Title: Dust
Fandom: Middle Earth, Polydwarves UA

Pairing: Frár/Toron
Rating: PG-13

Summary: Toron’s (reluctantly) helping in many ways.

Notes: Written for day 16 of my 23 Ficlets project to celebrate my 23rd anniversary in the community




“Actually… I could use—“


Toron groaned.


Frár frowned. “You don’t even know what I was about to say.”


“Didn’t have to,” Toron replied gruffly. He gestured to one side of Frár’s new work room. “First it was the work table. Too high then too low then not sturdy enough. Then it was the chair, too hard then too soft. Then it didn’t roll out of the way when you wanted it to, or it rolled too far.” He threw his hands up. “I spent all week hauling your half-finished sculptures in here only to have you waffle about what you needed in order to even start your stonework. I’ve had just about all I can take!”  


Waiting patiently for Toron to cease his ranting. He could easily have matched the man’s exasperated, frustrated state. It really had been a long week, moving in with this lot. Getting used to a new family was hard enough, but uprooting his whole life, his work, his art and starting over somewhere new… he still felt nervous about that. And from the off, Frár had suspected Toron would be the hardest to win over. Part of him thought he might earn the dwarf’s respect by giving it right back to him. But, instead, Frár waited patiently until he could get a word in edgewise. “If you are tired of this, I will not force you to stay. I’m sure one of the others would help, if I asked.”


Toron opened his mouth, perhaps to say that he’d prefer to not help. But he shut it again just as quickly because, of course, he could say no such thing. Frár  was part of the family now, and it was his place to help if his husband needed help. Moreover, Frár could tell that the dwarf did not like the implication that all this work might have tired him out even a little. So Toron crossed his arms over his chest and let out a huff of a breath. “Fine. What is it you need now? A cushion for your rear, perhaps?”


Frár gave a slight smile and looked over his shoulder, as if he could inspect his own behind. “Hmm, tempting, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.” He headed over to a small chunk of uncarved stone and ran his fingertips from top to bottom. “I was going to say that I could use a model, and I would be honored if you would be my first.”


Toron gave a start, unable to hide his surprise. “You want me to pose for you?”


“Aye, if you would. As a thank you for helping me move in.” He paused, realizing that might not be quite enough. So he added, “I should like to have your fine image to look upon.”  


The corners of Toron’s mouth twitched, not forming a smile despite the obvious pride Frár could see in his eyes. “All right.” He assumed a position, legs spread, arms up as if holding an axe. “How’s this position?”


Frár nodded approvingly. “Excellent. However… a few minor modifications…” His studio was not that large, and it only took him two paces to reach the other side where Toron stood. He drew his fingers down his new husband’s cheek and into the thick, bushy beard. Finding Toron’s chin, he guided it so Toron was looking upward, not at whatever danger might be ahead but toward the sky as if oncoming danger could not bother him. Frár rocked up on the toes of his boots and kissed Toron’s mouth. He felt it twitch again against his lips this time. And that was when he pulled the ties of Toron’s shirt and forced the sides apart to expose the dwarf’s chest.


Toron’s eyes widened.


“I have to be able to see every curve of my model’s body in order to depict it accurately in stone,” Frár explained, his callused fingers stroking the now exposed skin and chest hair.


A moment passed as Toron considered this statement. Then he began undressing. Frár leapt to help him, careful not to get in his way.


It didn’t take long before Toron stood naked in the studio, striking a fighter’s pose, and Frár perched on his stool, chipping away at stone with his tools. Removing the larger blocks of stone was the first place to start. He had to create the general form first before he could get too specific. But his gaze kept straying to all the details. To the muscles tensing in his Toronhusband’s strong thighs, to that curve of a bicep sporting a dark tattoo, to the way his toes curled instinctively to find purchase on the stone floor. Frár wondered about all the other things that might make them curl like that.


It wasn’t long before he switched tools, working hard to capture Toron’s essence before Toron had a chance to get tired of this. He did not doubt his Toronhusband’s strength and endurance to hold this stance, only his patience with the artistic process.


He was busy working on the beard when he heard Toron take a sharp breath in. He looked up, expecting to see the dwarf yawning with impatience. Instead, he was just in time to see Toron thrown forward with a mighty sneeze. “huhhh-HURSCHHHHHHH!


“Oh!” That made Frár’s heart beat faster.


“The…” A single word was all Toron could muster as he bent nearly in half with another urgent sneeze. “HUHSCHHHHH! Huh-URSHUHHHH!” He massaged his sizable nose with the thumb and forefinger of one hand while he pointed at Frár’s sculpture with the other hand. “Dust,” he managed to finish.


To be fair, there was a sizable amount of stone dust released as he used his tools quickly. But he was closest to the sculpture and wasn’t sneezing. Toron was several feet away.




And he was clearly not used to it the way Frár was. “Oh no. Toron, I’m so sorry.” He got up and hurried over. Frár pulled out his handkerchief to offer it over, wondering if that would help enough or if he ought to rush Toron out of the room for some fresher air instead.


Before he could make a start toward either option, Toron buried his face against Frár’s front, sneezing into his beard and shirt. “Hahhh-HUHSHHH! Huhhhh… huh-huh-HUTSHHHH!” Not knowing what else to do, he rubbed his hand up and down his Toronhusband’s back. Apparently waiting out the sneezing fit was a third option he hadn’t considered. He felt the wetness from the sneezes start to soak through his shirt to chill his chest. He felt large hands wrap around his upper arms, holding tight to help brace himself. He felt Toron’s cock press hard against his thigh as the dwarf was thrown forward with each powerful sneeze. Ah. So there was a fourth option as well. And that was the one Frár liked the most.


“You’ve soaked my tunic through with your sneezes. I’d better take it off,” Frár said. And one of those strong hands immediately moved, eager to help him.