Chapter Text
Damned Christmas party. Damned slippery pavement. Damned high heels.
You were sitting on a staircase in front of a modern building in the city center, cursing your bad luck. Cold gusts of wind tore at your coat, chilling you to the bone and turning your legs into icicles. Whose idea was it to wear that little black dress anyway? You dreamed of a warm bath, massaging your swollen ankle. Walking to your car was out of the question - you could barely make one more step without hissing in pain. And even if you somehow got to the parking place, there was that small issue of pressing the car pedals and actually driving. It was not going to happen. What’s worse, you couldn’t even call a cab or ask a friend for a lift - your cellphone’s battery was completely drained. This just wasn’t your day.
The distant moon shone in the sky, painting the snowflakes silver. They kept on falling from the sky, spurred by the wind from the sea, drawing mesmerizing patterns in the air. Staring blankly at their frolics and wondering what to do next, you haven’t heard the measured footsteps that had just stopped beside you nor noticed the tall figure that blocked the light of the moon.
“Are you alright, miss?” His slightly hoarse voice seeped into your ears. Low. Sensual. Enticing.
You whipped up your head only to see a… well, a tall, dark, and handsome stranger. The moon cast an otherworldly halo around his head, drawing your attention to some of his features: short dark hair, expressive line of his eyebrows, electric blue eyes, patrician nose, and a short, well-groomed beard. This man, whoever he was, cut a strapping figure in his black pea coat that emphasized his masculine shoulder-to-hip ratio.
You took a deep breath. You had to. There was something in his piercing gaze that made you feel like a doe in the headlights.
“It’s nothing serious,” you offered cautiously, continuing to massage your ankle.
His eyes burned their way along the length of your uncovered calf down to your hand.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing serious. Can I help?” His voice sounded even lower than before.
“Thank you, but it’s just my ankle. I should be fine in a few moments,” you didn’t sound too convincing even to yourself.
He approached you in a couple of graceful steps, making you think of a prowling mountain lion.
“My car is just around the corner. Perhaps I could drive you somewhere. Emergency room?”
“There is no need. It’s happened before. It’ll pass in a couple of days,” you shook your head.
“Can I drive you home, then?” He tilted his head slightly.
You throat went dry and you had to clear your throat.
“It’s very kind of you, but…”
“I promise I’m not a murderer,” he spoke and took a flat black object out of his pocket, swiping its surface. “Here is my cellphone. This contact is my sister, Dis. Feel free to call her and ask. She will tell you all sorts of things about me, but not that I’m a murderer,” his lips curled up in a smile that unexpectedly softened his stern features.
“I don’t think I should,” you mumbled, focused on the curve of his lips hiding in the thicket of his beard.
“Very well, then.” He tapped his screen a few times and a warm female voice was heard on the loudspeaker.
“Hi, Dis, it’s me,” the stranger replied. “Listen, I’m outside my apartment, and there is a slightly injured lady here who needs to be taken home. The problem is, she would rather freeze than get a ride with me. Would you please tell her that I’m not a serial killer?”
You heard a feminine chuckle, “Alright, then. To whom it may concern: the only thing my brother is capable of killing is a joke.”
“Thank you!” You couldn’t stop yourself from giving out a chuckle.
“Very funny, Dis,” the tall, dark, and handsome stranger grumbled.
“You’re welcome,” she sing-songed. “Oh, and Thorin?”
“Mhm?” The stranger purred. Almost like a large wild cat.
“Offering a cab may also be a good idea.”
“Thank you for this very insightful piece of advice, Dis. Good night,” the stranger disconnected the call and looked back at you with a spark in his eyes. “A cab then, huh?”
“Actually, I’m not sure about that,” you heard your own voice. “I don’t think I would be able to walk the distance between the cab and my apartment.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have your leg checked up?” A concerned frown appeared on his face.
“I’m sure.” you offered him a reassuring smile. “I just need to get home. Is your car very far away?”
“Just there,” he waved his hand towards the left. “Let me help.”
He leaned towards you, offering his arm. You took it, feeling the soft fabric of his coat beneath your hand and trying to ignore how strong his muscles felt underneath that fabric.
“Thanks,” You tried to get up and failed when your injured leg buckled under you. His other arm wrapped around you, steadying you, while you stumbled into him, pressing your nose into his coat. He smelled like sandalwood, exotic spices, and a fresh sea breeze on a summer day.
“Sorry,” you said, looking up at him. Only then did you realize how tall he was; so very much taller than you. Like a mountain.
Before you had a moment to think, he lifted you swiftly. With one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back, he held you close against the hardness of his chest. Instinctively you rested your hand on his back. His body exuded innate power. Strength. When your eyes met, you completely forgot to protest about being thrown into the air as if you weighed nothing.
His face was so close to yours. And those eyes. And the strong line of his jaw. Your fingertips tingled. How would it feel to run them through his beard?
None of you moved for a few heartbeats. Finally, he blinked a few times and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“It will be quicker this way,” he rumbled in that sinfully low voice of his and started walking.
Everyone who knew you considered you to be an outspoken person, always knowing what to say, never getting tongue-tied, and yet, when he carried you in his arms, you couldn’t think of anything remotely coherent to say. That was it: somehow you couldn’t think. This man and his overwhelming closeness seemed to melt your wits like butter.
He walked slowly, taking long, careful steps, mindful of your comfort.
When he helped you into the front seat of his black Volvo XC 90, your body protested at the loss of contact between you, even though there were layers of winter clothing that prevented you from touching.
“Seat belt?” He asked, starting the engine. You observed his fingers nimbly dancing on the dashboard. He had large, masculine but elegant hands and strong wrists. There was a thick silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand and somehow you felt relieved. His ring finger was bare.
Scolding yourself for that puzzling thought, you replied, “Fastened.”
“Perfect. Let’s get you safely home.”
And so he did.