Anon, I wrote this. I hope you like it.
The number of Orcs is too great to count, but as the captain of Thorin’s guard, you apply your training, plunging your sword through the eye, throat, back, and gut of every vile creature you encounter.
Your body is a whirlwind of skill, focus and fearlessness as you protect Thorin, the person you are sworn to protect, a person you love not only as your King but - in your heart, anyway – as your lover.
He is also fighting valiantly and fiercely, not recoiling from any of the action. He seems as determined to save your life as you are his. He is clever, fast and vicious, but you want to get him out there.
“My Lord, go!” you shout above the din of guttural screams, claiming what must be your fortieth kill. “Get on your pony and ride!”
“We stay together!” He dodges the falling body of your latest victim and crashes into you, his cheek momentarily grazing yours. You stumble but recover fast enough to behead another enemy.
“I can handle them. Please, go!” you beg.
But the stubborn cuss is not leaving. Instead, before the next wave of Orcs comes into full view, he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you to him, smothering your lips with a deep and foolish kiss.
Not even the stench of your kills’ oozing blood — the stuff of one hundred years of nightmares – can deliver you from the magic overtaking your lips and tongue. Although you have dreamed of this moment coming under much more pleasant circumstances, this is more intoxicating than any of your fantasies.
Thorin is the first to break contact, tearing away from you to cut down three Orcs in one ferocious swing.
You shake off the daze that the kiss plunged you into, but not its power. You wield your sword more deftly than ever, violently silencing one…four…six Orcs, and then the seventh, and final one.
It is over.
Thorin looks on in amazement, his chest heaving in time with yours.
“Did you think that was a goodbye kiss?” you ask, lowering your sword.
He moves in close again, a force of overwhelming strength and sexual energy. The grime and foulness splashed on him take nothing away from his majesty. You are the strongest person you know, but around him — especially now, your imagination putting you under him, on top of him, in front of him — your knees buckle with anticipation.
“No,” he whispers into your mouth, before sliding his tongue across your lips. “That’s the first of many.”