Work Text:
Ori was stuck.
The lighting was perfect, the room temperature just right, Nori’s cat hadn’t knocked anything over yet, and he had a steaming mug of Dori’s tea sitting beside him.
But he was stuck.
Pencil poised over the blank page before him.
The off white of the paper mocking him.
A growl slipped past clenched teeth as he buried his hands in his short hair, knocking his glasses askew.
This was all going nowhere fast, and he knew it.
With a huff Ori slapped his sketchbook shut and began shoving things in a bag. He didn’t want to leave the house, but clearly he didn’t have a choice.
Giving himself a once over in the mirror, he shoved his feet into his old battered boots and shrugged. His paint splattered leggings and baggy jumper would suffice, it wasn’t like he was going out to impress anyone.
Muttering some choice curses, learnt from Nori, much to Dori’s dismay, Ori shouldered his bag, grabbed up his phone and keys, and headed out the door. Slamming it with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.
It truly was a beautiful day, something Ori was grateful for as he began the twenty minute walk to the local museum.
“Good afternoon, Ori,” the museum’s curator called as Ori walked through the door.
Ori startled slightly, having drifted off into his own little world, before smiling at the white haired man, “Afternoon, Balin, has the new exhibit opened up yet?”
“Just this morning, lad, up the stairs and to the right.”
“Thank you.”
Trudging up the stairs Ori hoped this would be what he needed to get the creative juices flowing. The new exhibition chronicled the battles of Britain, all the way from the Roman invasion up to the bombing of London by the Nazis. And if that didn’t get his mind into gear, creating warriors and battlefields, he didn’t know what else would.
Wandering past each of the displays, Ori waited for something to catch his eye, make his fingers twitch.
He paused for a moment before the display for the Battle of Bosworth, eyes fixed on the red dragon of Henry Tudor’s banner. The proud Welsh symbol causing a cold shiver to run down his spine.
No, perhaps the Tudors weren’t quite what he was looking for.
Retracing his steps he settled himself on a bench closer to the entrance, murals of Roman formations and blue painted Britons spread out before him.
Pulling his sketchbook from his bag, Ori nibbled on the end of his pencil, drifting in thought before focusing on the page before him. Rough warriors began to take shape in quick sketches before him, but they all seemed to be missing something, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.
The quiet click of a camera startled him enough to look up and…
Oh.
Ori blinked.
Then blinked again.
But the vision didn’t waver.
The man was bent over the display of torcs, long blond hair pulled up in a messy bun, where the sun caught golden highlights. Reddish gold stubble covered the lower half of his face, golden brows drawing down into a look of utter concentration as his fingers fiddled absent-mindedly with the settings on the camera slung around his neck.
Ori quickly turned to a new page, pencil flying.
A warrior, passionate and fierce, appeared on the page. Golden torc resting snugly on his throat, blue war paint swirling over his skin. Muscles defined as he wielded swords, spears, and axes.
Ori bit his lip, slight blush creeping up his cheeks, as he shaded in the V that disappeared beneath the edge of a kilt.
“Is that my brother?”
Ori jumped, a small squeal escaping his lips as his pencil clattered to the wooden floor. Wide eyes flew up to connect with the young man sitting next to him, cheeky grin lighting up his face, as brown eyes sparked with mischief.
“I…I…” Ori stuttered, blushed deepening.
“It is, isn’t it?” the man’s grin grew impossibly wider, “Hey, Fíli, come look at this!”
Ori squeaked, cheeks now blazing as his golden warrior with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen came over to them.
“Kíli, are you annoying people again?” his warrior, Fíli, tsked, turning his eyes on Ori, “Sorry about him, his manners are non-existent, pretty sure uncle dropped him on his head as a baby.”
“Hey!” Kíli cried, indignant, kicking out at his brother’s ankle, “No look, he’s been drawing you.”
“Really?” Fíli’s head cocked to one side, a slow smile curling his lips.
Ori swallowed at the sight of dimples.
“Can I see?”
Cheeks surely now hot enough to melt the polar ice caps, Ori ducked his head and held out his sketchbook, vaguely wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole as Fíli took it.
An appreciative sound escaping his throat as he looked at the sketches had Ori peeking up through his lashes, self-consciously pushing his glasses up his nose.
“These are good,” Fíli said, handing back the book, a flirtatious smile quirked his lips as he added, “Though you may have given me more muscles than I actually have, what do you think?”
If Ori thought he couldn’t get any redder, well, he was wrong.
His eyes widened as Fíli tugged up the hem of his t-shirt, showing off a softly defined stomach. Ori gulped, eyes trailing over dark blond curls.
A sudden camera flash had him blinking, eyes shooting up to Fíli’s face.
“Cute,” Fíli mused.
Dropping into a crouch, he swiped up Ori’s fallen pencil.
“So what’s your name?” he asked, twirling the pencil in his fingers. Ori was not going to think about the fact his golden warrior was practically on his knees before him.
“Ori,” he stammered out, Fíli’s smile grew, his dimples deepening.
“Well, Ori, give me a call sometime, or a text. I’ll happily model for you if you want me to,” leaning forward, Fíli tilted the sketchpad towards himself, writing down his name and number on an empty corner of the page, “Anytime, anyway.”
A rather pained whine caused the pair to look at the young man beside them, both had forgotten Kíli was even there.
“Come on, seriously Fíli? Your little brother is sitting right here. That’s, oh god, that image is scarring.”
“You’re a moron,” Fíli huffed affectionately, his hand warm as he placed it on Ori’s knee to help push himself back to his feet, “Come on then, little brother, before you become irreparably damaged.”
Jumping to his feet, Kíli grinned down at Ori, “They really are good, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Ori mumbled, smiling tentatively at the pair.
“Seriously,” Fíli smiled, “Anytime, anyway. Just let me know.”
His dimples deepened when Ori nodded, before the brothers bid him goodbye and continued wandering through the displays.
Ori watched them go, smile tugging at his lips as his fingers idly traced around Fíli’s number.
Perhaps he wouldn’t get stuck on this project again after all.