaulted with bites. “O-oh, fuck, I need your clothes off. I’ve been thinking about this since we-”

The response was muffled but still audible as his skin was released from that incredible mouth. “Me too. Oh, the things I have thought about doing to you…”

If he hadn’t been diverting all of his attention to fumbling between their bodies in an attempt to drag Ori’s jeans down, Fíli would have whimpered. As it stood, the only noise that left him was something akin to a grumble as the button stuck.

Ori laughed, swatting his hands away. “Let me. You’ve already done the hard bit of getting into my underwear, the least I can do is take them off for you.”

As much as he really didn’t want to stop touching him, Fíli took a measured step back to watch as the clothes fell away. First his shirt, tossed off somewhere to the left of the bed to reveal the smooth planes of his chest and stomach, which technically he’d seen before, considering how little Ori wore onstage. Here in the semidarkness of his room, however…

Before Fíli could say a single thing on that front, the problematic jeans were falling away – his boxers dropping down with them – and then Ori flopped back onto the bed with a happy sigh.

And Fíli stared.

“Fuck, Ori,” he breathed, gazing down at the splayed form beneath him. “You’re… oh my God.”

The pianist smirked, raising a brow at his sudden lack of speech. “Like what you see, blondie?”

There had never been any question that he wouldn’t. But even so, even knowing what certain parts of Ori looked like undressed and bare, he simply hadn’t been ready for the actual glory that constituted his naked body.

Crawling over the top of him to lay his palm flat over his sternum, Fíli let out a harsh exhale. His fingers didn’t quite know what to do, so they rested there, tightening and flexing in minute increments as he took a moment to simply look.

“I…” he swallowed, throat suddenly dry and parched. “I want to devour you. Every bit. Maybe I’m greedy for thinking like that, but I want you all to myself.”

Ori’s eyes widened ever so slightly before his face took on this smug little look that spelt nothing but trouble.

“I think I’ve been yours since the start,” he murmured softly. “So long as you’re mine in return, I don’t see any reason for complaint.”

It was so Ori. So unapologetically and staunchly Ori, and he was gone already.

He could love him. Not yet, but the promise of someday lingered like smoke hanging between them in the thick air.

“I’m yours,” Fíli breathed, shaking hands falling to the hem of his shirt and dragging it up and over his head. “Since you hit me with your piano. Since you walked out on that stage and showed me where your rage comes from. Since I found out your lips taste like artificial strawberry. There hasn’t been a single time since meeting you where you haven’t taken up residence in my thoughts.”

“Fíli,” Ori moaned, shutting his eyes and canting his hips upward, but Fíli wasn’t done.

“I have been yours just as long as you’ve been mine, and that’s… that’s absurd. Totally and utterly absurd. I’m still struggling to believe that this – that we’re happening. I just… tell me I can have you. Please, Ori.”

There was a tiny glint in his pianist’s eyes – and yes, his pianist now – that glimmered in the lowlight, and Fíli felt more drawn to that than anything he had ever witnessed before. He’d turn down sunsets, look away from an aurora, just to see that shimmer of a promise.

Maybe this was what Ori had felt when he penned those same love songs that ignited this odd feeling in his chest in the first place.

Maybe this could somehow be more.

But there would be time to think about that later. Here and now, there were ochre eyes gazing up at him from soft, cotton sheets, and as Fíli looked his fill, he realised that his hands were not the only ones trembling.

“You’re so perfect,” Ori breathed, raising one of those shaking palms up to mirror the same motion Fíli himself had done not a full minute ago. “I have cursed myself so many times for not taking your shirt off when we were… You already have me, Fíli. Just put your thoughts into action.”

Those words – those few, small words were enough to make him forget about his jeans, forget about everything that wasn’t Ori, because right now there was only one place he wanted to be, and as Fíli scootched back and almost fell on his face in his rush to loop his hands beneath his pianist’s thighs, he was almost certain he would never want anything more.

“I’m going to suck you off,” Fíli said plainly, eyeing up Ori’s cock and trying very hard not to literally moan at the mere sight. “And you are going to come from it. Any questions?”

Ori raised a brow. “You have good thoughts, blondie. Make them a reality.”

And really what else could Fíli do but bend his neck and take his pianist’s cock into his mouth?

“Ohh, that’s it,” Ori breathed, his head rocking back against the pillows. “Your mouth is a delight every time.”

The happy mumble that left Fíli’s throat was heavily distorted, but he didn’t really care. Not whilst he was sucking Ori with a fervour that was probably even more embarrassing, although could anyone blame him? He’d been dreaming of this; fantasising about it harder with every hour deprived of this pleasure. When a hand latched deep into his locks and he felt the release of his hairband once again, he only moaned harder.

“I… I kept the other one,” Ori panted, petting his hair softly in an action that felt totally at odds with the situation. “I’m wearing it now.”

Fuck, he was going to die. Ori was wearing his hairband. He’d not only kept the damn thing, but it was holding his own locks back in that glorious little ponytail as Fíli sucked him off. There was lingerie, and then there was that… and he was so turned on by the mere thought that it hurt.

Ori moaned harder, the hand at the back of his head faltering in its strokes to grip him firmer, push him closer… oh-oh God, he was-

“Hah- I’m so… nearly there already. Oh, don’t-don’t stop, you’re so perfect down there, shit, your mouth-” The rest of his words were lost in a groan as the pianist’s back practically bowed off the sheets, his thighs trembling and fluttering in Fíli’s grasp…

But he did not stop. Not until his mouth was flooded with wetness. Not until the sounds coming from Ori’s own lips reduced back down to harsh pants, his hair released from that wonderful hold as the hand that had gripped it flopped lifelessly to the sheets, the barest hint of a tremor the only sign of life left in the still body beneath him.

“O-oh,” Ori breathed. “I… I don’t know how, but that was… that was better than the first time.”

“Probably because we weren’t pressed against a brick wall,” Fíli said smugly, the praise going right to his ego.

The responding chuckle was hoarse and raspy. “Possibly. Might have more to do with the fact that you’re taking your time this go around though.”

That he was. Pressing an open-mouthed kiss a few scant inches above his cock, Fíli smiled. “And you let me.”

“There’s a time for face fucking and a time for a slightly more relaxed approach, and this falls solidly in the latter.”

“You’re far more coherent than I was expecting.”

Ori winked. “That’s because we’ve only just got started, pretty boy. Besides, if anyone’s going to be borderline comatose when we’re done, it won’t be me.”

It was a promise that Fíli rather liked the sound of. What he liked even more than that were the hands that moved from his already messy hair to catch his shoulders, urging him up and between Ori’s legs so that his pianist could kiss him; soundly and hungrily.

“Do you want to take your trousers off?” Ori whispered against his lips. “I’d like to not be the only one naked.”

Fíli really didn’t mind, and he was already most of the way there already. A quick shuffle back, the snap of his fly, and then his jeans were cast aside too with about as much care as Ori had shown for his own.

“Well, well, well,” his pianist murmured, eyes dancing in delight as Fíli settled back between his thighs, pitching forward to lay a small kiss against his exposed neck. “It seems the muscles on your arms actually aren’t the nicest ones you’re in possession of – although I still like those too. Do you do squats or something?”

Shuddering as fingertips ghosted over his quads, Fíli bit back a tiny moan. “I uh. I carry a lot of boxes. All that crouching and standing up.”

“Mm, it shows.” The hand swept around to caress his ass softly. “And how do you feel?”

“Good.”

It was the truth, although frankly he was downplaying matters a tad. Being naked with Ori felt wonderful, and all those little check-ins were only serving to make him want this more, because he actually cared enough to ask. The baseline of human decency, obviously, but something about the fact that he had never once pushed him further, that every question came veiled in this desire that had not left since the very beginning… yes, Fíli felt good.

And then Ori took matters one step further.

“Do you…” he wet his lips as he pulled back, his grip on Fíli’s ass tightening slightly. “I know what you don’t want, but we haven’t talked about what else we could do. And I’m happy with this – believe me, I’m beyond overjoyed that we’re here… but please tell me what I can do to you.”

“I uh. I like oral. And anal. And I really liked what we did the other day, and I think I could…” he swallowed, trying to push the thought of Ori touching him from his head just long enough to get the words out, because he was about to beg for that wonderful hand back, and there were other things he would love to experience. “I think I’d like to feel you against me. I could… yeah, I’d like that.”

“Well, that definitely gives me a list to work with.” Ori purred, pushing up on his elbows to kiss him once more. When it broke and he pulled back, Fíli found himself gazing down into possibly the cheekiest smirk he’d ever seen.

And then the hand that had been not-so-gently squeezing his ass dragged him down, knocking him off balance enough that their bodies met with a jolt.

Suddenly, Fíli didn’t care about the smirk anymore.

“Fuck, you really are big,” Ori moaned, tilting his hips up to get some friction going. “I love your cock, oh my God.”

“O-oh,” Fíli whined in response. He couldn’t really do much more than that when even a handful more words would surely turn him into a whimpering mess, rutting mindlessly against him until-

“Ah, ah, ah, no.”

Oh.

He’d been caught out.

Ori looked coquettishly up at him through his eyelashes. “You’re going to stop overthinking this, pretty boy. I want you to use me; fuck me like you’re trying to make yourself come. I promise you, I will enjoy that more than anything else you could do right now.”

“Wh-what about-”

“Don’t forget,” Ori murmured, dragging his hand around Fíli’s torso to run his palm down from his chest to lower stomach, pausing just before where they touched and making him shudder. “I like it when you’re needy.”

How could he forget? With a harsh little pant, Fíli rocked his hips forward once more, moaning as his cock rubbed against Ori’s; the motion sending what may very well have been an electric shock from his crotch all the way to his toes… and once he’d started, he could not have stopped. The chafe of Ori’s T dick against his own was addictive, the beautiful friction sending his pelvis jittering forwards as if compelled. And he was compelled. Compelled by the feeling of finally being so close, of being skin to skin with his pianist and getting to take his pleasure at the same time as giving…

And it was far too much for someone who had been on the verge of coming the entire time he’d been sucking Ori off.

Fíli spent with a grunt, his hips shoving forwards for one last firm press before he sagged against his pianist, mildly embarrassed at how quickly he’d finished.

“S-s-”

There was a reassuring hand in his hair before he could complete the word, tightly gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as if to restrain him from saying it.

“I literally told you to do that. Stop apologising.”

There wasn’t much he could say in response to that, especially with his head well and truly scrambled from what had just happened. “Mm. Ok.”

Ori chuckled, pressing a light kiss to the crown of his head. “You really are easy to launch into incoherence, aren’t you? You come one time and suddenly can’t string two words together. I wonder what you’ll sound like when I fuck you.”

Ohhh, Fíli really wanted to find out. Unfortunately, there was one tiny issue with that…

“I uh,” he swallowed. “I have a dildo but not… uh.”

Another kiss to his head, and suddenly he was being rolled to his side, Ori hopping up and off the bed like he had springs on his feet. “Ah, ah, ah!” he insisted when Fíli attempted to prop himself up in confusion. “You are staying right there. Do not move.”

It was strange behaviour, but Fíli did as he was told… at least until Ori reached into his abandoned satchel and pulled out a mass of black straps.

“Y-you brought a fucking harness?!” Fíli blurted out, watching as his pianist stepped into it and deftly began tightening the straps. “Just how confident were you that this was going to work out?”

Ori just smirked. “Blondie, you’ve been eye-fucking me all week. I put it in my bag on Wednesday night.”

Ah. After going home on the first day of PEN/KNIFE’s stint at the Pit, then.

Fuck.

“You’ve… you’ve wanted this from the start.”

Ori cocked a brow at him, his lips still curled up at the corners. “Well, either me fucking you or you fucking me, but I did literally tell you as much not ten minutes ago. Can I have that dildo, Fíli?”

Blindly reaching into the bedside table to extract the purple toy he kept there, Fíli lobbed it to the end of the bed where it was immediately snatched up.

“Pretty,” Ori purred, examining the shaft. “You have good taste, although I wasn’t expecting you to like them so… ah. Girthy.”

The way the word tipped from his pianist’s mouth dragged a whine from him. “Not uh. Not always. But that one suits your whole BDE vibe, so I thought it would do nicely.”

Ori’s chuckle was dark. “Ohh, you’re going to regret handing me this, blondie. I hope you’re ready to have your shit thoroughly rocked, because I really want to see you try to take all of me.” Without breaking eye contact, he slipped the dildo down and into the O ring at the front of the harness, before ghosting a hand up the length to caress the tip. “Do you think you’ll actually last long enough to get it all in?”

Possibly not, although Fíli wasn’t exactly going to let something as minor as that stop him from trying. Reaching back into the drawer, he found the lube and popped the cap, coating his fingers… and – much the same as Ori himself had done – without looking anywhere but into his pianist’s eyes, lowered them to his ass.

“Enjoying the show?” Fíli breathed as he pushed one digit inside himself, head rolling back at the sudden feeling of fullness.

“Oh, immensely.” The bed dipped by his hip, and when he glanced up with a lazy smirk, he realised that Ori had stolen the lube to coat his palm and-

“O-oh, fuck,” he panted when he realised what his pianist was up to.

That hand – that wonderful, glorious, perfect hand – was smearing the thick liquid up and down his purple shaft, the motions slow and teasing, but focussing attention on the head.

“Are you?”

Fíli couldn’t take his eyes off it. “Am… am I…?”

“Enjoying the show?” Ori laughed hoarsely. “Enjoying watching me get off watching you.”

And then his other hand looped down beneath the strap to push a finger deep inside himself, and Fíli couldn’t have held back the moan if he’d tried.

Ori’s response was harsh and breathy. “Keep going. Keep opening yourself up for me. I’ll be fucking you so soon, blondie.”

He would be, and Fíli was so impatient – especially now that he could see just how much this was affecting Ori. His movements were rough as he stroked himself; the hand beneath plunging deep inside fast and hard as his breathing grew heavier, and when Fíli caved and added another finger he groaned.

“Look at you.” He exhaled sharply. “Getting yourself ready for me like this… you’re going to take me so well.” The forceful movements of his hands grew ever more so; mirroring Fíli’s in their enthusiasm… and if that weren’t enough of an encouragement, one glance at Ori’s eyes and where they were staunchly fixed only made him want to fuck himself open harder.

His pianist was watching him. His pianist was getting off on watching him. And as Ori’s fingers stuttered to a halt inside him, a rough moan leaving his mouth as he came hard, Fíli had never felt quite as wanted as he did then.

“Are…” Ori swiped his fingers dry on the bed with a little, satisfied swallow. “Are you ready?”

Considering the fact that he was two whole fingers deep, Fíli rather thought so. “Yes,” he half-whimpered, still eyeing up the purple shaft standing proud between Ori’s thighs. “How do you want me?”

His pianist hummed lightly before flopping back against the pillows. “Do you want to ride me?”

“Yes,” Fíli blurted out quickly, his cock practically twitching at the thought. Ori just snorted at his enthusiasm.

“Up you hop then, blondie,” he murmured. “There’s a seat with your name on it.”

Quickly extracting his fingers from his ass, Fíli wiped them off on his discarded shirt (he did have some decency), before straddling Ori’s thighs and lining himself up.

And as much as he’d done enough prep work, the feeling of fullness still took his breath away as he slid home.

“Fuck,” Fíli moaned, nudging his hips forwards and feeling the burn as the silicone bottomed out, the straps of the harness coarse against his skin. “Uhh- oh, I’m-”

“Take your time.” The soft trace of a hand running up from his thigh to hip nearly had him shuddering in pleasure again, but in that moment all that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of being full, of having Ori inside him, of being totally and utterly stuffed to the point that he could have been on the bloody moon and wouldn’t have noticed.

Experimentally raising his hips, Fíli gasped as the motion flooded his nerve endings with pleasure. A white-hot, burning thing, deep inside him. Fuck, he wanted to chase the feeling, but Ori’s steady hand at his hip held him firm.

“Slowly,” his pianist murmured, amusement at his eagerness clear. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

“Frankly, I want t-to feel this for a while, so I don’t think I care.”

Ori tutted. “Yes, well I do. I’d rather like to be able to keep fucking you, and I can’t do that if you do some terrible damage to yourself. So slowly, if you don’t mind.”

The groan Fíli let out was exasperated, but he did as he was asked. A tentative bob turning into two; a third following after a moment of simply holding him inside. The silicone was coated in enough lube that his movements were easy and unrestricted, but with each bounce its passage grew easier. He certainly didn’t feel it any less, but the initial burn softened into something far more manageable.

“Oh, well done,” Ori chuckled. His thumb moved to trace a tiny loop against Fíli’s overheated thigh. “I’d say you’ve earned that fucking now, sweetheart.”

“S-sweetheart?” Oh, his face was alight now. “And I’m pretty… uh. Pretty sure I’m doing the fucking.”

Ori laughed properly then; his eyes glinting with mischief. “I said I’d find a suitably soul-crushing nickname. And if you think you’re going to be the one doing the work here, you’re about to be sorely mistaken.”

Fíli was ready to reply with something to the negative of that statement, but a roll of Ori’s hips from beneath him had him moaning immediately.

“O-oh, please,” he gasped.

“Well, I do appreciate a man with manners.”

And that was all the warning Fíli had before those wonderful hips – the ones he had admired from behind the bar on so many occasions – began to buck up into him in earnest, and he was left struggling to remember how to breathe. Fíli matched each and every thrust with one of his own, but it was through nothing but a desperate need to stoke the fire steadily building inside of him, because he felt fucking glorious. Each movement was harsher than the last, and before he knew it, that little smoulder had become an inferno, threatening to consume him whole.

“You’re gorgeous, blondie,” Ori breathed reverently, his voice so soft that it was very nearly drowned out by the slap of skin and the wet sounds leaking from the very action of being fucked. “You’re doing so well. I didn’t think you’d be able to take it all, but look at you. Overachieving, even now.”

“T-trying my hardest,” Fíli gasped. On a whim, he winked, somehow managing to lift one of his hands in a mock salute, which earned him a chuckle and a disparaging eye roll.

“If you’ve got time to backchat, then you’re not overachieving hard enough.”

“That’s why I said trying.”

Naturally, that was the moment Ori thrust up hard; a spike of pleasure making him gasp and pick up the pace. His pianist snorted, the grip on his hips tightening as he watched him with starved eyes.

That hunger is for me, Fíli thought disbelievingly. It’s all… he wants me.

Ori certainly did. His onslaught grew firmer; fiercer smacks that resonated through him and dragged him that much closer to the edge with every passing second.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck, it… hah… it feels s-so good. Y-you’re so deep inside me, I… mnh, I can feel you through… through my whole body.” And the thing was, he could. From his stretched hole all the way up to his fucking eyeballs, Fíli could feel him. And it burned.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he enjoyed anal, but every experience he’d ever had paled in the face of what it felt like to ride Ori. To have him laid out beneath him, hips meeting his every thrust. To have him stare up like he was looking at something beautiful; like Fíli himself had gazed at Ori as he rolled his pelvis against that damn piano. Because he’d been thinking of this then too, as he’d memorised each bead of sweat tracking its way down his midriff whilst wishing he too could follow their path.

Ori was resplendent. He was glorious; a figure held out of reach by a stage and a spotlight, but here – now – Fíli was riding him. Fíli had ascended to his heights and crossed the distance between them, and every little gasp that forced its way from his lips as he chased his end was a reminder of that.

“Mm, you’re such a good boy,” Ori murmured, sounding more than a little breathless himself. “Does my good boy want to come down here for a reward?”

With a little whimper at the words, Fíli pitched forwards on his elbows to kiss him, groaning in earnest when fingers tangled deep into his hair. It was so good, so needed, and when Ori’s hips lifted from the mattress with a jerk to fuck up into him, he very nearly screamed in pleasure.

And then when the hand that he had forgotten trailed around to cover his cock and jerk him in rough swipes, he did.

“Are you going to come for me, Fíli?” Ori whispered against his lips, dragging one between his teeth and biting just enough to pull a harsh pant from his throat. “Are you going to come on my cock? You’ve done so well sweetheart, just take a little bit more for me…”

There was not a force on earth that could keep him from reacting to those words. His body clenched, spasming hard around the silicone as he came on a garbled moan – the likes of which he was certain had never passed his lips before. He’d done so well, he’d been so good, and Ori was beaming up at him like he’d never get enough, and-

“Well done, blondie,” his pianist purred, gently pulling his hand away from his aching cock and allowing him to sag against his neck. There were fingers tracing lines on his back, caressing his shoulder blades with a reverence that felt almost worshipful.

For the longest while, they simply lay there like that. The feeling returning to his lower regions in a slow drag. His heartbeat evening out into a much steadier rhythm. The heat between them simmering down and twisting into a gradual warmth he could bask in, rather than be incinerated by.

“You-you’ve bloody killed me.”

“Mm, but was it a good death?”

Prying his head up from Ori’s shoulder just enough to shoot him a lazy smirk, Fíli rolled his eyes. “The best.”

“Sounds to me like it was worth it.”

“Oh, it was,” he moaned, propping himself up with a disgruntled little groan as the hardness in his ass started to become slightly uncomfortable. “Uh. Can. Can I-”

“Lean forwards,” was the only instruction, and the moment Fíli complied, the pressure was softly released; the strap unfastened and tossed haphazardly from the bed. He really couldn’t bring himself to care.

And he especially couldn’t bring himself to care when Ori urged him back down, allowing him to sprawl out on top like a weighted blanket.

“I’ll crush you,” he murmured into the juncture of his neck.

It was received with a chuckle. “No, you won’t. I’ll roll you if I can’t breathe.”

A grumble of assent, and then nothing but silence as Ori resumed tracing lines on his back.

“I think I’ve found a new favourite hobby.”

“What, having me ride you?”

“I like the view. Your face when you found your rhythm…” he hummed softly, carding a hand through the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “I could write so many songs about the way your forehead wrinkles when you’re about to come.”

“It does not.”

“It absolutely does. A little pinch, right between your eyes. But next time you’re turning around so I can see you taking me.”

Fíli snorted, pressing a kiss into his skin. “God, you’re such a pervert.”

“I don’t think my name is God, but whatever floats your boat, I suppose.”

Pushing up on his elbows and puffing a strand of hair from his face, Fíli readjusted to settle his chin on Ori’s chest, arms folded beneath him as he pouted up.

“Ori,” he said simply, fighting the curve of his lip down.

“Fíli.”

“I think this is the bit when I admit my feelings for you are a tad non-platonic in nature.”

The look of total innocence and surprise Ori shot him was ruined ever so slightly by the way he had to bite his lip. “Oh, I had no idea! To think that I’m here – in your bed – having just had some of the best sex I have ever had the joy of experiencing, and you’re only now telling me that you fancy me?” He swatted him on the arm. “The shame!”

Naturally, that was the moment his voice broke, dissolving into giggles as Fíli snorted and laid his face over his chest.

It was comfortable.

So comfortable, in fact, that Fíli really didn’t want to ask. But as time marched on and his eyelids grew heavier, he resigned himself to the fact that it was now or never.

“I have a stupid question…” he sighed, pressing a kiss to Ori’s sternum. “What are we? Don’t misunderstand, I know we’re something. But… what do you want to call us?”

His pianist hummed softly, the sound reverberating through Fíli as he lay stretched out over the top of him; their skin unobstructed in its languid press.

“I… think I’d like to call us us.” One lazy eye opened, shooting him a smiling glance that practically made Fíli’s toes curl in contentment. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

A sigh, far softer than the prior one as he nestled down onto Ori’s soft chest hair once more.

“I think I would like that.”

*

“Sad to see them go?”

Fíli nodded dejectedly, tilting his head up at the stage and away from the blonde currently accepting a drink from him. The same one from that fateful opening night, actually; the one who had witnessed his descent into obsessing over Ori Staedtler in real time.

“Very. They’re such a good act.”

And watching them go would mean seeing less of him, but that little detail could stay under wraps for now. Besides, it wasn’t like Ori was going home tonight. No, he’d made that clear when he’d laid what he’d referred to as a promise against Fíli’s throat that afternoon. The rest of the world would probably call it a hickey, but he knew better.

Ori was coming home with him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t sad to watch his time at the Pit dissolve into memory.

The blonde punk nodded, taking a sip of her drink as PEN/KNIFE launched into their final song of the evening. “Not going to lie, they’ve played the best I’ve ever heard them here. Something in the air. The vibes are just…” she punched up into nothingness, waving emphatically. “They’re so right.”

Fíli couldn’t help but agree. There was something in the air here; an openness that filled their sound with joy.

Community.

“I hope we get them back sometime,” he mused, wiping down the bar.

“I hope you do too. It would be a shame to see my new favourite club left out of the PEN/KNIFE circuit.”

“New favourite club?” A slow smile swept over his features as he cocked a brow at the blonde. “Nice to hear that we’ve made an impression on you.”

She shrugged, taking another sip. “I like it here. You run a tight ship, and the community has been more than welcoming. Especially that gorgeous goth waiting by the stage, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Fíli couldn’t help but laugh at her eyebrow waggle before she downed her glass and practically skipped over to a very well-dressed trad goth shooting meaningful glances across the dancefloor. It seemed that the something in the air was an awful lot more than community, if the way she was heartily embraced on her arrival was anything to go by. Then again, he needn’t be so mystified. He’d felt it too.

He was still feeling it, if he were being honest. Every now and again, Ori had glanced up at him during their set to shoot him heated glances, and the energy of his performance had been almost euphoric.

Fíli knew that most likely meant he was about to get his shit thoroughly rocked.

Fíli also knew he was anticipating it more than his next breath.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and as the final notes rang out, he let out a slightly pained sigh. It would be some time until the Pit saw crowds like those drawn in by PEN/KNIFE, and longer still until anything even remotely rivalling their set graced his ears. They were a flash of lightning against a blue sky; something so unexpected and magnificent that it left a resonance within all who felt it. It was a shame they weren’t coming ba-

“Uh, hello.”

Fíli very nearly dropped his rag. His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto the stage, and- oh.

Ori had a microphone.

He hadn’t moved from his spot behind the piano, not one inch, but Arwen had dragged her mic stand over and bent it so that he could speak clearly, those always steady hands visibly trembling over the keys.

“This… this isn’t normally how we end gigs,” Ori murmured, his clear voice ringing out over the hushed crowd. “This isn’t something any of us have done before but… ah. It seems it’s my turn to be brave.”

His fingers stroked over a chord, the smallest susurration of sound that felt almost mournful in tone. But Ori didn’t look mournful, oh no.

He looked elated… and the tiniest bit nervous.

“This is a song for all of you. It’s been lurking in the closet for a while,” he said softly, holding the keys down just that moment longer. “This is a song for everyone who feels like they’re not enough. Like they’ve got further to go still. This is a song for me.” And with that, he glanced over at the bar. “And this is a song for someone who reminded me that I have the courage to sing for everyone who can’t.”

It was clear the crowd had not expected this. There were a few smattered cheers, but the vast majority of people simply stood there in silence with baited breaths. Fíli found himself amongst them, his pulse picking up just that tiny bit faster as Ori leant in to brush his lips to the mic.

The song was not loud. It did not thrash about in his chest like an untamed and wild thing. Instead, it slipped over Fíli’s shoulders like a blanket; soft and comforting.

As did Ori’s voice.

Are you listening? There’s a lot I wanna say.

And though things have changed I’m still here, I’m still living day to day.

Don’t look at me like a stranger, like someone you used to know,

I don’t owe you shit, I’m not faking it, so talk and tell me so.

Touch me like a bullet,

I wanna feel the exit wound.

The time we spent pretending

Will have me bleeding out far too soon.

So touch me like a bullet,

Come on, fire from point blank range.

Close your eyes and pull it,

Maybe there’s something still to change.

Fíli couldn’t actually pinpoint the moment the others joined in. One second it was only Ori and his passionate vocals, then the next Bifur’s bass had joined the melody; fading in with a quiet hum that tugged at something deep within him. And before he knew it, Bofur’s soft strumming melded in too, followed by the gentlest drums and Arwen’s own guitar… and it did not stop there.

The song grew. It vibrated, the music becoming bigger and bigger until there was not a thing on this earth that could have held back the swell of emotion that enveloped the club.

And right at the centre of it all was Ori; his eyes shut, his head thrown back, and the tiniest ghost of a smile pulling his mouth up as he played away.

He was home. After so long of holding his music at a distance, Ori was home.

And the crowd heard him loud and clear.

It wasn’t an immediate change, but as Arwen laid into the harsher chords and Éowyn’s kick drum threatened to break a hole in the floor, the room slowly came back to life. A brunette and a blonde near the front swaying in time. A twirl and a giggle lost in the swell of the music, but felt rather than heard by every person in the building. More bodies, more lives touched and compelled into moving to the sound until it was harder to find someone not dancing, because there was joy found in sincerity, and Ori may as well have been bleeding onto the stage. This was his heart. This was every bit of himself that he’d held locked away, and Fíli could not bear to pull his eyes from such perfection.

When the song finally rolled to a close, it was very nearly rapturous. The sweat falling from Ori’s brow and tracking down into his collar. Arwen’s long hair escaping her braids as she swished her head forward one last time. Éowyn’s drumstick splintering and immediately being replaced from her dungarees. Bifur’s slow slide into slap bass from plucking. A momentous screech from Cynthia, and then…

A breath. One sharp inhale, sucked through Ori’s lips as the melody died in his mouth.

The crowd erupted.

A death was probably the wrong descriptor for the final strains of the song. It lived on, in every face, in every scream. Something raw and real that would be carried in lit hearts until the very end.

And Fíli knew he would never forget a single moment, especially not the second Ori finally opened his eyes and that wonderful ochre forded the gap between them.

Thank you, he mouthed.

Fíli could only grin, his own heart still firmly lodged in his throat as it fluttered away.

“YOU HAVE BEEN THE BEST AUDIENCE!” Bofur screamed, leaning into his own mic and shoving his damp hair from his face. “AND WE ARE PEN/KNIFE, ORC PIT’S ONLY PERMANENT RESIDENTS!”

Wait.

Wait just one second.

“What?” a voice screamed from the end of the bar, and Fíli didn’t even need to turn to know that Kíli had sidled over for the final performance. He wouldn’t have turned anyway; Ori’s sly little smirk pulling one brow up as he shrugged.

Oops, he mouthed.

Oh.

Well, that was a turn up for the books.

As the crowd burst into a sound that could only really be described as screeching, Fíli felt someone creep up behind him.

“They asked,” Thorin half shouted into his ear, only just audible over the noise. “A handful of nights a month, non-exclusive contract. They play where they want and we…” he chuckled in relief, “we have a headlining act that pulls in more than enough patrons to keep us afloat. I need to hire another bouncer for the rota, but I actually think we can afford it now.”

“For how long?” Fíli yelled back, still unwilling to look away from Ori and his cocky grin.

“Permanently. And I’ve had a few other groups on the phone too, all asking for spots where PEN/KNIFE play. We’re booked up.”

For the second time that night, Fíli nearly dropped his dishcloth.

“How… what-” he spluttered, but Thorin simply snorted before bumping him with his shoulder.

“You’ll have to ask Ori. Congratulations, by the way.”

Ah. That was enough to finally force his gaze away from where the object of his (apparently not-so-subtle) affections was tossing a handful of bracelets into the crowd. “You knew?”

The look Thorin shot him was only mildly exasperated. “Every single time I’ve poked my head out into the club over the last few days, you’ve been staring at him… and I saw the photo.”

Of course he’d seen it. Kíli had posted it to the work group chat the evening he’d snapped it, and the heart-eyes emojis were still rolling in. Especially after he’d followed it up with a collection of the ones he’d taken of Ori.

“I was… a little obvious, I suppose.”

“You came off shift on Thursday with hickeys. You had fresh ones this afternoon.”

“I thought it was too dark to see.”

Thorin cocked a brow. “The thing on the side of your neck that looks like a dog bite? Try again.”

He couldn’t really argue when the proof was right there, stained on his skin like an inkblot. “I’m assuming I’ll be missing a chunk from Thursday’s pay.”

“You would assume correctly. You left Kíli in charge,” Thorin huffed. “You’ll also be pleased to know that the footage from the CCTV of that night has mysteriously gone missing. Everything from you leaving the bar to your triumphant return corrupted.”

Ah. He’d forgotten about that teeny tiny aspect. “You saw?”

Thorin’s nose wrinkled in disgust, although his eyes still held a pinch of humour. “Turned it off the second you started kissing and searched the main club footage for an ending timestamp. I saw literally nothing and would love to keep it that way, so the next time you and your boyfriend decide to have risky public sex, do it in the bloody bathroom like the rest of us decent people. Now get yourself backstage, I know you’re dying to go.”

Decidedly, Fíli wasn’t going to think too hard on that. Accepting his uncle’s final, firm clap on the back, he tossed the dishrag onto the counter and half sprinted for the staff door.

It felt like his heart had foregone fluttering away in his throat and leapt straight to his mouth instead, because as he dodged around furniture and the various members of staff loitering back here, Fíli could think of nothing more than getting to the stage.

By the time he reached that wall – familiar like a second skin now – it was clear PEN/KNIFE had left the stage. The noise of the club-goers was muted; a murmur compared to what it had once been, and as the speakers kicked back into life to effuse the room beyond the wall with music once more, Fíli felt something in his chest sink the barest amount.

Ori hadn’t waited. He’d be back in the dressing room now, laughing with his bandmates and knocking back another pack of strawberry pop rocks. As he should be.

Turning to retreat back to what was sure to be a cacophony of Bofur and Éowyn’s arguing, Fíli tried not to feel a little put out. He had no right to be – none whatsoever – but he’d thought that maybe-

A hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him against the wall. Fíli yelped, but there was no fear in it. He’d know those hands anywhere.

“In a hurry?”

He huffed, a slow grin starting to slide up his face at the familiar position. And the familiar face covered in smudged eyeliner that stared up at him from the dark. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh?” Ori purred, pressing forwards just that bit firmer. “Anywhere in particular you’re rushing off to?”

“Oh, you know.” Slipping a hand into the loose strands of hair at the base of the pianist’s neck, he dragged his thumb up to bracket his jaw. “People to see, extraordinarily hot men to kiss… the usual.”

Ori laughed; a genuine chuckle as he leant in and lightly brushed their lips together. “Anyone I’d know?”

“I’d say so.”

As the night faded into purple tones – the resonant sax from whatever song the DJ had decided to queue next echoing through the wall like a heartbeat – Fíli realised two things.

The first was that he didn’t think he’d ever been this happy before. The club was doing well. His uncle and mother were proud of him. And Ori Staedtler was kissing him like he never wanted to stop.

The second thing was that he unfortunately owed Kíli a very expensive gift for dropping all this joy in his life.

*

“Fíli?”

“Mm?”

“What rhymes with lemons?”

Fíli huffed a laugh, flinging the sliced citrus into the metal tray with a little less force than he would have some weeks ago.

“Off the top of my head, I can only really think of Saint Clements, and unfortunately I think that’s been done before.”

Ori snorted from his perch on the bar, his Solovairs swinging lazily beneath him. “Typical. Everything’s been done before.”

“I don’t know about that. You always seem to find something new.”

“Not always. But it doesn’t hurt that I’m quite good at looking.”

Fíli chuckled, swiping another lemon from the pile and swiftly quartering it.

Life was good. It had been for a little while, but the slow passage of the weeks leading to March had thankfully dragged. Time didn’t so much flow as it did glide in the lazy mess that was the early days of their now official relationship. Fíli had worried at first that some of Ori’s fans wouldn’t be too happy to find out their favourite sex symbol was off the market, but the news that PEN/KNIFE’s pianist had left singledom had not dampened the ardour of their fans one bit. They still cheered. They still screamed.

But Fíli got to see behind the crop tops and eyeliner. He got to wake up in the middle of the night to see his boyfriend scribbling down lyrics by the dim light of his phone. He got to lend him hairbands and know that every time he was up there on stage, that was his own elastic keeping Ori’s locks from flopping into his face.

And it was bliss.

Unfortunately, all feelings of such peace and tranquillity draw to an end eventually. It’s a cosmic joke; the constantly changing nature of life itself meaning that equilibrium can be disrupted so simply and irrevocably by a breath in either direction.

In this case, the breath had a name.

“Isn’t your brother supposed to start today?”

From his reclined position on the bar, Ori sighed deeply. “Unfortunately so. Scoutmaster Nori should be showing up any minute.”

Fíli hummed. He didn’t really know what to expect from Ori’s brother, past the fact that he apparently erred on the side of overprotective and had jumped at the chance to work in an alt club. When Thorin had begun looking for a new bouncer after that fateful night some weeks prior, Nori Staedtler’s CV had shown up before he’d even posted the listing. An extensive document, packed with experience and massive references. A cover letter detailing that although he was overqualified, working in the same circles as his younger brother was more important than arguing over salary. He’d take what Thorin was offering and not ask questions.

And apparently the interview had gone well, because the job listing never even made it online. Even Fíli’s mother had agreed with the assessment that Nori was a perfect fit, and now the Pit had a new bouncer on rotation.

Saying that… Fíli had never even seen a photo of the elusive middle Staedtler sibling. He’d seen plenty of pictures of Dori – Ori’s mother hen of an eldest brother had insisted on being introduced to him via video call, which had mostly consisted of a close-up of the silver haired man’s left eye – but it appeared that Nori was a relatively private person. Quiet. Happiest in the background.

Of course every last one of those expectations was blown clean out of the water when the doors to the club swung open.

Nori Staedtler was attractive. Not like Ori was – and not particularly in a way that attracted him – but he was exceedingly pretty for someone with a beard… and two feet of red hair braided back and swinging behind him. He crossed the room with all the confidence of someone truly at home in their surroundings, before coming to a halt just in front of the bar.

“Alright dickhead?”

Ori sighed, not even bothering to look up. “Hello Nori. I see you’ve finally decided to show your face.”

The redhead moved to lean on the counter, his truly impressive braid flopping down over his shoulder as he shifted. “Eh, it was about time. Can’t let you have all the fun around here, can I?”

And then his sharp eyes met Fíli’s. It felt a lot like being assessed by a predator, although there was a note of humour beneath the calculating gaze. Something biting and pointed, something with teeth.

“Ohhh, you must be that boyfriend I’ve been hearin’ about,” Nori drawled. “Suppose I’ll be seeing a lot of you-”

And it seemed Ori was going to nip that in the bud immediately. He sighed, lightly swatting his brother’s shoulder and rolling his eyes. “Fíli, meet Nori. Nori, meet Fíli. No intimidation, no stupid threats. I like this one.”

Thankfully, it seemed Nori was at least considering his brother’s request. He groaned irritably, vaguely waving a hand in greeting before casting his gaze back to where Thorin stood at the staff door. At some point in the last few minutes, Dwalin had wandered out to join him, blue mohawk practically brushing the low ceiling, and-

Oh.

If Fíli had been slightly better with his words (perhaps he would ask Ori later), he surely would have been able to think up a better statement for how Dwalin was looking at Nori. As it stood, the only one that came to mind was hate.

“Who’s the big fella?” Nori asked, a snide little smirk dragging his lips up in a lopsided leer.

“Dwalin,” Fíli replied. “Bouncer.”

The chuckle was bordering on haunting. “Ohh, I’m gonna have fun with him,” Nori muttered, and before anything could be done to stop him, he’d pushed off the bar and straightened up.

“Ah,” Thorin said weakly. “Uh, Nori, this is-”

“Ohh, you’re big. I think I’ll call you wanker.”

Ori laughed softly, leaning up to catch the side of Fíli’s face and tugging him in so his lips touched the shell of his ear.

“I give them a month before they either kill each other or hook up.”

Fíli smirked.

“I’ll put a tenner on two.”

Chapter Text

“Him?”

To Dwalin’s dismay, Thorin nodded, tilting his head towards the new arrival. “He’s more than qualified. A packed CV; a lot of big names on there. Plus, from what I understand, he goes where his brother does, and…”

It went without saying. PEN/KNIFE were here to stay; a permanent addition to the roster at Orc Pit for the foreseeable future.

Naturally, that would have nothing to do with the Solovairs hanging from the end of the bar… the body they were attached to currently absorbed in scribbling down lyrics and blowing the occasional kiss to the black-tee-clad-bartender slicing lemons in a smitten daze.

No, nothing at all.

It was strange to see the songwriter-slash-pianist of PEN/KNIFE stripped of his onstage persona – even now. The mesh crop top and heavy eyeliner had been replaced with a soft jumper; homemade and lumpy. He was wearing glasses, for fuck’s sake. Huge, oversized things that fully obscured his face. It was all totally at odds with the literal sex god who graced the tiny stage to whip the patrons into a frenzy, night after night.

But Dwalin wasn’t talking about Ori Staedtler.

He was talking about his brother.

Nori Staedtler was about as intimidating as an orange cat. He was tiny, almost as small as Ori himself, but with this cocky little sneer that screamed trouble. Coupled with his ass-length braid and septum piercing, he looked more at home as part of the entertainment.

And none of that was what you looked for in a bouncer.

“A gust of wind would knock him over.”

Thorin sighed. “Not everyone can be built like a brick shithouse, Dwalin.”

“Intimidation is part of the bloody job.”

“You’re plenty intimidated if you feel the need to make cracks about his height,” a snide voice called from behind, and without looking Dwalin stuck his middle finger up at Dís. A muffled laugh was all the response he got, but he hadn’t expected anything else.

Fuck, if Dís was on board with this new hire, there was no getting rid of him. She oversaw personnel and bookkeeping in the same manner that Thorin himself monitored the entertainment side of the business, i.e. with brutal efficiency. The rotas were law. Dís Durin was not to be trifled with.

Naturally, it was at that exact moment that Staedtler’s head snapped up, drawn by the chuckles disappearing into the staffroom, and-

Oh dear.

He might actually be the prettiest bastard Dwalin had ever seen. Yes, he’d caught a passing glimpse of the redhead as he’d come in, but now there was nothing stopping him from taking a good look at his face, he stared.

Round brown eyes. A slightly lopsided smirk that pulled up just far enough to expose his right canine. An artfully trimmed beard that framed his mouth in the most delightful way, all drawing the gaze to that awful sneer. He was short, but on closer inspection appeared far from skinny. There was actually muscle on him; a fair padding that bulked out his upper arms and chest to the point where it was visible through the slightly too tight shoulders of his shirt.

And the hair. It was attractive – a little too attractive, if he were to be totally honest. Neatly groomed strands brushed back into a tight braid. A few tiny locks escaped to curl past his ears, but all in all he was extremely well put together.

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed.

So did Staedtler’s.

It was hate at first sight.

“Ah,” Thorin said awkwardly, immediately noticing the tension and attempting to diffuse it. “Uh, Nori, this is-”

“Ohh, you’re big,” Staedtler purred from the bar, folding his arms over his chest and cocking his head to one side. “I think I’ll call you wanker.”

Dwalin wasn’t going to react. He wasn’t going to say a single thing about the man, not one single thing-

“Bein’ as your attitude stinks, I’ll call you shit then. Assumin’ you’ll be crap at the job anyhow, so it fits.”

Staedtler laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Prepare to be mistaken, wanker. I’m the best there is. At everything.”

It was the most ridiculous statement Dwalin had ever heard. “Can’t wait for that to bite you in the ass. You ever even been in an alt club?”

“Considerin’ I’m standing in one right now, I’d say so. Do you need binoculars to help you see that from all the way up there?”

“Oh, that’s-”

“Enough,” Thorin said firmly, stepping between them. “Nori, Fíli can show you where to stow your things. Dís will give you orientation in five. I don’t want to hear another word of this.”

Staedtler’s eyes never left his; that vile little glare only serving to raise his hackles further.

“Fine,” he hummed, eyes tracking over Dwalin’s body in one final pass before he turned back to where Fíli stood snickering at the bar. “See you on shift, wanker.”

He just glared in response.

“You don’t have to aggravate him,” Thorin sighed, snapping his glare away from the departing braid (and ass, but Dwalin wasn’t about to admit that). “Please play nicely. I can’t afford to train another new hire, and Nori was willing to come on at a lower pay.”

He scowled. “I’ll behave best I can, but you saw how he was. Besides, I doubt he’ll last the night.”

“Discussing my stamina, are we?” A nasally voice crowed from across the room. “I can still hear you, wanker.”

Ignoring the chuckles that echoed from behind the bar, Dwalin chose to disregard that statement.

Staedtler wouldn’t last. There was no conceivable world in which such a slight individual would excel in a job that required muscle.

Nori would be out within the day.

*

Nori was not, in fact, out within the day.

Nor was he out within the week.

Dwalin was starting to get pretty fed up with it.

Every time a fight broke out, Staedtler would appear out of nowhere, and the threats of fists would simply… stop. The bastard could talk himself out of anything; his demeanour friendly where needed, disarming and cheerful, and where not…

Well, that was even more frustrating.

“No,” Staedtler said firmly, his arms folded over his chest. “You’re not coming in. Call yourself a cab and get home. We can help you if you need-”

The extremely inebriated man snorted, swaying slightly as he struggled to stay upright. “Let me in. S’fine.”

Firmly, Nori shook his head; his pinned-up braid barely moving from where it was tightly secured at the back of his head. “Not tonight. Best get yourself home.”

“I can drink it before I go in,” the man complained, gesturing at his open bottle. It was the least of his worries.

“I’m afraid that won’t change my answer, sir. Please leave the line.”

He was infuriatingly by-the-book. Not one single place where Dwalin could pick at his attitude or technique.

He hated him all the more for it.

“ID?” he muttered, waving a petite goth through whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on proceedings. Situations like this were never pleasant, and most of the time the sight of a burly door supervisor put people off from trying anything stupid, but the man was clearly too far gone to care. Besides, Staedtler wasn’t exactly intimidating.

This was not good.

Quickly checking the goth’s ID and letting her in, Dwalin decided enough was enough. The man still hadn’t moved, and the longer he stood swaying in line, the greater the chances became of this turning messy.

He was about to intervene when suddenly the reality of the situation appeared to sink in. The man’s face crumpled a little – as if he’d suddenly become aware of how intoxicated he truly was – and he backed off.

“Finee,” he slurred, drunkenly rolling his eyes.

Staedtler nodded politely. “Goodnight, sir.”

As the man stumbled off into the dark, Dwalin shuffled a little closer. “Lucky.”

A snort. “Luck is overrated. Just face it, wanker; I’m good at this.”

Infuriatingly enough, he was. “Wait til someone knocks you on that skinny ass of yours, then tell me how good you are.”

“Oh, you of all people know that my ass is far from skinny.” Calling another patron forwards, Staedtler glanced over their ID – before hip checking him. “Well rounded, I’d take. Would also accept biteable.”

Dwalin – still slightly floundering from actually being hip checked by a man a good foot shorter than him – took a solid ten seconds to process what he’d said.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, Staedtler?”

The infuriating redhead chuckled before handing the ID back and waving in the clubgoer. “You think I don’t know when someone’s looking at my ass? Flattered, wanker. Truly flattered.”

“I was not looking at your ass.”

Dwalin had absolutely been looking at Staedtler’s ass. Unfortunately, it was a very nice ass; the kind someone got from regularly working out rather than pure genetics. Even more unfortunately, the rest of Staedtler wasn’t bad either, and that included his horrific, shit-eating face.

Competent, hot and perceptive? Fuck, was there anything he wasn’t-

A tinkle of glass.

A scream.

Dwalin was moving the instant he heard it, but somehow Staedtler was faster. He was off the wall in a split second, the broken bottle narrowly missing where moments ago his galling smirk had hung, and-

Well. Fuck.

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me?” Staedtler growled, his braid unravelling from its bun ever so slightly to fall over the top of the struggling man beneath him.

“Glóin!” he snarled through the open door at the ticket office, sparing one glance back to make certain that the man within had reached for the phone before dashing out to drop to his knees beside the two figures on the floor.

Staedtler hadn’t moved an inch. “Nice of you to join me,” he bit out, although the words carried a trace of humour – like he was still smug, even now. As quickly as he could (and totally ignoring the arrogant tone) Dwalin jumped in to assist.

“Sir, you are being held under citizen’s arrest until the authorities arrive; do you understand what that means?”

The man – the same drunk as before, now that Dwalin was able to take the time to look – struggled. “Fuck you!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Staedtler muttered. “You tried to glass me for refusing you entry, and I have exercised my right to defend myself. The authorities have been informed and the incident recorded on CCTV- no, I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

Dwalin firmly pushed the man’s knee back to the floor as he attempted to kick him. Not that he could, considering the fact that Staedtler’s own leg was pressing into his lower back.

That was not a simple tackle. Nothing about the way he’d moved had been simple. It was calculated; practiced and lithe in a way that only really came from-

“Jiu-jitsu?” Dwalin murmured softly.

Staedtler huffed a laugh. “Took you long enough to fuckin’ ask. BJJ. A bit of Taekwondo – mostly recreational.” He sniffed. “Did the MMA circuit for a while, but that was a long time ago.”

“You’re good.”

“I was.”

He still was; the speed at which Staedtler had exhibited to get behind the man so fast that Dwalin’s brain was still trying to piece together what had happened. He was by no means easy to impress, but the grace that the redhead had moved with…

Nori Staedtler had actually taken his breath away.

Naturally, he ruined it with the very next thing out of his mouth.

“Hopin’ I’ll get you underneath me too, wanker?”

Dwalin snorted. “Keep dreamin’, Staedtler.”

*

“Of course you ride a fucking Harley.”

Dwalin huffed in exasperation, pausing in securing his helmet to shoot a withering glare at the figure currently puffing heavy clouds of vape smog into the chilly night air.

“There is nothing wrong with my choice in transportation.”

Staedtler snorted, taking another drag. “Murder machine, that.”

“Says the one holding a strawberry flavoured USB of death.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have opinions on the ways other people choose to kill themselves.” He smirked, pocketing the vape to cross the car park, and-

“Oh, you cannot be fuckin’ serious.”

“What?” Gesturing to the bright red Ford Ranger he’d stopped by, Staedtler plonked a hand on his hip, his grin only growing wider. “Safer than what you ride. I could roll this bastard and walk away just fine.”

“Why are you doing anything where rolling it is even a possibility?” Dwalin scoffed. “You live in a city.”

“Wasn’t always the case.”

That gave him pause. Tracking his eyes down from Staedtler’s ridiculous hair all the way to his boots, he frowned.

“Didn’t strike me as the type.”

“The type for what? To be rural?” He huffed. “I prefer practical, thank you very much.”

“And I’m not?”

Some tiny shift in Staedtler’s gaze should have warned him, but Dwalin was caught entirely unawares when the little shit popped open the driver’s side door with a heavy clunk, leant over the centre console and produced-

“Don’t exactly think there’s room for a toolbox on your bike.” Staedtler said smugly. “Do you carry a first aid kit? Physical maps? Spare tyre? Fuckin’ snow chains? Face it, wanker; I am more prepared than you’ll ever be for anything.”

“… why do you have snow chains?”

Staedtler’s response was grumbled. “You’ll never know you need something until you do, an’ by then it’s too late. I like to be one step ahead.”

It was oddly out of character. From what Dwalin had gathered so far, the redhead was generally impulsive… but there was this strange undertone of assuredness that spoke of years of practice.

And then Staedtler shrugged, leaning back into the truck and dumping his toolkit in front of the passenger seat. “Havin’ an older brother that insisted I be ready for anything helped. And havin’ a younger one who was more likely than most to run headfirst into trouble without a single thought definitely encouraged me to be better.”

“Ah.”

Ori was that and more. As talented as the young lad was, he had an approach to life that bordered on spontaneous. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t plan matters through and worry about them – a little too much, from what Dwalin had seen – but all of it was saturated in the confidence of someone who waded through everything with people supporting him from the sidelines.

That one of those people was Nori made perfect sense.

“I didn’t know you had another brother.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could fully process them, and Dwalin very nearly cursed in frustration because not only was asking questions like that a massive overstep (considering they’d barely been on speaking terms as recently as a handful of hours ago), but it was also horrendous proof that the bastard had put him at enough ease that he’d felt entitled to inquire, and that was beyond annoying.

Regardless, Staedtler nodded, hopping up to perch on the driver’s seat with his legs swinging lazily beneath him. “Dori. Eldest. He took over runnin’ things when mum kicked the bucket. Don’t say you’re sorry, it was a long time ago.”

Dwalin shut his mouth. It was met by an amused sigh; something well within the realm of humour rather than irritation – which was good. He hadn’t known that detail. He and Ori were passing acquaintances more than anything else, and it wasn’t exactly a subject easily broached with someone you barely knew. He had plenty of those awful little topics himself.

“Ori doesn’t talk about it,” the redhead said softly. “Doesn’t talk about a lot of things. You couldn’t have known.”

“I’ll remember.”

He would, and Staedtler seemed to gather that the statement was serious because the tiniest veneer of sharpness faded from his eyes, replaced instead by something quieter. Almost… gentle.

“Ori’s a solid kid,” he murmured. “Been a tough ride for him so far, but he’s doing well. Course, that bartender of yours he’s been seein’ has definitely improved matters. Early days yet, but I reckon they’ll be good for each other.”

And then some. Fíli was utterly smitten and Dwalin was so happy to see him like this. Living, actually living for the first time in a long while – and for something other than simply his work. It would be borderline impossible to find anyone who wasn’t delighted for the pair of them… well, outside of the occasional fan mourning Ori Staedtler’s departure from singledom, but unfortunately that came with the territory. Regardless, Fíli was handling it well, and Ori’s presence at Orc Pit had become somewhat of a certainty.

“They will be.”

Nori inclined his head. “You’re close, aren’t you.”

“I’ve known Fíli since he was five. Pretty much grew up with him.”

“Oh, so you know what it’s like.”

“What?”

Shoving the keys in the ignition, Staedtler twisted them one notch so that the electrics flared to life; the radio flickering onto some low-level chatter that Dwalin couldn’t quite hear.

“Bein’ a brother,” he said softly. “And watching the kid you’ve spent the better part of your life lookin’ out for finally finding their feet.”

Silence. A pervading blanket of nothingness that stretched out, until-

“Yeah,” Dwalin eventually managed, trying not to think of Balin and every sacrifice he had made. Of Fíli and Kíli, and their scattered upbringings. Of his own childhood and adolescence. “I know what it’s like.”

Staedtler nodded, toying with the window before eventually settling on it being wide open, despite the freezing early March air. Swinging his legs up into the cab, he slammed the door with a huge shuddering noise, propping his elbow up on the gap.

“Suppose I’d better get going. It’s late- or early, rather.”

“Suppose you’d better.”

Something in his phrasing was obviously amusing, because Staedtler cracked a grin; one side of his mouth lifting just that bit higher than the other as he belted himself in. Dwalin decided he wasn’t going to think too hard about it, instead turning back to his bike. But before he could get any further, a slightly nasally voice called back to him.

“Suppose I’ll be seein’ you tomorrow, then. Oh, and wanker?”

Twisting to where the redhead was now leaning out of the window, a lazy smile plastered over his features, Dwalin was suddenly struck by how at home he looked in the truck. It was impossible to picture him behind the wheel of anything else now; the red paintwork and chunky tyres so synonymous with his whole persona already.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t underestimate me again. You’re not a bad person to work with, once that massive ego of yours deflates a little.”

Dwalin was about to reply with something about like attracting like, but before he could so much as open his mouth, the truck started with a massive rumble. As if to spite him, Staedtler cackled, sticking up his middle finger as he punched the Ranger into gear and sped out of the car park, the blaring sound of some terrible Pop Punk band fading into nothingness in his wake.

He was a prick. A horrific, enormous asshole with no off switch. Nori Staedtler did not have a single positive quality about him (other than his unerring ability to put someone nearly twice his size flat on their ass… and maybe the practicality aspects, but as to just how useful his seemingly random assortment of skills could be was yet to be seen).

Unfortunately, as Dwalin tightened the buckle on his helmet under his chin, he was struck with the sudden realisation that he was starting to like him.

How utterly frustrating.

*

“Come on, Dwalin. It’ll be fun! You remember fun, right?”

Fun was a subjective word. It varied from person to person and evoked the dual sensations of amusement and euphoria. Neither of which Dwalin would find in a night out with Kíli.

“I said no.”

The young man pouted, flashing him a look that – to most mortals – would have been a killing blow. Big round eyes, the barest welling of tears at the corners as his cheeks puffed up-

“Still no, Kíli. That face may have worked when you were ten, but now you just look constipated.”

“Oh, boo,” he muttered, sticking his tongue out. “Look, neither Fíli or Ori want to go, and Tauriel’s in bloody Norway. It’s one concert, and I’ve been dying to see Sentimental Claw Hammer-”

“And I don’t like Prog.”

“You’d like them! Their lead singer used to be in-”

Dwalin sighed, tuning out Kíli’s incessant rambling to stare over at where PEN/KNIFE were setting up for the night. There was no shutting the lad up when he’d started, and it was usually best to let him tire himself out before making an excuse.

Not that there was any chance of him actually going to see Kíli’s fascination of the month. It was a new band every time, and although his ardent adoration of the Pit’s current residents had borne fruit, most of the groups he insisted would be the next big thing ended up being average at best. No, Dwalin instead zoned out and turned his mind to the back-and-forth he’d been having with a slightly too enthusiastic man on Grindr. It was going well, but nothing about him was particularly interesting.

Well, apart from maybe his-

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Don’t think there are enough braincells in that empty head of his to listen in the first place.”

Dwalin’s second sigh of the afternoon was far more exasperated than the first. Of course Nori was on tonight. It was rare to find a day when PEN/KNIFE were playing that he wasn’t… although that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. Over the last few weeks, he’d proved himself even more competent at his job, and with how wild the crowds became on nights like this, it was good to have someone at his back that he trusted.

Turning to shoot a vile little glare at the approaching redhead, Dwalin vowed that he wasn’t going to think about how that awful smirk had become something he anticipated seeing when pulling up outside the club.

And he certainly wasn’t going to think about how fast Staedtler had become Nori. At least in his head. He wouldn’t give the smug bastard the satisfaction of hearing that out loud.

“Come to ruin any form of polite conversation?”

Nori snorted. “Was this a conversation? Looked like Kíli here was talkin’ and you were staring into space blankly.”

Unfortunately, that was pretty irrefutable. As the youngest Durin threw his hands up in irritation, Dwalin just shrugged. “I don’t like Prog.”

“And I’m not going to Azog’s alone again, so can you please-”

“Woah, woah, woah, Azog’s?” Nori whistled loudly. “I may be new here, but I’m pretty sure there’s just a teensy bit of rivalry between the Pit and that dive. Why’re you goin’ there?”

“Because he doesn’t value his own safety,” Dwalin grumbled, earning a sidelong glare from Kíli. “Does your mum know you’re going?”

“I’m twenty-eight!”

“And your mother is Dís Durin.”

That gave Kíli pause. The smile that seemed permanently plastered to his features slipped ever so slightly, but only for a moment.

“I’m an adult! I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and if going to Azog’s is one of them-”

“You’re going where?”

Ah. Dwalin was pretty sure he’d never understand how Dís could move so quietly and quickly that she was almost wraith-like. And it appeared that Kíli didn’t fully grasp her capabilities either, because he simply hadn’t noticed her approach until that dark head loomed behind him, pouring hissing words into his ear. His eyes blew open in horror, but really there wasn’t anything anyone could do. His death warrant had been signed in his own obnoxiously loud words.

“Alright Dís?” Nori said innocently, picking an imaginary bit of dirt from under his nails.

She nodded. “I’m alright. I don’t think I can say the same for my son, however. Kíli. My office.”

As brave as he was, Kíli would not revolt against that command. He slunk away in the direction of the staff area, his metaphorical tail tucked firmly between his legs as he vanished from view. Dís was right behind him, shooting a tiny, appreciative glance at the pair of them.

The moment she was gone, Dwalin raised a brow.

“You knew she was listening.”

“Course I did,” Nori chuckled. “Not to be nosy, but firstly, Azog’s is a shithole. Wasn’t too keen on Ori playing there the other month, and he was the bloody entertainment. Even I know Kíli has a reputation for trouble – and yes, I heard all about him sneakin’ backstage. It worked out for everyone in that case, but it just goes to show that their security is shit. Secondly, as blind as they are, I doubt the owners’ll take too kindly to the kid who poached their best talent coming back for more, and there are rumours as to what they’ve been up to in the past. An' thirdly…” he sniffed, glancing away. “You looked like you’d rather be anywhere else. Wouldn’t be right to leave you to flounder.”

That was… oddly thoughtful.

“Thanks,” Dwalin said quietly. “Didn’t know I was that obvious.”

With a shrug, Nori reached into his pocket to produce a handful of bobby pins, which he promptly dumped onto the bar top. “You’re not,” he murmured, reaching up to begin coiling his hair into a bun. “You get this little pinch between your eyes sometimes. Bit heavier than your usual permanent scowl.”

Dwalin frowned. “I do not.”

“Yes, you fuckin’ do.”

He absolutely didn’t. Dwalin would know if he had such a noticeable tell – regardless of how much Nori insisted it wasn’t immediately clear to anyone looking at his face. Besides, how would he of all people notice something like that? Dwalin had known him for just over two weeks, and that wasn’t anywhere near enough time to get a read on someone like that. Besides, he was certain that if anyone would start picking up on subtle behaviours, it would be him first and he hadn’t noticed a single one of Nori’s yet.

Glaring at him in irritation, Dwalin watched as a strand of hair caught on one of his stupid cord bracelets and dragged itself out of his braid, floating down to rest against his cheek in a messy little spiral. Nori tsked in frustration, reaching up to twist it back in, and-

“Like that.”

Oh.

Immediately forcing his brow to slacken, Dwalin smoothed his features in an instant. “…I was thinking about something else.”

“No shit,” Nori chuckled, sliding a pin into place with practiced ease. “Miles away, you were. Looked like me after a dick appointment… well, maybe not quite as spaced out.”

Double oh.

“You’re gay?”

He raised a brow. “Not invoke stereotypes, but I have hair down to my ass and make penis jokes every five minutes. M’not exactly the pinnacle of heterosexuality. Why, is that going to be a problem?”

Naturally – because the universe has a sick sense of timing for matters such as these – that was the moment Dwalin’s phone went off.

The Grindr notification sound was unmistakable. As was the tiny snort Nori let out as he scrambled to avoid dropping a bobby pin.

“Well, that answers that,” he murmured, lips twisting up in an odd little smile. “The community thanks you for your service.”

Rolling his eyes, Dwalin smirked, the previous awkwardness falling away in waves. “Oh, I get plenty of thanks.”

“Bet you fuckin’ do. There is a serious bear shortage in these parts, especially for ones that look like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shoving the final bobby pin into the mass at the back of his head, Nori raised his hands in mock defence, the smile never dropping. “On account of your aesthetic! The big bear with the blue hair… fuck, should I write poetry? I should write poetry. Sayin’ that, I don’t think anything I’d come up with would be eh… anywhere near as palatable as Ori’s lyrics. Not suitable for BBC Four, that’s certain.”

“More like not suitable for anyone ever.”

“Ah, my dreams!” he clutched his chest dramatically. “You’ve shattered ‘em! Every last one! Now how am I gonna spread the word of how good a shag I am?”

“You’ll find a way, I’m sure,” Dwalin muttered dryly, although he was still grinning too.

The notification went unchecked until the morning.

*

March came and went, and Nori still didn’t leave.

More than that, he excelled.

It wasn’t really a surprise anymore, not after that first week, but Dwalin was somewhat pleased to see that he’d stuck around. The banter aside, he was turning into the best shift partner he’d ever had the pleasure of working with… even if at times his words made him want to spontaneously lose his hearing.

Although even that wasn’t the full truth anymore.

Dwalin didn’t know when it had started, but at some point after that first week he’d begun anticipating the barbs. More than that, he was enjoying them. This easy, awful dialogue that toed the line between flirting and outright loathing had become the highlight of his nights, and he’d caught himself scanning the rota for ‘Staedtler’ on more than one occasion.

It was… well, for lack of a better word, it was confusing. Nori shouldn’t be pleasant to be around; ninety percent of their interactions were an HR liability, and the ones that weren’t toed the line of morality. Dwalin knew their current state of being (he wasn’t exactly going to call it a friendship. Rivalry? Horrifying flirtations? Unbridled horniness?) had reached Dís’ ears, but she continued to put them on shift together. He still had no idea what that was all about, but one of the Durins was probably laughing their head off right now. Probably both, if he were being honest. And Fíli and Kíli too. Utter bastards, the lot of them.

Regardless, Dwalin wouldn’t complain too much. Not when Nori’s insults were becoming an addiction he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to let go of.

“Oi, wanker!”

Speak of the devil…

Nori cocked a brow at him from the other side of the entrance. His hair was in a ponytail today, still coiled up and out of the way, but there was something almost… messier about it. It suited him.

“You look like shit. Somebody kick you in the balls or something?”

Or something, he supposed. “Why? You offering?”

“Maybe,” Nori snorted. “I’m serious though; you good to work?”

“Just tired.” And trying very hard not to think about the hookup he’d had the previous night; the one with the strawberry blond hair that was almost-but-not-quite red.

And how it had been almost-but-not-quite enough.

“Mm.” There was silence for a few seconds – the barest noise of shuffling rising just slightly louder than the buzz of the crowd – and then something cold pressed into the back of Dwalin’s hand.

“Of course you’re a Red Bull twat,” Dwalin scoffed, accepting the can. “Monster not good enough for you?”

“Shop was out of Ultra White.” He pulled a face. “All the others are too sweet.”

“And Red Bull isn’t?”

“The sugar free one tastes like a bar rag, but the original… that’s where it’s at.”

“Indistinguishable.”

“Hey, I take offense at that.” Nori sniffed before glancing back out at the amassed revellers. “S’more… full bodied. Not that you’d understand the subtleties of excessive caffeine consumption.”

“Nor do I want to.” There was a tiny shearing sound and a hiss as Dwalin pulled the tab, taking a heavy sip… which was accompanied by a noise of disgust. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Can’t have you fallin’ asleep on the job. People would talk… and about more than the twink who dropped you off this evening.”

Ah. So he had noticed. “Jealous, Staedtler?”

“Oh, deeply. If you wanted to shag a ginger, there’s one right here.”

“He wasn’t ginger.”

Nori let out the single most amused snort Dwalin had ever heard. “And you don’t have a tattoo of a… what the fuck even is that anyway?”

“An-”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Dwalin wasn’t wearing a jacket. For the first time in a long while it had been warm enough to go without; his arms bare beneath the t-shirt, and although Nori’s gaze was fast, his was faster still.

Staedtler had seen his graft site.

“…axe. It was an axe.”

“Not pryin’,” Nori murmured softly, his gaze flicking off and into the street. “You don’t owe me anything.”

No. He didn’t.

But Dwalin was going to tell him anyway, and he didn’t know why that mattered so much.

“Phalloplasty,” he muttered after a minute. “You know I’m Trans.”

Nori nodded, his eyes still locked forwards. “I did know. And I’ve been to enough of Ori’s appointments to talk over his options to know what a graft looks like.”

Right. Ori. Of course. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Dwalin slouched back into the wall.

“Using that patch seemed like a good idea at the time – and don't get me wrong, I wouldn’t want it any other way – but the best bit of my sleeve is now in my trousers.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nori’s lips curve up in a little grin.

“Mad you can't show it off anymore?”

“I could. Would probably get me arrested though.”

“Why? I, for one, would be delighted to see your cock tattoo.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Just ask, and I'll jam it so deep down your throat you'll know every fuckin’ line.”

“Mm, might have to take you up on that sometime, wanker. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase an axe to grind.”

He snorted despite the little tinge of something hot in his gut.

“Keep dreaming, Staedtler.”

It was a quiet night. Most of the patrons had come to see PEN/KNIFE, and their set had ended some hours ago, leaving those remaining to exit in dribs and drabs, spilling out into the street like chattering birds. Ravens mostly, but every now and again a pastel goth blitzed past; luminous pink and white against the darkness.

And yet the crowd welcomed them too. That was the thing about Orc Pit – their patrons were, for the most part, decent people. Not always, otherwise Dwalin would have been sent packing a long time ago, but like generally attracted like.

Dwalin loved Orc Pit.

Unfortunately – as much as he adored the club and her magnificent clientele – he could not say the same about the shitty lights above the door. They were flickering tonight; the red bulb in the I of Pit blinking in a way that made him want to climb up there and replace it himself.

But it was that infuriating flashing that drew his eye to places he had not paid any mind to before.

Places like-

“You have a scar too,” Dwalin muttered before he could stop himself, his eyes immediately flicking out to survey the crowd. “On your earlobe.”

Nori laughed. “Yeah. Nowhere near as impressive as yours though. First week at a club across town somebody ripped out my fuckin’ stud. Learnt my lesson from that; if you want to keep your piercings, be fast.”

“Or take them out.”

“Not on your life. I spent good money on this helix, do you know how fast the bloody things close up? One shift without it in and I’ll be down a gauge.”

“Spacers exist.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t look anywhere near this hot then, would I?”

“Don’t know about that.”

The words were out of his mouth before he’d even realised they were on their way. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the thing about Nori; he had this unerring ability to put someone at ease to the point that thoughts just came tumbling out unbidden.

Thankfully, the redhead took it well. He snorted softly, shooting Dwalin a truly appalling side eye.

“Wanker.”

“Shit.”

*

“I’m not askin’.”

“I’m not offerin’.”

Nori glared up at him. “You really are a wanker, you know that?”

Casually glancing up at where his rucksack was lodged on top of the lockers, Dwalin chuckled. “Not like you’ve called me anything else the whole time you’ve been here.”

“Thinkin’ up new, far nastier names as we speak.” He sighed. “Did you have to hide the ladder?”

“Did you have to steal my pen?”

“I maintain that I had nothing to do with that and have never seen the described object in my life,” Nori said smugly, adjusting the clip clearly protruding from his jeans pocket. “Ugh, alright. Stand back.”

He should have expected it, but somehow the sight of the redhead popping open one of the empty caddies and using it to swing himself up to the top of the lockers came as a total surprise.

“You climb?” Dwalin groaned. “Bendy prick.”

Tilting his head back to shoot a distinct smirk over his shoulder, Nori grabbed the strap of his bag before jumping down to the ground; the stupid fox keychain on the zip of the rucksack jingling as he moved. “That barely counts as a climb, though I suppose someone as beefy as you wouldn’t really be into bouldering.”

“Just weights mostly.”

He snorted. “No shit. Your traps are fuckin’ biteworthy.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Good. I meant it as one.”

Dwalin blinked. That was… new.

As was the little coil of warmth in his chest at the words.

“Uh. Thanks. Your uh. Your quads are good.”

Nori beamed. “Thank you! But you absolutely weren’t looking at my quads, were you wanker?”

Dwalin hadn’t been. “Shut up, Staedtler.”

*

“Alright over there, wanker?”

Dwalin raised a brow before continuing to pretend to read the bulletin board. “Done pollutin’ the workspace with your filth?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Nori purred, swiping a thumb over the corner of his mouth where his lips were still wet from the awful snogging he’d been engaging in. “I was just sayin’ goodbye.”

“Goodbyes usually don’t look like you’re about to fuck on the doormat.”

The shit smirked. “Mine do. Had to give him something to remember me by.”

“And the fact you stole his keychain isn’t enough?”

With the most relaxed sigh Dwalin had ever heard, Nori swung up onto the table and tilted his head back, his knees apart and his arms braced behind him. “It’ll be a good lesson. Don’t come onto someone you can’t handle.”

“That bad then?”

“Mm.” Nori arched his back a little, stretching his neck. “He was good. Just… not quite as vigorous as I usually like. Y’know. Stamina and all that.”

Dwalin couldn’t help the snort that forced its way out. “Not everyone is as horny as you, Staedtler.”

“No, but I’d hoped to get a little more out of him than one round.” He sighed dramatically. “Such is the life, I suppose.”

Neither of them mentioned the fact that the man had been a dead ringer for Dwalin.

*

“So. The redhead.”

Dwalin shrugged noncommittally as he pulled a lemonade from his locker. It was craft; so much nicer than the carbonated filth the club had on tap. “An opportunity arose. Wasn’t about to turn him down.”

Thorin’s sigh was one that spoke of extreme suffering. “Since when have twinks ever been your preference? That’s two in a month.”

It wasn’t the twink bit that Dwalin had liked. “They’re not. Just a hookup.”

“Mm, a hookup that you felt it necessary to show where you worked.” A hand shot out over his shoulder, snagging the last bottle of lemonade before Dwalin could shut the door. “Nori seemed rather amused by it.”

“Staedtler can keep out of it.”

“Staedtler is the whole reason you’re doing this.”

“He’s right,” Dís’ voice called from around the corner.

“Shut up.”

*

By the time the nineteenth of April rolled around, Dwalin found himself at somewhat of a loss.

It was a Sunday – the first one he’d had off in a while – and he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. Sitting at home in silence felt wrong, as did almost anything else he thought about… although the key word here really was almost.

Saying that, the look he got from Gimli when he reached the head of the queue outside Orc Pit made him reconsider whether this was the right port of call.

“Seriously?” the ginger chuckled, tilting his head to one side. “Fuck, D. You’re the prime example of a non-existent work/life balance. Why’re you even here?”

He shrugged. “Never actually seen PEN/KNIFE perform. Thought I’d change that.”

It was a blatant excuse – for what, Dwalin didn’t fully understand – but it seemed like Gimli bought it. With a solemn nod, he stuck his hand out expectantly.

“…you cannot be serious.”

“I do not take my duties as a door supervisor lightly,” he said, with all the gravity of one currently relishing being a stickler for the rules. “Can I see your ID, sir?”

Five minutes and a flash of his driving licence later, Dwalin found himself standing in the centre of a crowd of twenty-somethings, and regretting every decision that had led him there.

PEN/KNIFE were good. There was no issue there; the band’s overall sound and stage presence some of the best he’d ever witnessed. The way Arwen whipped the crowd into a frenzy, pulling off some thoroughly impressive guitar licks that complimented Ori’s chaotic piano like the instruments were psychically linked was truly something else. And that wasn’t to say that the others weren’t equally as remarkable; each and every component that made up their sound perfectly harmonised and delightfully balanced. But the true standout was their passion, a trait that was unfortunately beginning to spell disaster for Dwalin.

There are few things quite as uncomfortable as being sober in a nightclub. The sweaty mass of bodies loses its charm quite quickly; every little bump and knock felt and internalised to a degree that claustrophobia sets in fast – and even faster for someone as broad (and conscious of it) as Dwalin. Add in the fact that this particular club contained PEN/KNIFE and their domineering stage presence…

There was no space, not that any of the revellers cared, but each brush of shoulders was starting to feel like he should be apologising for being in the way. He’d bumped into so many people. None of it had been his fault, but that certainly didn’t mean Dwalin felt good about potentially hurting someone by turning too fast, or moving unexpectedly, or any number of things that could happen in such cramped conditions.

They were drunk. He was too sober to think of anything more than what injury someone as big as him could cause.

As a particularly forceful shove had the evening swerving solidly into the realm of regret, Dwalin decided he’d seen enough. He’d shown up. He’d left his house for something that wasn’t work or a hookup – not that he was even doing that anymore – and he could go to bed happily, knowing that he wasn’t going to find what he’d been subconsciously scanning for since entering the club-

A flash of ginger wandering past changed every plan he’d been mentally concocting in an instant.

“…Staedtler?”

The redhead spun, his hair twirling with him in a wave that missed batting against his chest by mere inches.

He looked… well, for lack of a better word he looked different. He was wearing black skinnies, some truly awful jean jacket (and Dwalin was never going to let him live down the double denim), the flash of a band shirt peeking through where it lay unbuttoned.

Babymetal. Somehow, that made perfect sense.

“Wanker?” He snorted, brown eyes widening slightly as he plonked a hand on his hip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you-” with your hair down “-here either. It’s your night off.”

The smile was mischievous. “And yours. At least I have an excuse.” He gestured at the stage where Ori was currently doing something pretty impressive with his hips. “Haven’t seen him live in ages.”

“You implying I don’t have an excuse?”

Naturally, the moment he spoke Éowyn’s drums promptly droned him out.

“What? Can’t hear you.”

It would have been sensible to simply repeat his words. It would have been even more sensible to gesture for Nori to follow him outside, or to back away to the bar where the music was just that bit quieter.

Dwalin, it seemed, was not sensible.

Bending at the neck to put his mouth level with Nori’s ear, he leant in just far enough that the heat from his skin bathed him in a prickling warmth.

“I have an excuse. Haven’t actually seen them play before.”

He didn’t need to look to know that Nori was smirking. Not that there was a force on this earth that could compel him to pull away from this awful, heady almost-contact.

“Bit better than hearing them through a wall.”

“Make that a lot. They’re good.”

“Would Thorin have ‘em booked if they weren’t?”

It was true enough. Ignoring the way his palms itched, Dwalin pulled away the tiniest distance to glance up at the stage. It was late, and the set would be due to end soon. On Sundays, that meant a select group of staff – and often PEN/KNIFE themselves – ended up grouped in the back for a celebratory wrap-up to the week.

Perhaps he’d stay a little longer.

The moment Dwalin looked back down at Staedtler, he realised that was inevitable.

His eyes were glittering beneath the lights, round and mischievous in their intensity, and for the briefest moment the air felt heady and full; as if some unknown quality yet to be realised had spilled over into reality. It was gone the moment Nori smirked.

“Fancy a spin then, wanker?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Course you don’t.” He winked, backing away and into the crowd. “I’ll dance for the pair of us. You just keep lookin’ like someone’s shoved a pinecone up your ass.”

Oh, he was definitely staying longer.

As he turned to head to the bar, Dwalin’s lips twitched up in a smile. He didn’t fight it, and it didn’t fade – not even as he reached the counter and found himself suddenly faced with Fíli’s raised brow and incredulous stare.

“What are you doing here?” he called over the music, already moving to pour him a glass of lemonade (draught, unfortunately. Thorin didn’t stock his preferred brand).

“Watching your boyfriend make everyone unbelievably horny.”

Fíli snorted, eyes darting up to where the band had begun to play the opening bars of Needy. “He’s good at that.”

He was indeed. As Dwalin accepted the glass, tapping his card on the terminal to pay, he noticed that there were more than a handful of people taking advantage of the unbridled eroticism the song provided. He’d heard it from outside often enough; the club’s walls and open door not dampening the lyrics whatsoever. Apparently, seeing it from the inside was a different experience entirely. Those not outright gazing at the band in undisguised lust were dancing so provocatively that it was a miracle the building wasn’t alight. And those that weren’t dancing… well, there were more than a handful of strangers going home together tonight, that was certain.

Dwalin decided that it was probably best that he didn’t watch the dancers too closely, although that certainly didn’t include the flash of ginger currently headbanging his way to a concussion as close to the stage as physically possible without climbing onto the bloody piano.

At some point, a young man slipped into the seat beside him. Dwalin didn’t even look up.

“Can I buy you a round?”

“I don’t drink.”

The man chuckled, leaning forwards on the bar. He had a pleasant face; dark hair and brows framing a chiselled jaw that looked a little too perfect. No imperfections.

No lopsided smirk.

“You’re drinking right now.”

“Not in the mood to chat semantics.”

“What are you in the mood for then?”

Not this. “Peace and quiet.”

“At a PEN/KNIFE show?”

That was valid, but Dwalin really wasn’t in the mood. He just continued to sip his lemonade, totally disregarding the eyes tracking lines over his biceps… until the stranger decided he’d had enough of being ignored.

“Are you this standoffish with everyone, or is there a special reason?”

“Oi, wanker!”

That would be the reason. Immediately turning his back to the man, Dwalin rolled his eyes in mock irritation.

“What do you want?”

Nori smirked, his slightly sweaty brow sparkling beneath the club lights as he collected a glass of water from Fíli. “Bein’ as you’re not up to the challenge of a dance, you mind holdin’ my jacket? It’s getting hot out there.”

Dwalin didn’t mind. He stuck a hand out, accepting the proffered denim and ignoring the way something caught in his gut as the thinnest sliver of skin touched his fingers.

“Thanks. See you backstage?”

Dwalin nodded, his gaze slipping down and over Nori’s Babymetal shirt and horrible skinny jeans. “See if I can be bothered to remember your jacket.”

“See if I can be bothered to save you a seat.” With a wink, Nori downed his water before heading right back out onto the dancefloor. Dwalin’s gaze left with him; his eyes lingering slightly too long on the way the loose ends of his hair fell slightly lower than it did braided.

When he turned back to the bar to resume his drink, Dwalin noticed the man from before had vanished; his seat now occupied by a blonde punk and the brunette goth draped over her lap. It was a welcome change.

Unfortunately, it seemed his relief hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You’re utterly transparent.”

Dwalin snorted into his lemonade, gaze immediately flicking away from a flash of red on the dancefloor to lock with Fíli’s amused stare. “Not a clue what you mean by that.”

“You’ve been watching him since you sat down.”

“I’ve been watching your boyfriend’s set.” An obvious lie; one that Fíli saw right through, if the little smirk his mouth wound into as he dug in the cabinet for a VK was anything to go by.

“You’re allowed to want things, you know.”

Dwalin nodded. “I know.”

“Then why don’t you say something? With the amount of jokes the pair of you make about fucking each other, I’d say he’d be more than game.”

And there was the issue.

Dwalin sighed hard, taking a very long sip of his drink in order to get his thoughts in order.

Apparently, it wasn’t that difficult.

“I deleted Grindr.”

“Oh.”

“Just… just thought it was time I stopped with all that. Didn’t feel right anymore.”

“Oh… that explains a lot.”

“Does it?”

Fíli nodded slowly. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day where you caught feelings, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything. So… that’s what this is?”

A shrug. “Wouldn’t know. Didn’t expect it to be.”

“You never do.” He chuckled, inclining his head at where PEN/KNIFE were wrapping up their set; Ori’s vocals rising above the cheer of the crowd like a summoning call. “I didn’t.”

Of all people, Fíli certainly hadn’t. Dwalin had known him for nigh on twenty-five years, watching him grow from an uncertain child into a proud young man, and not once had he seen him so taken with someone until Ori had smashed into his life in early February. It seemed to be a running theme with the Staedtlers; their unerring ability to demolish the status quo with barely a handful of words. In Ori’s case, he’d let the piano do the talking.

In Nori’s… well, it all probably came down to the way he said wanker.

The next couple of songs passed in a blur. Needy was followed by Arson, Arson followed by a cover from a band Dwalin didn’t know, and before he knew it, the final strains of Touch Me Like A Bullet were being received with rapturous cheering.

Dwalin took that as his cue to shuffle backstage, ducking through the staff entrance before the masses made it too difficult. The moment he was through the door, he breathed deep, relishing in the freedom from that many bodies.

“Not one for crowds?”

Of all the bloody timings. Huffing in assent, Dwalin held out Nori’s jacket, watching as the shit’s lips curved up in a slow smile.

“Not my favourite thing, no.”

“Odd for a bouncer.”

He shrugged. “I don’t like not bein’ able to see who’s touching me. Was a bit easier when I used to drink, but…”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Nori leant back against the wall, mussed hair and exertion-flushed cheeks giving him this unfortunately attractive aura that made Dwalin’s stomach do something rather interesting. “Thought you seemed a little sober for a club.”

“Haven’t drunk since I was thirty. Don’t like how it feels.”

Nori nodded. “Hey, all the more power to you. The older I get, the more I’m startin’ to think the hangovers aren’t worth it.”

“The other major selling point of abstinence.”

He may not have been drinking, but there was something almost wavy in the air back here. A strand of ginger falling loose over Nori’s forehead, his skin just tacky enough with sweat that it stuck in the wrong place. It was irritating; that single lock displaced and distracting to the point that Dwalin could think of little else than tucking it back in its rightful spot behind his ear... and that little undulating ache in the atmosphere was screaming that the redhead would let him. He wasn’t drunk either – far from it; his eyes were clear and, as far as Dwalin had seen, he’d had nothing but water for some time.

And then Nori glanced up from where he’d been picking an imaginary spot from his shirt, brown eyes meeting his intense stare with something heady and hooded.

“I’m sober,” he said softly.

It could have meant nothing. It could have meant any multitude of things, but in that moment – with that look – Dwalin wasn’t entirely sure what, because Nori was looking at him like he wanted something and it would be so easy to finally give in to the urge to touch-

“Dwalin? What are you doing here?”

Letting out a tired sigh at being asked that exact question for the fourth time, he turned to shoot Thorin a truly withering glare.

He hadn’t moved an inch; Nori’s wayward strand of hair still plastered to his forehead.

“Why does everyone keep askin’ me that?”

Thorin snorted as he pulled his pouch of terrible tobacco out of his pocket and began to roll himself a cigarette. “Maybe because you’ve been working here for ten years and I have never seen you come in on a night off.”

“I came in on Kíli’s birthday last year.” Dwalin scowled. “And I thought you’d quit smoking.”

“I have. Don’t tell Dís.”

“Dís already knows.”

The moan Thorin let out as a slender hand shot over his shoulder to steal the tobacco and papers was nothing short of aggrieved. “I’ve had a shit week.”

“And you’ll have another shit week if you smoke that. Your doctor said no more nicotine.”

“My doctor also said to reduce my stress, but that’s hardly going to happen.”

Dís sighed, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder as she pocketed the pilfered pouch. “Don’t argue with me. You know I’m right.”

“She is,” Nori chuckled. “Terrible habit, that.”

“You vape.”

“And I admit that it’s a terrible habit. Doesn’t mean I take my own advice on the matter.”

There was no winning with Nori. Dwalin just chuckled under his breath as the four of them wandered back to the dressing room, shooting the redhead a surreptitious little sneer as they walked.

He stuck his tongue out in response, and Dwalin tried very hard to ignore how his palms still itched.

By the time they arrived backstage, all of PEN/KNIFE had already assembled; Ori’s crop top replaced by a lumpy jumper and the majority of the group’s eyeliner wiped away. They went through a truly astronomical amount of the stuff – Bifur especially, but Dwalin wasn’t about to comment on it. It was a good look, and they all wore their respective onstage personas well.

Naturally, Kíli was already there; cuddled up in the corner with Cynthia. He still had no idea how the chirpy twat had managed that because from the few interactions Dwalin had engaged in with Bofur it had been clear he valued the guitar more than his own life, but there the youngest Durin sat, cradling the Gibson with an almost delicate reverence as he pressed kisses to its neck and shot smug glances to where it’s owner sat gripping his drink with white knuckles.

“Good show tonight,” Thorin called as they entered, falling onto the ratty sofa with a little groan. “Nearly hit capacity again.”

With a contented little grin, Ori ripped open his customary after-show pack of pop rocks before dumping the whole thing in his mouth. “Thankshh,” he mumbled around the hissing. “Was a fun one.”

“You’re improving,” Nori added, pulling up a chair and flopping into it, motioning for Dwalin to do the same. “That last chorus on Bullet was the best I’ve ever heard it.”

From across the room, Arwen laughed. “We’ve been telling him that for weeks. Every performance he tops the last.”

Dwalin snorted. “As if you’re not doing exactly the same. What was that filthy little lick on Arson?”

That statement had more than a few incredulous faces aimed at him. Nori even raised a brow.

“What? I listen. I’m literally stood outside for almost every damn set you do.”

“True enough,” Ori chuckled. “Regardless – and forgive me for being uh… upfront, I suppose – I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Dwalin.”

“He’s actually left his cave and ventured out?” Éowyn’s voice called from behind the changing screen. “Bloody hell, that’s a turn up for the books.”

“I do have a social life.”

“If by social life you mean grunting hello and goodbye five nights a week, then sure.”

Dwalin was about to reply with something rather biting to do with her own uncommunicative nature, but Ori interrupted him with a little cough.

“Uh, sorry. Could someone pass me some water?”

There was a multipack on the floor by Dwalin’s boot, but surprisingly he didn’t get there first.

“Hold on, I’ve got you.”

Dwalin wasn’t expecting Nori to reach for the bottle, but that was exactly what he did; leaning over his lap to grab the water before tossing it to Ori, a few strands of his loose hair falling onto his legs. His head was turned in such a way that his nose could have grazed Dwalin’s knees if he had been twisted just that bit more…

And then Nori straightened up and deliberately caught his eye as he tossed the bottle to his brother.

“Enjoyin’ the view from up there?” he murmured low enough that Dwalin was the only one who heard.

He snorted. “Shut up, Staedtler.”

The itch in his palms was getting worse by the second.

*

On the twenty-seventh of April – exactly two months since Nori had started on the job – Dwalin noticed a change.

It wasn’t anything obvious. He still wore his hair long in that ridiculous braid-and-sometimes-ponytail, wrapped up and out of the way when he was on shift. His piercings were still in place. Even that fucking horrifying smirk still remained, painted proud over his features.

No, not one single physical thing had changed.

But Dwalin wasn’t known as observant for nothing, and he’d be a piss-poor bouncer to not notice how the redhead had shifted his behaviour.

He leaned more – not in the usual way that put his back square to the brickwork. He leaned on tables, stretching on chairs… and most importantly, he did not lean on Dwalin.

Now, that may have seemed unimportant to most. Nori wasn’t exactly touchy-feely with anyone at Orc Pit, but the extent to which he’d gone out of his way to avoid so much as brushing against him was bizarre at best. The vast majority of their work had them standing on either side of the door, that few feet of nothingness turning into an abyss that Dwalin was all-too conscious of. He was achingly aware that the last time Nori had so much as brushed by him had been the exchange of his jacket just over a week ago, and that contact – that tiny scrape of skin – had played on his mind ever since.

But no. Nori hadn’t touched him again, and he certainly hadn’t touched Nori, yet the redhead still leaned.

And his words had changed too.

Not all at once – and not the content of what he said. The tone had shifted in the last month to something almost…

“Oi, wanker!”

Like that.

Dwalin sighed. Fuck. The way the word – that nickname, and only in that specific context – sounded like a purr, poured directly into his ear. It was less lascivious than it had once been, solidly falling on the side of genuinely affectionate, and that was fascinating.

“Yeah, Staedtler?”

To his utmost infuriation, Nori stuck his head out from behind a pillar, his face pulled up in that awful little sneer that sent a disgustingly happy bubble racing through his stomach.

His hair was in a ponytail today; already loose and let down from the neat twist he kept it confined to whilst on shift.

Dwalin really liked the ponytail.

“Thorin says to fuck off for the night. He’s got some office stuff to deal with that’ll take a while. Says he’ll lock up.”

That sounded like Thorin, the chronic overworker that he was. Dwalin just nodded, pushing away from the wall and removing his armband. “Easy night then.”

Nori shrugged, sauntering over lazily. Something in the way he brushed past the bar – the swing of his hair as it swept over his hip – made Dwalin’s mouth suddenly go the tiniest bit dry.

“No fights tonight. Of course, no PEN/KNIFE tonight, so you get what you get.”

Dwalin snorted, watching the way Nori’s eyes glittered under the dim houselights. “Half capacity, but I’m not complainin’. That’s Thorin’s job.”

“Too right. Too right.” Inclining his head to the back door, Nori raised a brow. Fancy a drink before we get going?”

Dwalin frowned. “We both drive, and I don’t-”

“I know that, wanker.” The sigh was bordering on aggrieved. “I’ve got half a crate of some fancy bullshit lemonade in the truck. That shitty syrupy stuff you keep in your locker.” He huffed. “Can’t believe you thought I forgot you don’t drink.”

Oh. That… that was actually sweet. Dwalin felt the corner of his mouth lift in stunned surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. Not a clue why you like it, it just tastes like sugar coverin’ up something bitter to me.”

“It’s lemonade. Lemons and sugar. That is literally what it is.”

Nori wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was revoltingly cute. “No, lemonade is supposed to taste nice. That tastes like a car battery fell into Willy Wonka’s. Fuckin’ sulphuric acid to the tongue, I swear.”

“You have no culture.”

“Says the man I’ve caught on multiple occasions shoving an entire sleeve of chocolate digestives down his gullet.”

Another sigh. “Are you going to give me a lemonade or not, Nori?”

The redhead’s smirk grew. “Of course. Not like I’m going to drink them.”

He wasn’t going to drink them.

Naturally. Nori didn’t like his choice in preferred beverage. He’d said as much on multiple occasions – always teasing, if not outright decrying his love for the drink.

And somehow, he’d ended up with a crate of them in his truck.

If the conversation leading up to this hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, that one line was sufficient to drag Dwalin’s brows up an inch.

What was this? A peace offering… or something else entirely.

Dwalin found he suddenly couldn’t wait to find out.

The walk to Nori’s pickup was quiet. They were the last two in the building at this point (well, barring Thorin, but he was too busy burning out in his office to so much as wave goodbye), and their passage was accompanied by nothing but the jingle of keys and slamming of fire doors as the chilly April air engulfed them.

“They’re in the bed,” Nori called, strutting over to the cab and chucking his backpack onto the passenger seat. “Should be pretty cold.”

Dwalin nodded before pulling back a tarp to reveal exactly as promised – a crate of his particular brand of craft lemonade… and a suspicious bottle of something red.

“Agua de Jamaica,” Nori chuckled when Dwalin held it out. “Hibiscus, innit. Much nicer than that oversweet slop you’ve got.”

“Assumin’ that’s your beverage of choice then?”

Snagging the bottle from his hand, Nori deftly popped the cap off on the door latch, catching it before it fell. “You’d be correct,” he replied, motioning for Dwalin to hand him one of the lemonades. He flicked the top off in the same manner, cursing as the metal fell to the floor. “Fuck. Hold these for a mo.”

He accepted the proffered drinks (and if Dwalin let his eyes linger on Nori’s ass as he bent to collect the cap, then that was his business and no one else’s), taking a little sip from the red bottle before pulling a face.

“Now that actually is bitter.”

Nori scowled, slamming the door and snatching his drink back in disgust. “You have the palate of a five-year-old. Tart, not bitter. There’s sugar in it.”

“Same as lemonade.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nori said light-heartedly. Leaning against the truck, he gently knocked the neck of his bottle against Dwalin’s, a tiny clink echoing in the quiet of the car park. “Cheers, by the way.”

Eyeing the way his lazy smirk had returned, Dwalin took a long swig before moving to rest his own back against the red paintwork. “What are we toasting to?”

“Oh, you know. Professional success, personal growth… although I’m raising a glass to that magnificent cock tattoo of yours as well.”

Dwalin chuckled. “That comes under personal growth, I reckon.”

“Not until you’re hard it doesn’t.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Nori took a sip. “And you’re just as bad. Rancid gays drinking shitty soft drinks in a dark car park and talking about their cocks. That’s the true homosexual agenda, right there.”

“As far as I’m aware, we’ve only talked about my cock so far.”

“Mm, true, although that’s easily remedied.” Sweeping down in a mock bow, Nori winked. “Doth mine carpet match the drapes? That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

Dwalin groaned in exasperation. “Just sayin’, Nori; you are the most obvious natural redhead I’ve ever seen. Unless you’re dyeing your pubes, no one will listen to that line.”

“No, but I bet it’s got you curious now.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Even more unfortunately, it had nothing to do with the repulsive pickup Dwalin had been subjected to.

He’d wanted to see Nori naked for a while. He wanted to kiss him, to fuck him, to date him – and wasn’t that the single most abhorrent thought? This shitty little bastard had wormed his way so deep into Dwalin’s psyche that he was fantasizing about going out for coffee with him. He was no stranger to daydreams that erred on the side of sexual, but really? Lattes and carrot cake?!

That didn’t mean that the slightly more decadent fantasies had gone anywhere. Oh no, they most certainly hadn’t, and as Nori took another sip from his abhorrent drink of choice, Dwalin decided that it was probably time to ask what this was.

“Nori…” he huffed, hoping desperately that his suspicions were correct. “Why do you have a drink you don’t like in your truck?”

The redhead was silent for two long beats of his heart. He took a sip. Plucked the lemonade from Dwalin’s hand before reaching up to place both bottles back in the bed.

Smirked.

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” Nori said plainly.

Dwalin’s mouth was on his within seconds.

There was nothing tentative about this kiss. The moment his lips made contact, Nori groaned; fingers finding his beltloops and dragging him in close. Dwalin’s own hand came up, palm pressing against the cab window – either for support or to cage the redhead in, he couldn’t really tell which anymore because Nori’s lips, Nori’s mouth, Nori-

He was touching him. After so long of the space between them feeling insurmountable, he was finally touching him.

His second moan was harsher than the first, mouth opening to echo the sound through Dwalin’s throat and deep into his gut, and he took the opportunity to lean in hard; roughly pushing Nori’s back into the truck.

The lingering flavour of hibiscus tasted a lot better on the redhead’s tongue. Fuck, anything would taste better coming from inside that incredible mouth. He was so soft, the prickle of facial hair against his own bearded cheeks somehow the gentlest burn Dwalin had ever felt, and he wanted to feel it more. He wanted to be scraped raw, to be annihilated by the scratch of this beard until his face was ruddy and stinging. He wanted to hurt, to ache, to break open and consume simultaneously, because Nori was so perfect beneath his mouth, and Dwalin needed him like a layer of skin he’d not realised he was missing until the discomfort of being without had hit.

“Fuck, wanker,” Nori gasped when they broke apart, sounding every bit as exhilarated as Dwalin felt. “Knew you’d be a good kisser, but that… haven’t had sex in a while, or are you like this with everyone?”

“Keep talkin’ and it’ll be even longer.”

“Ohh, I suppose you’ll just have to shut me up then.” Cocking a brow, Nori inclined his head at the truck. “Fancy a spin?”

“Depends. Where does the drive end?”

It was probably a tad stupid to ask a question like that, but Dwalin preferred to know exactly what he was getting himself into before diving in blindly. He just hoped that Nori was on the same page.

Thankfully, he quickly found himself on the receiving end of an exasperated glare. “I don’t fuck just anyone in my truck,” the redhead drawled. “It’s a privilege reserved for only the most pathetic of wankers – and there’s not a lot of competition in that field. Actually, now I think about it, there’s only one-”

“You. Me. Coffee.”

Nori let out a mock gasp, his hand flying up to clutch his chest in horror. “So forward! What a depraved thing to suggest! Sayin’ that, you know my hours. I’ll drive, thank you very much. You won’t catch me on the back of that death machine you ride. And you are not takin’ me to Starbucks.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You know what sounds even better right now? You getting on top of me in the backseat and kissing me until I come in my jeans.”

Dwalin snorted, before leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin just below his ear. “As tempting as that sounds, you won’t be coming in your jeans.”

As predicted, Nori whined and canted his hips forward, his erection pressing hard against Dwalin’s thigh. “Where am I going to be coming then?”

He hummed, one hand dropping to finally grab a firm feel of the ass that had taunted him for months. The moan that accompanied it only served to inflate Dwalin’s ego further. “That depends on where we go.”

“Then can the first stop be you getting on top of me, because I fancy being crushed into the upholstery right about now.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“I prefer recalcitrant, if you don’t mind.”

“And I prefer fucking someone who isn’t talking my ear off the whole time, but we don’t always get what we want.”

He wasn’t being serious. Nori without the banter was like a handleless knife; functional, but missing an intrinsic part that separated the cutting edge itself from the implement as a whole. Simply put, he wouldn’t be Nori. Yes, he was irritating and rude… but then again, so was Dwalin.

And the redhead knew. With a smirk, he rocked forwards on his heels to drag them into yet another searing embrace before reaching to pop open the door.

“I don’t know about that,” he purred lasciviously. “I’m gettin’ everything I want handed to me on a silver platter tonight.”

Before Dwalin could respond, the lithe twat had ducked out of his hold and hopped up to perch on the backseat, legs swinging idly beneath him.

“Welcome to my humble Ranger.” A mock dip of his head. “Please leave any sense of dignity you may have been holdin’ out on at the door.”

He was going to have to, because (for reasons that should be rather self-explanatory) he had not noticed the glaring issue of the width of the cab until that very moment.

“You cannot be serious,” Dwalin huffed. “You really think I can get my shoulders in there?”

“Hey, at least I have backseats. Sorry Chappell, for what I’ve got planned it might be a tad difficult to be knee deep in the-”

“Oh, shut up.” He already had one foot in the truck. “Chirpiest bastard I’ve ever met. Just… give me a hand with the door, would you?”

“Why? Can’t reach it with those gigantic hams of yours?”

Despite the quips, he did actually help. As Dwalin’s knee met the seat (and he had to practically snap in half at the waist to not scalp himself on the roof), Nori reached up to loop one hand around his back, dragging him closer as he stretched…

And the moment the door slammed shut, the momentum had Dwalin collapsing directly on top of him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, attempting to find some way to give the redhead room to breathe. “You alright? I’m not crushing-”

“Oh yes, crush me harder daddy!”

Dwalin scowled down at the awful little smirk beneath him. “I’m getting out.”

“Oh no you’re not.” With a grace that he could not fully comprehend – even now – Nori managed to hook a leg up and over his hip, dragging him down further. “Now, I believe you said something about me not coming in my jeans? Want to see how close we can get without that actually happening?”

Had he mentioned how needy Nori was? Because he was fucking needy. Without any further ado, Dwalin thrust his hips forward to grind against him, only holding back long enough to hear that wonderful little choke before taking to Nori’s mouth once more.

And it was good. The great and terrible slide of their lips, the hot and heavy panting that filled the air… oh, it was just so good. As it turned out, Nori was a bit of a biter too, which Dwalin really didn’t mind, especially when it came hand in hand with dexterous fingers ruining his mohawk. The awful bastard was everywhere; his tongue turning the kiss messy and wet, his blunt nails catching stray hairs and yanking them in his desperate attempt to twist closer, the heat of his cock burning a hole through both of their jeans-

“Top?” Nori gasped, rolling his head back into the seat as Dwalin set about his neck.

“Vers.”

“V-vers?! Oh, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come more than anyone has, ever. I can top you?”

“That’s literally what being vers means.”

“I know, but I’m asking if I can top you.”

Pulling back, Dwalin shot him a cautious look. “You ever topped before?”

“Considerin’ that I’m normally vers-for-vers, yes.” Nori’s head flopped back onto the leather, a satisfied little smirk licking over his face. “Fuck, please tell me I can top you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

Dwalin wasn’t exactly about to say no to that, not when his own thoughts had been gravitating towards such an occurrence with concerning frequency. But he also wasn’t going to outright tell Nori that he could, not when having him squirm and beg for it was on the table.

“We’ll see,” he growled, delighting in the little whine of complaint that accompanied his words. “But before any of that, I want your cock in my mouth.”

Nori moaned, pushing up hard against his crotch. “Ohhh, I have been waiting to hear you say those words forever. Single most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me, right there.”

Dwalin’s huff was accompanied by the squeaking of leather as he shoved himself upright, allowing Nori to scoot out from under him and prop his back up against the door. “Flowers not good enough?”

“Oh, flowers are fine, but cocksucking…” he swooned dramatically. “Nothing beats a good blowjob. A job of the blow, if you will. Non-penetrative oral stimu-”

“The more synonyms you find, the more your chances dwindle.”

The wink was nothing short of saucy. “Suppose you’d better do something good enough to stop me, then.”

Those were fighting words… or fucking ones, but Dwalin was becoming rapidly aware of the fact that neither of them seemed to be able to differentiate between the two. Regardless, he didn’t actually care. Scootching forward to shove Nori against the glass with a particularly ferocious kiss, he roughly palmed him, relishing in the groan he let out at the touch.

“Shit!” he cursed, nimble hands already underneath Dwalin’s shirt and dragging his nails over his stomach. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me, wanker. If I’d’ve known you’d b-be this pent up, we’d have done this a long time ago-”

Dwalin chuckled, grinding his palm against Nori’s cock a little harder. “Maybe I’m just trying to get you off faster so you’ll fucking leave.”

The look that Nori shot him then was priceless. “Yeah, that’s why you got in the truck. If you’d wanted a quick shag, the alleyway is right there.”

“Privacy.”

“Ah yes, privacy. Fogged up windows and a bouncing pickup. Really screams subtle.”

Pulling back with an exasperated sigh, Dwalin rolled his eyes. “If I suck your cock, will you shut up?”

“Not fucking likely.”

He hadn’t expected he would. Nori was loud, in every damn aspect. As he fought against the cramped space, somehow managing to unsnap his jeans and pull his length from his boxers, the redhead only proved that further.

“Been… been thinking about this a lot,” Nori hissed, reclining back against the door as Dwalin pumped him. “Your lips around my cock. Bet that would knock the scowl off your face.”

“You’ve seen me smile.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen your come face.” Raking his nails over Dwalin’s bicep, he smirked. “And I’ve never seen you without a shirt, so can we dispense with the clothing so I can finally get a gander at those oversized muscles of yours?”

Dwalin very nearly groaned, but he complied. Unfortunately, the space behind the passenger’s side was so cramped, the seat pushed so far back, that he accidentally elbowed the headrest (and very nearly Nori’s face) in the struggle. By the time he’d wrenched the black tee over his head and deposited it on the floor, the redhead lounging by the window had apparently had a while to look his fill.

“Mm,” Nori purred, eyes dancing in delight. “Biceps bigger than my head, thighs that could snap me in half… you, my good sir, are teenage me’s wet dream come to life. Now, are you gonna give me the best blowjob of my life, or are you gonna make me refer back to said dreams to get off?”

Could he be any more of a shit? Dwalin knew it was par for the course at this point, but those terrible little barbs still only served to rile him up further. Which was Nori’s whole game, after all.

Dwalin decided he didn’t care.

It took some shuffling to lie down over the seats, but somehow he managed to get horizontal. From there, it was only really a matter of ignoring Nori’s various cracks about him being too large to ‘park that big Mack truck right in this little garage’ and jamming his elbow into the back of the passenger seat before sinking down.

The shit let out a happy sigh as he took him in, tongue pushing hard against the underside of his cock as he tried his hardest to get the whole thing in his throat. It wasn’t particularly difficult; Nori was only a tad larger than average, but on such a slender body it looked bigger than that.

Not that Dwalin was complaining in the slightest. He let out a little mumbled noise of his own as he bottomed out, his nose brushing against Nori’s smooth pelvis.

Wait.

Smooth.

As in freshly waxed smooth.

Dwalin very nearly gagged at that revelation. Somehow, he managed to pull back far enough to shoot Nori a disgusted look.

“You planned this, didn’t you.”

The redhead chose that exact moment to find the roof lining very interesting indeed. “Don’t know what you mean,” he said nonchalantly.

“That is a fresh bloody wax.”

He shrugged. “Lots of people get waxed. Doesn’t mean I did it for the express purpose of seducing you.”

“Oh, seducing.” Dwalin gestured vaguely towards Nori’s spit-coated cock. “That’s what we’re calling this?”

“It’s a bit classier than calling it truck fucking, wanker.”

How Nori managed to claim something so ludicrous and refute it in the same breath with that idiotic nickname, Dwalin would never know. Saying that, he had other priorities as of that moment, and unfortunately they would almost certainly result in even more filth spilling from the redhead’s mouth.

With a mumbled huff, Dwalin sank back down, taking as much of Nori’s cock as he could into his throat. He could cram him all in – that he’d proved already – but keeping up any sort of rhythm whilst doing that, especially here… no, he was better off relying on technique over gagging himself.

Not that Nori seemed to mind. The moan he let out as Dwalin’s tongue slipped out to stick tight to the underside as he drew back was delicious, and as for the way his hands flew up to lock into his mohawk (which was absolutely destroyed at this point) when his lips latched around the head… it was clear Nori was enjoying himself.

“I’m… gonna fuck… your face,” the redhead panted, squirming as Dwalin continued to blow him. “Soon. Mnn, your fuckin’ lips. Bet you’d h-hate it if I did that. My cock in your throat until I come, and you’d just take it.”

Hate was absolutely the wrong word, but right now Nori was going to take what he was giving him and be bloody thankful for it too. Roughly, he dipped his head, pressing the tip against the roof of his mouth and sucking hard.

“Oh-oh fuck, Dwalin, that’s so-”

He pulled back, Nori’s cock leaving his mouth with an audible pop.

The redhead’s grip on his hair loosened ever so slightly, the sound of ragged panting filling the cab.

For the longest moment, there was nothing but that.

“You were about to come, weren’t you?”

Even in the darkness of the truck, Dwalin could see the twin points of pink light up Nori’s cheeks.

“Sh-shut up,” he mumbled.

Oh, how the tables had turned. It seemed – beyond all reasonable doubt – that it was now Dwalin’s chance to be a little cocky. Propping himself up on his elbow, he smirked, hand still lazily playing with Nori’s shaft in an irregular rhythm that was meant to do nothing more than frustrate him.

“You were about to come,” he repeated, voice becoming ever so slightly gloating. “And you said my name.”

Not wanker.

His name.

Nori shifted uncomfortably, the arrogance flaking off in sheets to reveal something actually… soft.

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered under his breath.

Oh.

Well, that was a revelation.

And Dwalin was more than a little entranced by the idea.

“Did you say my name whilst you were fucking your bear?” he breathed, forcing his grip to stay gentle and teasing. “Is that why you only got one round out of him?”

Nori didn’t reply.

Dwalin’s smirk only grew. “You did. Bet that went down so well. Did he know who I was when you brought him to work? Did he know that you were kissin’ him where I could see, where you could make me jealous… did you pretend he was me?”

“He knew, alright?” Nori snapped, his face now fully flushed and red. “Was pretty upfront about the whole… wanting you thing. And yeah actually, just to stroke your massive ego, he did me from behind so I could pretend- he knew and was alright with it.”

Dwalin could take this further. He could resume whatever silly trading of barbs they’d had up until this point and play it off as more teasing, but something in Nori’s face – some raw little vulnerability that had stayed hidden up until that very moment – was telling him that it was the wrong move.

So he didn’t.

Pressing a soft kiss to Nori’s thigh (and relishing in the shudder it sent through him), he heaved himself up on the door so they were face to face again.

“You don’t have to pretend this time,” Dwalin murmured, watching as those pretty eyes struggled to settle anywhere but his mouth.

Nori’s breath caught. If he hadn’t been listening quite as closely he would have missed it, but the distinct sound of that little gasp was instantly consumed when deft hands shot out to catch him by the shoulders and drag him into the hottest kiss Dwalin had ever had.

Nori’s mouth was so wet, his lips so fervent as he allowed himself to be pressed against the window, urging him forward so the entirety of his body weight was shoving him into the glass. Dwalin’s hands were in his hair in seconds, although the ponytail stayed put, but there was just enough give in the back that he could slip his fingers into the dense mass, dragging a desperate moan from Nori’s chest.

And it just didn’t stop.

That mouth – that infuriating, perfect mouth – was like a rasp to his very soul. It sanded him down, wearing away all of his thoughts until the only thing that mattered was the body pressed against him and the blunt scrape of nails over his back as Nori clung ever closer.

Biting words and shitty attitudes aside, it was no real jump to say that Dwalin was in love with him. He’d known he was falling for some weeks; the progression from intense dislike to this current state of longing slow and steady… but now was hardly the time for such confessions. There would be plenty of moments where conversations could be had in the future – best kept for when they weren’t shagging the living daylights out of each other in a sweaty Ford Ranger.

And it seemed Nori knew that too. He’d shared a sliver of vulnerability, but when the kiss broke it seemed he’d recovered enough to return to the task at hand.

“You want me to fuck you, wanker?” he purred, although his eyes betrayed just how excited he was at the prospect. “You want me to have you here on the backseats? I’ve got condoms and lube in the pocket.”

Oh shit, he really was prepared for every outcome.

“If you think you can stay quiet about it,” Dwalin grumbled. “But you’re going to get me off first. Make me come, and then you can go to town. But next time we do this somewhere I can fuck you too.”

Nori’s cackle was ecstatic. “Ohh, I knew I liked you for a reason. Go on then, on your back.”

Again, it was harder said than done. The cab was so small and – despite the redhead’s unerring ability to fit whatever tiny space he was afforded – it took some shuffling and more than a few snarls of irritation to get lying down.

Harder than that was removing his jeans.

“You going to help?” Dwalin growled as he tried – and failed – to pull the thick material past his boots.

Nori laughed, but he did grab one of his feet and start undoing the laces. “Should have taken these off first.”

“Like you did yours?”

“Hey, I’m not the one getting fucked, am I?”

It was frustratingly true, but thankfully Nori seemed to be in as much of a hurry to get at his cock as Dwalin was to get touched, so it only took a few moments to fight his way out of the jeans.

Nori let out a low whistle as his boxers followed. “You weren’t joking about the tat. Nice cock.”

Shifting ever so slightly so he could cup his balls and pump himself to hardness, Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Bet you say that to all the bears you fuck.”

“Bit rich coming from Mr Twink Annihilator himself. Don’t think I didn’t notice a pattern.”

“You’re not a twink.”

“No, I’m not.” Nori’s smirk turned a hair feral as he pushed away from the door to crawl over the top of him, breath hot and heavy against Dwalin’s lips. “But all those redheads were a dead giveaway.”

“Only one of them was ginger.”

“And the other was strawberry blond. Face it, wanker; you have a type.”

He wasn’t going to disagree when the blueprint to his type was mere inches away, hard length pulsing heavily against his thigh… which was ridiculous, really. Nori hadn’t removed a single stitch of clothing, and here Dwalin was: totally naked (barring his socks). The only indication that anything was up with the redhead was the smattering of red marks where his collar had been wrenched out of the way… and his cock sticking out of his jeans, but that was a given now.

“Are you going to take your shirt off, or do I have to nearly punch you in the face again to get it over your head?”

Nori chuckled, his eyes flashing in the dark. “Maybe I like this, hmm? Maybe I like having you naked in my truck. Maybe-”

“Maybe I want to see you without a shirt on.”

“… fine,” he sighed. “Just because it’s you.”

Dwalin wasn’t going to pretend that those words hadn’t affected him. The bubble of elation that this was for him was almost a little too much, but he just watched as Nori pushed himself up on his knees to sit above him. And then his shirt was finally on the floor, and Dwalin…

“You really are a pretty bastard,” he huffed. “A fucking navel piercing?”

Nori shrugged, preening a little as he reached up to paw his hip. “A dare. I was a smidge rebellious as a teen.”

“No,” Dwalin deadpanned. “Never.”

“Eh, left all that behind me. Now I just have tasteful sex in trucks.”

“If you ever stop wasting time and get to the point.”

He laughed. “Oh, I will. The moment you give me the go-ahead, I’ll show you the best time these four wheels have ever witnessed.”

Well, Nori wasn’t going to get all the fun. Reaching down to where he’d stashed the lube, Dwalin snatched one of his hands and squirted a decent amount over the palm. After he was satisfied, he tossed the tube down and grabbed the back of that tempting ponytail, ignoring Nori’s little moan to smash their faces together once more.

The redhead groaned into his mouth, shuffling up and forwards to straddle him properly. It meant one of his feet was jammed behind the passenger seat, but frankly Dwalin couldn’t care less – and by the sounds of it, neither could Nori. And then, without breaking the kiss, he pulled that lubed-up hand down to finally touch his fully hard cock.

“Ooh, touching,” Nori purred against his lips. “Touching is fun.”

Dwalin chose not to answer, instead guiding him in a few firm pumps. Frankly, after all the buildup, after sucking Nori and kissing him as thoroughly as they’d been going at it, he was horrifically turned on, and every touch felt like it seared him to the core. It wouldn’t take much to-

“Ow,” Nori mumbled.

It was like a fire blanket. Dwalin released him the second the little noise of pain passed his lips, drawing his hands back and away as fast as the space would allow him.

“You alright?”

“Mm,” he muttered noncommittally. “Fine. I’m bendy, but unfortunately not that bendy.”

Dwalin nodded, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He hadn’t meant to… he’d never intended to hurt…

Fuck.

“Sorry-”

“Nope!” The chirpy response was so unexpected that he could only really blink in surprise. “You do not say sorry for that. Accidental, yeah? We’re having sex in a confined space, there’s bound to be a few knocks.”

“A-alright,” Dwalin half spluttered. “You… you want to-”

Apparently, that was the end of bright Nori, because the moment those words left his lips, the redhead was sliding back to lie on his front, legs bent up at a weird angle by the door and putting his mouth level with Dwalin’s pelvis.

“A little creativity goes a long way,” he hummed happily.

“And how is that more comfortable? You’re practically bent in two!”

“Oh, don’t go giving me ideas, wanker.” His eyes danced playfully in the dark. “We can put a pin in that thought for later. For now… you can tell me what you like.”

Ah. He’d distracted him.

And it had worked.

Dwalin knew he could be a bit difficult at times. He knew he was a lot – both physically and in terms of his own insecurities – but it seemed Nori had seen that particular one for exactly what it was. And he’d rallied to the challenge.

Dwalin’s fingers were no longer trembling.

“Might…” he huffed, shaking off the remaining vestiges of worry. “Might need a little warming up first.”

“Oh, you read my mind.”

And then he set about Dwalin’s stomach and hips with a zeal that could not be disguised as anything but pure want.

His head rocked back against the door as those wonderful lips nipped their way over his flesh. Nori was so good, his mouth a godsend against his skin, turning his mind foggy with need in moments. It was a truly miraculous experience, and even though no more than a minute had passed, as blunt nails scratched just that bit harder against his sides and that pretty red head meandered further and further down, Dwalin felt his arousal come back with a vengeance.

“Fuck,” he hissed as a whisper of Nori’s tongue brushed the root of his cock. “Alright, uh. Base is sensitive. Tip and balls too, just-”

“Like that?” the redhead murmured, his tongue caught between his teeth as he withdrew from where he’d licked a swath over Dwalin’s bollocks.

“Don’t have to look so fucking smug about it.”

“Oh, I’ll look as smug as I like,” Nori purred. “Getting to hear you moan like that is something I’ve dreamed about for months.”

“Prick.”

Like he wasn’t secretly preening with the knowledge that Nori had wanted him from the start.

“And don’t you forget it. Now you relax back. I’m a kinaesthetic learner.”

Apparently so. His head bounced against the door again as Nori set about his cock, hand encircling the base as he mouthed the juncture of his shaft and balls. He’d been gone for so long that every touch felt electric, like he was on the verge of coming already… but no. Nori took his time; teasing and licking, feeling out exactly what made Dwalin hiss and snarl beneath him.

Irritatingly enough, he was extremely good at it.

“Oh, you really do like your balls played with,” Nori chuckled, pulling back from where he’d been sucking the underside of Dwalin’s cock. “I wonder if you could come from that alone.”

Probably, but he was getting just the teensiest bit impatient and that kind of experiment was best left for another day.

“If you actually want any shot at fucking me, you’d better hurry up.”

Another snort, another pass of Nori’s hand over the base of his prick. “Alright, wanker. Tell you what, because I’m feeling charitable, I’ll give you two for the price of one. Would a couple of fingers up the ass help?”

Immeasurably. Resting one of his feet against the back of the passenger seat, Dwalin brought his knee a little closer to his chest. “Get to it.”

Nori’s smile was radiant as he rooted around beneath the seats to procure a balled-up coat and the lube. “Oh, I don’t need any encouragement. Shove this under your ass, would you? Makes positioning a bit easier.” Popping the cap on the tube, he drizzled a hefty amount over his fingers before dropping them to rub little circles into his hole. “I cannot overstate how many times I’ve thought about being inside you.”

“Horny little bastard-”

Naturally, Nori chose that exact moment to press a digit past the furl of muscle, and his words were somewhat drowned out by a grunt.

“Guess that makes you a horny big bastard,” the redhead muttered with a smirk. “How long’ve you been waiting for me to do this, then?”

Too fucking long. “A while.”

The finger stilled. “Yeah, and how long’s a piece of string? Try again.”

Dwalin glared up at him. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“I have a finger in your asshole and a hand oh-so-gently cupping your balls. I think that means I do.”

“Fine.” He huffed. “That first week. When that bloke tried to glass you, and you got behind him so fast I didn’t even see it. Never seen anyone move like you do.”

Nori chuckled, but he began to press forwards again; slowly pushing in and opening him up. “Seeing me detain someone gets you off? I’ll have to bring you along to the gym sometime; see if you can watch me sparring without coming.”

“I am never going to the gym with you.” Dwalin was absolutely going to the gym with him.

“Oh, you will.” He smirked a little wider. “Tell me more, and you get another finger.”

The look Dwalin shot him then was murderous. “You are pushing your luck.”

“I’m trying to push a cock up your ass, so if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“You’re going to regret every second of this when my turn rolls around.” Dwalin sighed, his brow pinching at the not-enough feeling of Nori’s finger. He really could do with another right now… and there was no way he was getting that if he didn’t come clean. “Fine. Your braid hits your ass when you walk. With how stupidly long your hair is, it’s impossible not to notice. Got me thinking about what goes on under your jeans.”

“Wouldn’t have expected anything less, considering the fact I’ve been deliberately bendin’ over in front of you for weeks.” A second digit nudged insistently at his hole. “Give me a bit more than that, wanker. What did you want me to do to you… or what did you want to do to me? Either or, I’m not picky.”

He was the single pickiest person Dwalin had ever met. “This, obviously. Getting you under me and fucking you until you can’t speak…”

And then a wicked thought occurred. Something so ill-advised that Dwalin knew he had to speak it aloud, or he would be cursed with the non-reality of what such an idea could bring forever.

“And I was serious about jammin’ my cock down your throat. I’d like to see just how far down the tat you can get.”

Nori scoffed, but his eyes had taken on this curious little glint that Dwalin decided he very much liked the look of. “What do you take me for? If I’d’ve known that was something you were into, we would not be having this conversation right now.”

“No, you’d be fucking quiet for once. But frankly I don’t think you’d get past halfway.”

Ah. Well, that was the gauntlet well and truly thrown down. Nori’s smirk was disgustingly confident, and he gestured to where his hair was pulled back away from his face.

“Well, it’s already tied up.”

And then, without any further preamble, he sank down to take the entirety of his dick in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck you,” Dwalin hissed, eyes never breaking contact with that smug gaze. “Can you just be bad at something?”

“Goes against my very strict moral code,” Nori chuckled as he pulled off, his hand pumping the base of Dwalin’s cock far more insistently than before. “Be the best. At everything.”

As if to prove a bloody point, he chose that moment to ease a second finger inside his ass, and it was a very good thing that he’d backed away when he had, because the snap of Dwalin’s hips as he bucked into the intrusion would have choked him.

Then again, that was quite the pleasant image.

“Nearly stretched enough for me,” Nori crowed, stroking that bit harder. “Suppose that means I’ve got to make good on letting you come.”

“You’d better. Or you won’t be either.”

He tutted. Those infuriating fingers curled up to start scissoring Dwalin open in earnest, sending a harsh shudder through him. “Can’t be having that now, can we. Hold on to your seat, wanker.”

The issue with Nori lay in the simple fact that he was persistent. In every form, in every scenario; the redhead excelled at most everything he put his mind to. He was receptive to instruction, took criticism and alterations into consideration and adjusted his approach accordingly.

Apparently, that had all resulted in him being nauseatingly competent in bed – or on the backseats of a Ford Ranger, take your pick.

Somehow, he managed to bend his wrist at such a ridiculous angle that he was able to continue fingering Dwalin’s asshole open at the same time as sucking him off; his free hand looping down to play with his balls in the most absurd display… but fuck, it was working. The pressure inside him, the warmth that enveloped his cock. That infuriating twinkle in Nori’s eye that had not died down-

“Shit!” Dwalin hissed, everything suddenly becoming too much as he came hard. The radiating feeling of pleasure rippled through his pelvis, but thankfully before it became overwhelming, Nori had the sense to pull back.

“Still with me?” the smarmy git purred, stroking his leg absent-mindedly.

Dwalin’s head rocked back to hit the door again.

“Fuck you, Nori,” he mumbled happily.

“I think you mean ‘thank you sir for the best orgasm I have ever-’”

“Pushing it.”

Nori hummed in satisfaction, withdrawing his fingers and wiping the lube off on Dwalin’s discarded shirt before rooting around in the seat pocket. “I like pushing it though.”

“I gathered. What was that about trying to-”

“Yes, yes, I’m still trying to push a cock up your ass, so let me… aha!” With the smuggest smirk Dwalin had ever seen, Nori whipped out a familiar silver square.

“You still up for this?”

Like he’d been thinking about anything else since Nori had suggested it… well, other than every last detail of what they’d done so far, because the image of that red head bobbing down on his cock was seared into his retinas.

“Just fuck me, Staedtler.”

Nori chuckled as he ripped the condom wrapper open, slipping his jeans just past his hips and sheathing himself as deftly as he could manage, considering the fact his hands were visibly shaking. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this. Ugh, I’m going to come so fast.”

“If you want to do this again, you bloody won’t.”

His words were met with the harshest cackle Dwalin had ever heard. “Oh, you want to come with me in your ass? That’s just plain greedy; you’ve already had one, and I’m sitting at a big fat zero.” The lube bottle popped. “I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t said that. You hear me, wanker? I’m going to make you come so hard that you forget your own name.”

“Then you’ll remind me when you shout it.”

Nori shot him a little sneer; a tiny glint in his eye screaming just how much he liked the sound of that. “That’s the plan, love.”

The word sounded so foreign on his tongue, but before Dwalin could pay any more mind to it, Nori launched forward on his knees to kiss him, his nips and bites accompanied by a blunt intrusion that ripped a grunt from him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Nori hissed, inching forwards the barest amount. “First one in a while, am I?”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, huffing as he bore down a little. “Original. Think… think of something better next time.”

“Hey, I am describin’ the general sensation of being… well, not balls deep in you.” Nori snorted. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then get to it.”

“Mm, slowly. Sloooowly.” He pushed forwards a little more. Apparently, the prep he’d been engaging in had done its job because Dwalin didn’t feel much other than a stretch from his progress. And the overwhelmingly pleasant sensation of having Nori inside him, but that was a given.

Unfortunately, when he’d said slowly, he meant at the rate of a geriatric tortoise. His hips barely moved; the only indication that he was actually getting anywhere found in the slow shift of his cock rubbing backwards and forwards a centimetre in either direction.

And Dwalin was impatient.

“There’s slow and then there’s dead on arrival,” he snarled, grabbing Nori’s ass and forcing him deeper. “You said you were going to fuck me. So far, all you’ve done is piss me off.”

Oh.

He should have seen that coming.

He really should have seen that coming.

Nori’s sneer was blinding. “Bingo,” he murmured. “Why don’t you show me just how frustrated you are, wanker? Lips are a little lonely here… and who knows, if you kiss me well enough, I might start forgettin’ about taking my time.”

“You little shit,” Dwalin bit out, but his hand had already found a home in Nori’s hair, dragging him down by the back of his head. “You want a kiss? I’ll give you a bloody kiss.”

It was so messy. So gloriously messy, and Dwalin loved every second of it. The moment their lips met, Nori outright moaned, his hips twitching forwards and finally actually penetrating him deep enough to feel a little burn. It was immediately overshadowed by sharp pleasure, because he picked that second to bite the redhead’s lip, and that broke the embrace wide open.

“Guh- oh, fuck you,” Nori hissed, driving his hips forward harshly, and it was just what Dwalin needed. He groaned, one hand tightening in all that hair as he dropped his other to his cock. It had been some years since he’d come twice like this, but there was a growing heat in his gut – something huge and desperate – and Dwalin knew it wouldn’t take much to get him there again. He could feel it; a throbbing that pulsed as Nori fucked into him, aching to be released.

And those thrusts did not let up. Neither did the kiss, and as the movements of their lips became ruthless and sloppy, so did the snap of Nori’s hips. Eventually – after a particularly savage jerk that made Dwalin see bloody stars – the kissing went out of the window, and the redhead pulled back, brow sweaty and pinched, to concentrate fully on driving into him.

“O-oh, you really are-” he swallowed harshly, breath forced and heavy. “Not… not gonna last much longer. You close?”

Dwalin was close. He was so close that even replying felt like it would be too much, like he’d either come undone on the spot or lose it entirely, and neither of those seemed to be the right answer.

And then Nori did something so utterly vile that he couldn’t help himself.

“I said are you close, Dwalin?”

His name.

His bloody name.

Whatever came out of his mouth next was so garbled that it barely made sense, but the letters ‘N’, ‘O’, ‘R’ and ‘I’ were prominent features. Apparently, that was enough for Nori himself to moan, his hips stuttering forward harshly until one final leg-shuddering thrust left him buried deep inside.

“Fuck, Dwalin.” He exhaled hard, head dipping as he braced himself on the seat backs. “Just… fuck.”

Dwalin shivered pleasantly as his foot drooped down to the floor. The leather under his back was uncomfortably sticky now, but he couldn’t really find the energy to move.

“Can’t think… f’n’insult?”

With a huff, Nori gingerly pulled out of his ass, stroking his thigh as the motion dragged a hiss from him.

“Not… not yet,” he breathed, collapsing back onto the seat. “Give me a… yeah. A minute. Fuck.”

For a while, that was all the conversation to be had. The sound of Dwalin’s pulse faded from his ears as it slowed, replaced instead by the soft plink of water against the roof.

He hadn’t even realised it was raining.

“You, ah.” The soft crackle of Nori’s voice nearly made him jump from the way it split the quiet, but Dwalin managed to crane his head up just enough to see the slouched figure against the door.

“Mm?”

Nori visibly swallowed. “You know I wasn’t… I wasn’t joking about this bein’… something for me. Getting to know you over the last few months has been… it’s been good. I think I’ve maybe been needing someone like you for a while- no, that’s uh. I think I’ve been needing you for a while, and this…”

“Nori,” Dwalin said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m taking you out for coffee. Tomorrow morning.”

“O-oh,” he breathed, visibly relaxing. “Yeah, you said… why tomorrow morning?”

“Because you’re going to drive me home. Sitting on my bike right now is not something I’d like to do.”

Nori snorted. “Understandable. What… what then?”

Dwalin had hoped he’d ask that. “We’re going to have a chat. I think there are some things we haven’t said that perhaps are best first heard when we’re not naked in a car park.”

“Yeahhh… I uh. I think I know what you’re gettin’ at.” He laughed nervously. “I um. Big word. It’s a whole thing.”

That’s the plan, love.

It was indeed. Nudging him lightly with his foot, Dwalin’s head flopped back against the door.

“Big word. Not so big when it’s you.”

“Hey, is that a crack about my height? Didn’t see you complaining when you had your tongue halfway down my-”

“Shut up, Staedtler. One last thing on the agenda, and now I’m severely doubtin’ that I’m going to give it to you.”

“Oh?” Nori murmured inquisitively. “What’s that?”

With the most toe-curlingly lewd smile he could manage, Dwalin glanced down pointedly at where Nori’s cock lay soft between his thighs.

“Seem to remember you sayin’ something about needing more than one round. I also seem to remember you agreeing that next time, I top.”

The chuckle that left him was a hair disbelieving, but that soon gave way to something lascivious and crude. “What are you sayin’, wanker? Want me in your bed?”

“To start with.”

“Ohh. Oh, you’re on.”

*

“Nice uhh. Nice place.”

Dwalin nodded, abandoning his keys on the countertop before flicking on the kettle. The soft whoosh as the element within turned on appeared to make Nori jump a little… but then again, he’d been more than a tad skittish since they’d left the Pit’s car park.

Which was understandable, really. Considering what they’d touched on before shrugging on their clothes in a clumsy, ugly mess of elbows and knees, Dwalin was surprised he wasn’t in a worse state himself.

But no. The only real effect of the big word to come was a gnawing on the inside of his stomach. They’d essentially already said it, after all.

“Tea?”

“Didn’t take you as the tea drinking type.”

He shrugged. “Helps me sleep.”

Not that he was planning on it right now, but Nori’s twitchy mannerisms were starting to get a little concerning. He needed to relax.

Thankfully, he nodded. “You got any chamomile?”

Chamomile was good. Chamomile meant whatever had Nori so nervous would hopefully diminish somewhat to the point where he wasn’t actively vibrating out of his clothes.

Dragging a pair of the nicer mugs he kept in the back of the cupboard out, he deposited a teabag in each (he did have loose-leaf, but really the time for faffing over herbs was not now).

“Sugar?”

Nori waved him off. “Just tea. Where uh. Where do you want to-”

Dwalin pointed at the sofa. “Sit.”

That, it seemed, Nori was more than happy to do, although he didn’t speak as he collapsed into the cushions with a soft huff. After pouring the now boiled water into both mugs, Dwalin crossed the room to sit himself, passing the slightly less chipped of the two over to the grateful redhead.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, wrapping his hands around the ceramic before hissing at the heat. “Why didn’t I think that was going to be too hot?”

“You’re impulsive.”

Nori chuckled thinly. “And then some. Can’t help myself most of the time – I just do things and then think of the consequences later.”

“Like you’re doing right now.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he muttered, although it wasn’t without humour. “I actually did think this through, you know. First time I’ve put actual plans into anything in months, and it was to shag you on the backseats of my truck.”

It was clear there was more. Dwalin just waited, although it didn’t take long for the quietest little sigh to split the air.

“Didn’t quite get far enough in the plannin’ to anticipate what I’d do after, though. You just…” he sighed, lifting the tea to his lips and taking a sip. It was obviously still too hot, because Nori let out a little hiss as he placed it back to the coffee table, sticking his tongue out in irritation. “Ugh, no patience, me. Never have had any.”

“You had plenty with me.”

“Yeah, but that’s the bloody thing. You’re… I don’t know. I knew I wanted to shag you as soon as I laid eyes on you – which was a fuckin’ problem, because there you were; all tall and intimidatin’ and shit. And I’m- well, I’m not selling myself short.” He huffed. “I know I’m hot. Taken a very long time to get comfortable with myself. Besides the point, but I’m… I don’t do soft. Never have.”

Dwalin stayed silent, instead slipping his hand down to run his thumb over the back of Nori’s knuckles in quiet understanding.

He didn’t move away.

“I don’t do soft,” Nori repeated. “But… apparently, I do when it’s you. And that’s so fuckin’ scary, right? You think you know what you want and then suddenly you’re standing in the drinks aisle of Tesco with a bottle of shitty lemonade in your hand and a soppy smile on your face and have no idea how it got there. And then you buy it and drink it in the dark, like it’s a secret between you and the walls. Something you don’t know how to bring into the light. So you keep biting back. You keep bein’ a dickhead, keep pokin’ – keep fucking other people and hating how you’re pretending, how it isn’t enough…”

He took a deep breath.

“So, to summarise… I realised I was in love with you about five minutes after I woke up next to a stranger, because for about thirty seconds I thought it was you in bed with me, and it took a bit to figure out why the truth made me so miserable.”

“We’re a terrible pair.”

Nori snorted. “That we are.”

“It was…” Dwalin sighed, tangling his fingers with Nori’s against the sofa cushions. “It was pretty much the same for me. Subconscious at first, but I ended up lookin’ for ginger everywhere. In crowds, in hookups… you were in my head before I realised it. That’s why I came to the club the other week. Knew you weren’t on shift, but I didn’t know what to do with myself. And then you were there in your shitty double denim with your hair down, and it hit harder than I’d been expecting. If Thorin hadn’t walked in backstage, I probably would have kissed you. I wanted to.”

“I wanted you to,” Nori murmured, his raspy voice catching ever so slightly. “I didn’t know… I unpicked that moment so many times, wonderin’ why you didn’t… fuck, Dwalin, I wanted you to.”

With a hand that only shook the barest amount, he shifted to move a stray lock of Nori’s hair behind his ear.

“I wanted to do that,” Dwalin whispered. “I wanted to fix your hair. It was a mess, and I just wanted to touch… I’ve wanted to touch you for weeks.”

“You can.”

“I know.” His chuckle was light; breathy, even. “I didn’t realise like you did – all at once. I figured it out gradually, but that night was when I finally put two and two together. I sat here for hours, thinkin’ about you.”

“That’s pretty sad,” Nori mumbled, his lips twisting up in a tiny smirk. “Though I can’t say I didn’t do the same.”

“I love you.” The words fell so naturally that Dwalin barely even noticed them slip out… and the responding sigh was so soft that if he hadn’t been listening quite as closely to every little sound that passed Nori’s lips, he may have missed it. As it stood, however, he heard him clearly.

“I love you too.”

And how could he not respond to such a terrible thing? Carefully placing his untouched mug on the coffee table, he relaxed back into the sofa, content for the first time in weeks.

“Are you going to come here and kiss me?”

Nori made a happy little sound in the back of his throat before unexpectedly swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him.

“You sure, wanker?” he murmured, pitching forwards and stopping just a hair shy of his lips. “Confident you’ve got the stamina for it?”

Dwalin snorted, his hands sliding down Nori’s back to cup his ass and squeeze. “It’s just a kiss, Staedtler.”

“And what we did in the truck was just a casual drive.”

Nothing about it had been casual, but before Nori started serenading him with the vocal stylings of Chappell Roan again, Dwalin decided it was probably easiest to simply shift his palm up to the nape of his neck and drag him down.

Kissing Nori was something special. It wasn’t because he’d been particularly starved of attention, nor did it have much to do with a sudden realisation of mutuality. The past two months had been nothing but foreplay, after all; the bickering and ridiculous comments all flirtation that didn’t particularly leave much room for doubt. No, it was more to do with the fact that it simply felt right. Regardless of the situation, regardless of if it had been against the truck door, whilst Nori had been driving into him, here and now in gentle calmness… it felt good to kiss him and be kissed in return.

And this – right here – might have been his favourite kiss yet. Something in the way Nori’s hand slid up to bracket his jaw, a soft touch that had him leaning into the contact with a little sigh, was so soothing that time itself may not have existed. The flat itself could have melted away, replaced by nothing but Nori and the wonderful gasps he was letting out as something ignited between them; the air turning pleasantly warm and charged the longer the kiss drew out.

The moment Nori moaned, his hips pressing into Dwalin’s stomach just the barest amount, he pulled back.

“I…” The redhead gulped, seemingly struggling to fill his lungs in the same manner that Dwalin himself was. “I hope you’re ready to kiss me like that every time.”

His lips curved up into a smirk. “Only on special occasions.”

“Mm, what’s so special about this one, then?”

“You only ever get one second time.”

“You only ever get one first, but I hardly remember you wantin’ to dawdle there.”

Dwalin shot him a vaguely reproachful glare, only tempered by the fact he hadn’t been able to stop smiling for the last hour. “Can’t remember you wanting to either.”

“No, but I do believe I had other things on my mind.”

“Like you don’t now.”

Nori chuckled softly, bucking his hips just enough that the semi-hard bulge in his jeans dragged against his stomach. “You’d be hard pressed to find a time when I’m not thinking about you fucking me, wanker.”

“You’re actually the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“Tough shit. Apparently, you love me.”

Dwalin sighed, although it was more a happy huff than anything actually disparaging. “Apparently I do.”

It seemed they’d reached the end of any sort of productive conversation for a while. Gently carding his hand up through Nori’s hair, Dwalin eased the tie out to finally free his locks, letting them tumble down his back like a river of silk.

“You’ve been wanting to do that for a bit, haven’t you?”

Dwalin nodded, his eyes still glued to the ginger shimmer falling over his shoulders. “I have.”

“I’d hoped so. You always seemed to be lookin’ at it.”

“Is that why you went for a ponytail today? So I’d look?”

Nori chuckled, leaning forwards to brush their lips together in the lightest kiss he’d ever had. “Maybe.”

“So yes.”

“Perchance.”

“Just say yes, Nori.”

“What’s in it for me? Maybe I like being difficult.”

“If you say yes, I’ll kiss you again.”

He let out a mock sigh, raising a hand to his brow dramatically. “Such torture. Why would you force me to choose between my honour and your love? Sayin’ that, I absolutely did it so you’d look. I wanted you to imagine how good it would feel to have your hands in it… and I wanted to be sure.”

Sure of what didn’t need to be elaborated on. They’d tiptoed around this for a reason, after all.

But the pair of them had spent slightly too long discussing such matters tonight, and Nori was looking at him rather expectantly.

“I believe you promised me a kiss.”

“I believe I did,” Dwalin murmured, tunnelling his fingers deep into all that ginger and dragging him down for that pledged embrace.

The kiss was light at first; a simple chase of lips, plucking and teasing as Nori smiled against him… and then somewhere along the way, something changed. Dwalin wasn’t entirely sure when it had, but between the tightening of his fingers against Nori’s scalp, the slide of that horrifically wonderful mouth becoming more and more ardent against his own, and the tent pressed against his stomach growing significantly harder, things took a turn for the heady. And when he pulled back to gaze up at the vision draped over his lap, it became immediately obvious that Dwalin wasn’t the only one thinking that way.

“Hah- been… been thinking about this slightly too much to be considered healthy,” Nori rasped, grinding against his abs. “Uh. Make that way too… too much.”

Something about that statement stuck. “You got yourself off thinking about this.”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously. What, did you think I’d just sat there feelin’ guilty about it all? Saved that for after I’d come.”

That he’d been thinking about him at all was still a revelation. Dwalin wanted to know every sordid detail, but there were better places for discussing such things. Places like-

“Bed. Now.”

Nori was way ahead of him, hopping up from the sofa with an impatient almost-breathlessness that did nothing but turn him on further. Coupled with the way he immediately winced, adjusting where his cock was pushing against the front of his jeans…

Oh, Dwalin was going to ruin him.

And the first port of call on the agenda wasn’t so much a risk as it was fulfilling something Nori had been alluding to enjoying all along.

The redhead let out an indignant noise of surprise when Dwalin picked him up, but the moment he threw him over his shoulder (placing one steadying hand on his ass to prevent him squirming too much) and began to head towards the bedroom, it seemed that every complaint simply dried up; replaced instead by the quiet hitch of his breath.

“Didn’t uh. Didn’t know you were that strong.” A stray hand trailed down to rake over the base of his shoulder blade in an exploratory grope.

Dwalin snorted. “The muscles aren’t for show. You weigh less than I bench. Besides, if you didn’t want to be chucked around, I have no doubt you would have put me on the floor with zero hesitation.”

“You’ve got that right.” A pause. “…out of curiosity, how much do you bench?”

“One hundred and sixty kilos.”

“Ah.” Another pause. “You uh. You might want to hurry up.”

With a chuckle, Dwalin patted his ass. “Think the time for hurrying may have passed a while ago.”

Nori whined, attempting to grind against his shoulder, but to no avail. Although as the door to the bedroom was flung open and the light flicked on, he let out this wonderful little needy sound that rippled through the very air, turning it heavier and laden with some intangible desperation that he wanted nothing more than to indulge in.

The redhead’s back hit the bed with a soft whoosh, Dwalin immediately surging forward and following him down to take to his mouth with a hunger – and it seemed that Nori was of the exact same mind because he pushed up, spine bowing against the bed as he tangled his fingers into the ruined mohawk.

“Jeans. Off,” he snarled against Dwalin’s mouth, but his hands didn’t leave his hair.

“Needy.”

“Oh, I am sorry that I’d rather have you touchin’ me than the horrific pressure caused by a zip. I am the actual worst.”

Dwalin couldn’t really refute that, considering the fact that his own fingers were aching to touch. Dragging their mouths back together for a kiss erring slightly on the side of ravenous, he managed to squeeze his hand between them and pop the button on Nori’s jeans, slowly easing the zip down just far enough to-

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the redhead hissed, roughly shoving him off and hauling the denim from his legs. “Yours too, come on. You’re still wearing your bloody boots, and I’m not havin’ a repeat of last time.”

“Last time I had to persuade you to get undressed at all,” Dwalin complained, but he was already fighting with his laces.

“This is different. For one thing, we’ve got a bed.”

“You didn’t have the same reservations over me getting totally naked.”

Pausing with his boxers halfway down his legs, Nori fixed him with a teasing glare. “Because, as I clearly stated then, I wasn’t the one gettin’ fucked. And I’m a habitual pervert, what did you expect me to do?”

That was true enough, and as the redhead chucked his underwear to somewhere on the other side of the room and began to remove his shirt, Dwalin found himself echoing that sentiment.

He hadn’t really had the time (or the vision in the semidarkness) to take in all of Nori’s body in the truck. Now, it was all he could think about.

His shoulders and back were well-muscled. Not in the way that Dwalin’s own were – bulk and raw strength over definition. No, Nori’s were carved. Something marmoreal and fine; broader than he looked, with this functional beauty that sculptors would have argued over. He was not what came to mind when the word ‘buff’ was brought up, but when faced with the lithe, practical muscles that he had exercised and used thoroughly, it was obvious indeed that every claim of Nori’s martial arts background held weight.

Of course, Dwalin had known that already, but seeing the evidence there on his back was nothing short of mouthwatering.

A low chuckle snapped him from his musings, and he tore his eyes away from where they’d been burning into the twin dimples at the base of Nori’s spine to realise he’d been caught.

“I am pretty proud of my back,” the redhead purred, his face twisting up into something rather smug. “Different class entirely to yours, of course, but you’ve heard me lustin’ after your muscles pretty much every day for two months.”

Dwalin was hardly thinking about his own body right now. Actually, he wasn’t thinking of much more than bending Nori over against the headboard and sucking and kissing his way over every last line-

“Shoes.”

Ah. That could potentially get in the way. Ignoring Nori’s chuckle as he wrenched both boots from his feet, he ripped the rest of his clothes off before turning back to the smirking form watching him with appraising eyes.

“Didn’t really get the chance to look before,” Nori said, one brow raising in licentious delight. “I have many words, and none of them should ever be spoken in polite company.”

“Any company with you in it loses that status by default.”

“Exactly my point,” he smirked. “I am going to use you as a fuckin’ chew toy.”

Not if Dwalin got there first… and neither of them were wearing clothes anymore.

It was the work of a moment to lean over and drag Nori back on top. He came willingly, a hand immediately latching onto the side of Dwalin’s face and pulling their mouths together with a moan.

“Oh… oh, we’re going to be so bad for each other,” he half choked, bare cock rutting against his stomach. “I’m only gonna be thinkin’ about this. You’re gonna be stuck in my head every damn day.”

“Like I wasn’t already,” Dwalin rasped. Shoving a hand between them, he gave Nori a firm pump, groaning at the slickness of his precome. He was already leaking, and they’d barely done anything more than kiss.

“True, true… don’t think I’m ever gonna be able t-to look at your hands the same again, through.” He rolled his hips forward into Dwalin’s grasp. “Ugh, as if I didn’t already have a thing about your hands.”

“Is there anything you don’t have a thing for?”

He hummed speculatively, the picture ruined ever so slightly by the needy pinch of his brow. “If I think about it hard enough, m’ pretty sure I could be into anything. At least where you’re involved, anyway.”

“Freak.”

“And don’t you forget it. Now, are you going to do me the honour of gettin’ inside my ass, or do I need to fuck myself?”

Oh, he most certainly did not need to. With a smirk, Dwalin nodded towards the headboard.

“Get comfy.”

Nori let out a depraved cackle as he vaulted off to slouch against it, although it was more than clear how eager he was to get proceedings underway. Which was very good, because Dwalin was more than a little desperate to get inside him. Retrieving the bottle of lube and one of the condoms he kept in the bedside drawer, he settled behind him, giving Nori’s ass a firm slap when he wiggled it impatiently.

And then a terrible little thought struck.

“How did you imagine it?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Nori snorted lightly. “Oh, you’re gettin’ kinky now, wanker.”

“I think we passed kinky one tasteful truck fucking ago.”

That got a laugh. A very breathy, very disbelieving laugh that made some little part of Dwalin almost purr in delight. “I suppose you’re right on that count. Alright then, let’s see if we can’t stroke that ego of yours back to-”

“Just tell me, Staedtler.”

He stuck his tongue out childishly. “Fine. Spoilsport. Usually, they all started the same; you, me… that tiny bit of the locker room where it gets all narrow and shit.”

Dwalin knew exactly where he meant. He’d had a fair few fantasies of his own concerning that particular bit of the club – most of them involving pushing Nori up against the wall and touching him in the most delightful ways.

But those were his fantasies.

“That sounds interesting,” he breathed, watching Nori’s fingers tighten against the headboard. “What then?”

“Uhh… dependin’ on the mood I was in, either you’d crush me into the wall, or I’d…” he swallowed. “You’d drag my jeans down to my knees and bend me over.”

Oh, that was a delightful thought. There was one issue, however…

Dragging a hand down from the small of his back to cup that perfect ass, Dwalin smirked. “You’re not wearin’ jeans anymore. Pity.”

“Eh, you’ve already meandered your way into my trousers so we can skip that part.”

That he had, and as Dwalin dipped his thumb between his cheeks and spread him just enough to see Nori’s hole, he couldn’t help but feel a tad glad he didn’t have to wrestle with denim again.

“What next?”

“Well, once you’d wormed your way into my underwear-” he sounded more than a little breathless, “-uh. Sometimes you’d… we can skip that one too. Haven’t showered or nothin’.”

Yeah, no. Dwalin was not skipping that, not when he’d found himself wondering just how it would be on so many occasions. With barely a moment’s hesitation – and by that, he only really meant the time it took to shove Nori that bit further forward into the headboard and get behind him properly – he lowered his head, spread him open further, and licked a wide stripe over his asshole.

The headboard hit the wall.

“Shit!” Nori moaned, the sound of his fingers squeezing the wood so loud in the silent room. “Y-you don’t have t- oh my God, your fuckin’ tongue.”

Dwalin would have smirked, but he took his ass-eating duties rather more seriously than that. Every little garbled curse leaving Nori’s mouth encouraged him further, the noise of his nails scrabbling against the walnut only pushing him to delve deeper. When he pressed past the ring of muscle – tongue finally the first part of him to breach that wonderful body – it was accompanied by a howl of his name, and Dwalin knew he’d made the correct choice.

Briefly pulling away, he lightly bit Nori’s ass cheek, pulling his flesh into his mouth to worry it the tiniest bit. It seemed he liked that too, because Nori’s back arched violently; catlike and curved.

“O-oh, you eat ass like it’s your calling,” he gasped. “Considering a change in career? I’d sit on your face all day long.”

“Recreational only, unfortunately.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to the little bitemark. “What else, Staedtler?”

He whined, pushing his hips back as Dwalin dipped his thumbs down to split him open once more. “Ev-ever told you how much I hate how you say that? Makes me feel… all fluttery an’ stupid an’ horny-”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Wickedly, Dwalin chuckled and leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted over Nori’s wet hole. “Tell me what you thought about doin’ back there, and I’ll try my best to make it happen.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he hissed, canting his hips back harshly. “Purring bastard- alright, you really want to know that badly? I thought about you eatin’ my ass for hours. I want to feel the burn from your fuckin’ beard every time I move, and I really – and I cannot state this enough – want to feel you stretch me open far enough that when you fuck me you can get your cock in in one go. S’that what you wanted to hear?”

“Better,” Dwalin rasped, immediately dropping his mouth back to Nori’s ass and sucking in this filthy move that dragged a shriek out to split the air. It was better; now he knew exactly what was needed, he could act on it.

And act on it, he did.

Nori practically screamed as he licked harder, devouring him with a ferocity no longer tempered by restraint. He was absolutely going to be getting a noise complaint come the morning, but frankly Dwalin didn’t care – not whilst the headboard was bouncing off the wall. Not whilst Nori’s cock was leaking blatant evidence of just how much he liked this all over his sheets. If he played his cards right, Dwalin knew he’d get to taste that again too, although he couldn’t exactly see the redhead having any complaints about it.

“Uh- I think… I think this is the bit where you get inside me,” Nori eventually whimpered, his hips trembling in Dwalin’s grasp. “Scratch that, this is the bit where you get inside me, because I’m going to come from this and I’d like you to be fucking me when that happens.”

With one final rough twist of his tongue that made Nori squirm and gasp, Dwalin pulled away, chuckling as he squeezed. “Don’t care what you say, you’re a brat, Nori.”

He groaned. “Stubborn. Contrary. Incorrigible. Fuck, I’d even take pervicacious. So many better choices than brat.”

“The more words you use to describe it, the more I’m thinkin’ I’m not the first to call you one.”

Twisting back to wink, Nori wiggled his ass. “Absolutely not. You’ve got about thirty-seven years of lovers, teachers and assorted mortal enemies to contend with. And the less said about the raging daddy issues, the better.”

Dwalin wasn’t even going to go there. Ignoring Nori’s little snort, he grabbed the lube from where it had been abandoned by his knee and squeezed out a fair-sized dollop onto his fingers. It was cold, and the redhead hissed as he smeared it over his already glistening hole.

“You going to complain every time something isn’t exactly how you like it?”

Nori rolled his eyes. “Obviously, wanker. My discernin’ nature and perfectionism’s why you love me.”

He didn’t refute it, instead pushing one steady digit inside his ass and savouring the little mewl of pleasure Nori let out as he did so.

“Ohh, that’s it,” he moaned. “Your fingers… fuck, they’re so wide. So much better than mine.”

With a forceful little twist that had him keening against the headboard, Dwalin bent his neck to press a kiss between the dimples that lay either side of his spine. “Did you think about me doing this whilst you fingered yourself?”

He huffed. “Course I fuckin’ did. Hah- used a toy too, but it didn’t feel… didn’t feel anythin’ like this. Knew it wouldn’t, but it got to a p-point where… fuck, that’s so good.”

“Finish your sentence.”

The whine that left him was nothing short of desperate. “Ugh, you’re such an asshole. Couldn’t finish with-without imaginin’ it was you.”

Oh, his ego was growing by the second. Pressing a kiss just above the first, Dwalin eased another finger inside him and smirked at the obscene sound Nori let out. “Glad it wasn’t just me, then.”

“Uh- fuck, you might… might want to slow down a little,” he gasped. “Droppin’ something like that on me… might… might come, holy shit.”

Dwalin laughed, but he did relent; slowing down until his fingers were barely moving at all in that tight heat as he began to pump himself to hardness. “Can’t handle the fact that you’re not the only pervert in the room?”

“O-on the bloody contrary. Don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to someone before. I-” Nori gasped slightly, writhing down on his fingers with a roll of his hips. “I was thinkin’… about this when we were backstage. After I stood there and watched some other prick try and put the moves on you, and I felt like such… such a twat for markin’ my territory like that.”

The realisation hit him like a brick. “Your jacket.”

Nori’s head rocked forwards against the headboard as he groaned. “M’such a dickhead. May as well have been a dog pissin’ on a wall. Mine. Don’t touch. An’ then I stood there and did nothing about it for well over a week.”

“Do you know how hot that is?”

The moan that left his lips was strangled. “Oh fuck, don’t tell me that. Literally the most embarrassing moment I’ve had in recent history, and you’re finding it-”

Roughly, Dwalin dragged himself up to press a kiss to the back of his neck, relishing in the shudder that followed it.

“If I’d’ve known that’s what you were doing, you wouldn’t have had to wait for this. I would’ve taken you back to the locker room and bent you over the bench. I would’ve fingered you open and fucked you right there – let the whole club see all the marks I want to put on you.”

Nori whimpered, bucking his hips back hard. “P-possessive, huh? Nice to… nice to know it’s not just me.”

It was almost cute how relieved he seemed. “No. It’s never been just you.”

“Hah- uh. Good. While we’re uh. While we’re confessin’ to things, um. I’ve got your work mug in my kitchen. Stole it a month ago.”

“Oh, so that’s where it went.” With a smirk, he leant in to press his lips to Nori’s ear, pushing his fingers just that bit deeper. “I’ve got that stupid fox keychain from your backpack hangin’ off my bike.”

“Thieving now, are we?” He chuckled breathlessly. “Didn’t you literally lecture me over nickin’ one of those last month?”

“Unfortunately, that’s what gave me the idea. If you were going to be carryin’ someone else’s, I could at least have yours.”

“I th-threw it out. Only took it to make you jealous.”

His breath left him in something bordering on a snarl. “It worked.”

And with no further words, Dwalin pushed a third finger into his ass.

Nori’s reaction was instantaneous. He seized slightly, hips bucking forwards into nothingness – into the empty, overheated air that lay still around them, as if to finally gain some friction.

And the sounds. Nori whined like he was in heat, twisting and moaning against the headboard; each and every little noise something he’d craved since the very beginning. He was so turned on, so totally consumed by those three fingers working him open, and every bit of it belonged to Dwalin.

At a particularly harsh keen, he straightened up just enough to let his now hard cock brush against Nori’s ass.

“You wanted me to be able to fit in one go,” he rasped. “Just a bit more and I will.”

Nori’s whimper was delicious. “Ah- oh, you-you’d fuckin’ better. Didn’t… uh… didn’t think anything could top how it felt inside you, but this- mnn. This’s givin’ it a run for its money.”

The second he said it, Dwalin twisted roughly, deliberately pressing against his prostate and making him gasp before pulling out and nearly ripping the condom packet clean in two in his rush.

“Hah- bit… bit eager, are you?” Nori panted, slumping against the headboard. “Would… would’ve thought you’d’ve had more patience than that.”

Shooting him the vilest glare possible when coating oneself with lube, Dwalin raised a brow.

“Alright, that was a tad cocky – even for me.” He gestured vaguely at his ass. “Please continue ravaging me, my good sir.”

He really didn’t need encouraging on that front. Lining himself up, Dwalin nudged the head of his cock past the furl of muscle, groaning as he felt heat envelop him.

And, true to his promise, he pressed into him in one, uninterrupted slide.

The sound that left Nori’s mouth was incredible; a drawn-out groan that he could practically taste as the pressure increased. Even through the condom, he was so tight, and Dwalin didn’t think any amount of prep could have changed that. Regardless, they’d managed enough that he was able to fit.

And apparently Nori hadn’t been kidding about how much he wanted this.

“I’m-I’m…” he moaned, fingers tightening against the wood. “Can’t b-believe you’re actually… oh God, I want to feel you for days.”

Well, his wish would be granted on that front, but letting Nori come so quickly would be less than ideal for what he had planned. In a sure move, he reached out to take hold of those muscled shoulders, and-

“Fuck!” Nori cursed, allowing his torso to be dragged against Dwalin’s chest, hands still braced against the headboard as he arched his back. “O-oh, I knew you’d be good at this, but-”

The rest of his words were lost in a needy moan as Dwalin coasted a hand down to paw at his chest; kneading the muscle until he inhaled sharply.

“You said I was pent up earlier,” he breathed, dipping his head to nip the side of Nori’s neck ever so slightly. “You were right.”

“Uh- no sh-shit, Sherlock. I’m gonna regret havin’ sex with you outside of the truck, because I’m going to want this all the time,” he rasped, leaning into the contact. One of his hands somehow managed to pry away from where it had been anchored to latch onto the back of Dwalin’s neck, his sweaty palm gripping hard in the hairs at the nape. “H-have I mentioned how horny the fact you work out makes me? Because Jesus fuck, your traps. I’m bitin’ you next.”

“You say that like I’m not about to bend you over and rail you into next week.”

A moan, substantially louder this time. “You keep talkin’ like that and I won’t last five bloody minutes.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

Nori whimpered, his back arching just that little bit further. “Aw, am I that bad a fuck, wanker?”

“More like I want my revenge.”

Ah. It appeared that Nori had forgotten about that aspect of the night. His hips did something very interesting where they tried to buck forwards, before thinking better of it and remaining put in Dwalin’s grip.

“…perhaps I’m regretting uh. My despicable words and actions?”

He didn’t regret them in the slightest. That was achingly clear.

“And perhaps I’m going to make you come then use you as a fucktoy until I get off.”

“You say that like it’s a punishment?”

Dwalin scoffed, shoving his hips forward roughly. “Fuck, Staedtler, you really are the horniest bastard alive.”

An inhale, immediately tempered by one of those shitty little smirks he loved so much. “Or dead. Or zombified. The horniest ever.”

Frankly, Dwalin had finally reached his limit where that awful backchat was involved. Without pulling out, he twisted their positions so that the headboard was no longer in front, fisted one hand in the hair at the base of Nori’s skull, and shoved him face-first into the sheets.

“Oh-oh fuck,” he moaned against the cotton. “You… you gonna have me like this? Ballsy, even for you, wanker.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, withdrawing and nudging his hips forward in a move that immediately had him gasping. “Shut up, Nori.”

He should have seen it coming. The statement had been telegraphed to him on so many occasions – both here and that first time – and as much as he denied it, at the end of the day, Nori was indeed a brat.

“Why… why don’t you make me?”

“I can do that,” Dwalin replied softly.

Tightening his hold on both his hair and hip, he slowly pulled his cock back before slamming it forwards; Nori letting out this wonderful high pitched and reedy hissing sound that morphed into a groan as he did it again… and then he was fucking him in earnest.

Nori was so warm inside. He felt like a furnace; all heat and fire, and as Dwalin pistoned into him it was as if that pressure only increased. Glancing down to where they were joined, he had to fight down the steadily building fuzzy feeling at the base of his cock, because the sight of Nori’s asshole pulled tight around his shaft was so hot – so filthy to witness – that Dwalin couldn’t help but stare.

“Hah- you fuck l-like you’re starving,” Nori panted, and he was hit by a sudden wave of satisfaction as the redhead fisted the bedsheets even harder, back arching into the thrusts. “Enough of m-me for leftovers, I promise.”

Dwalin wouldn’t have referred to it as leftovers. Even though this was only the second time, even though they’d barely scratched the surface of what this was, every touch felt new and fresh. Especially when Nori moaned like that; the dip of his spine arching deeper as he melted into the bed.

“I’m greedy. Don’t… don’t think I could stop trying to have all of you if I tried. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Uh-yeah, you’ll… you’ll be hearing no complaints from me.” He rocked his hips back, pressing against him with a hiss. “You… you gonna put me through the mattress, wanker? Have your downstairs n-neighbours know what your name sounds like when I scream it?”

“To start with.”

“Ohh that better not be an empty prom- hhh oh fuck, that’s it.”

He’d guessed earlier from the little groans Nori had made when his ponytail had been touched, but the moment Dwalin’s hands burrowed deeper into his undone waves, the redhead let out a choked howl, throwing his ass back hard.

He’d been right earlier. This was going to be a problem, because here and now Dwalin could not think of any way he’d be able to get this out of his head. Nori’s carved shoulder blades tight and rigid as he moaned. His hair; so soft and silky, even when pulled taut. The dip and arch of his back. And that wasn’t even mentioning how incredible it felt to simply be inside him after so long of wishing this to be a reality.

And it just kept getting better. The rhapsodic cries forcing themselves from Nori’s lips and his own heavy panting were immutable proof of that.

“Uh- think… think I could do with… a hand, if… if you’ve got one… spare.”

Dwalin very nearly let him beg. He very nearly held back, refusing to help him over the edge until he was a squirming mass of need beneath him, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t withhold something like that when Nori’s eyes had flicked up over his shoulder; brown warmth from where his face was pressed into the sheets, desperate and beautiful and loving-

“Like-like this?” he rasped, reaching around to take his cock in hand and pump him firmly. “You like it like this?”

“Oh, fuck yes. L-love it like that, keep going, jssst keep touchin’-” The rest of his words dissolved into harsh cries as Dwalin stroked him steadily, his fingers wet with precome and lube as they ran up and down the shaft, sweeping over his head to collect the beads of moisture and drag them back down.

Nori wasn’t going to last much longer, that was certain. Even more certain was the fact that Dwalin wasn’t going to either; the perfect view before him almost too much to handle, and as Nori outright sobbed in pleasure – his hips jerking forwards as he fucked himself between the dual sensations of Dwalin’s hand and cock, his eyes slipping to half-mast, his lips mouthing the unmistakeable shape of his name – everything turned fuzzy at the edges.

Dwalin groaned hard as he came, but his thrusts didn’t falter. He just kept driving into Nori, kept the motions of his hand steady and firm, until finally the body beneath him seized roughly and spilt over his fingers with one of the most delicious moans he’d ever heard.

“Fuck,” Nori muttered, flopping forward onto the bed with a huff.

Dwalin couldn’t really think of a better sentiment than that… although he couldn’t resist the temptation to tease.

“Better… better than your bear?”

The laugh was muffled by the sheets. “Think you count as my bear now, wanker.”

It was pretty irrefutable. As was the way Nori made a needy little sound, muzzily lifting an arm to reach for him – and there was no universe in which Dwalin would have held back from collapsing down beside him and dragging him into a lazy embrace.

“We can…” Nori yawned, burrowing his face into the hollow of his neck. “Talk through the rest later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dwalin replied softly. Blearily, he moved one hand to tangle his fingers into Nori’s messy hair, sighing happily as the redhead let out a contented huff. “Yeah, we can talk later.”

*

“Your bike didn’t leave the car park last night.”

Dwalin hummed noncommittally as he skimmed the new rota on his phone. Four new shifts with Nori, an additional one with Gimli – that would be shit, but at least it wasn’t Glóin lamenting over missing his wife – and oh, would you look at that. Two uninterrupted days where neither he nor Nori were on.

Perfect.

“Did you even hear me?” Thorin said, his exasperation clear.

“I heard you. Just choosin’ not to indulge you by answering.”

That got a snort. “You know, something rather strange happened to the CCTV from the car park last night. At some point – just after I sent you and Nori home, actually – the monitor simply turned itself off. No backups either. It was almost like the system itself was so appalled at what it saw that the entire stretch between you leaving the club and Nori’s truck pulling away simply ceased to be.”

Dwalin chuckled. “Very odd. You should have that looked at.”

“I do not ever want to witness that again, so no thank you.”

“Oh, come on. That angle is awful, there’s no way you saw anything more than-”

“The pair of you kissing the living daylights out of each other, getting into the truck – which proceeded to bounce for forty-five minutes – and then driving off.” Thorin retched a little. “I wanted to go home, Dwalin. I was not walking into that car park without knowing for certain that I wasn’t going to see either of your balls pressed against the bloody window.”

Dwalin sighed. “I’m hardly an exhibitionist. Besides, it was a very dignified, very tasteful truck fucking.”

“You had sex in a car park.”

“Correction; I had sex in a car park, then proceeded to go home and have sex in multiple other locations.”

The disgusted expression Thorin shot him was better than any bonus he could have received. “I did not need to know that. All I want to know is, ah. Will the fucking continue, or is that…”

A flash of red caught his eye, and before he could begin to explain the situation, Dwalin’s attention was irrevocably diverted by a swinging braid.

Nori was helping Ori carry his electric piano in, one end of the beast tucked under his arm as he talked animatedly to Fíli, who held the other. The moment he realised he was being watched, however, his gaze flicked up to Dwalin’s.

He smirked.

“Alright, wanker? Thought someone had finally landed a punch on you, but it appears to just be the permanent state of your face.”

“Says the peacock. Don’t you have a mirror to be preenin’ in?”

Nori barked a harsh laugh before turning back towards the stage, his braid swinging with every step.

“Yeah,” Dwalin murmured with a smile, his mind drifting to the fox keychain now hanging proudly from his keys. “The fucking is here to stay.”