#oifur

Finally Bifur'd had enough. He stood and unleashed a gruff stream of Khuzdul, his voice deep and rough, far more melodious to Oin's ears even if the only words he could pick out individually were 'dog's droppings'. Bifur took a menacing step forward, and the Man fled.

"Finally," Oin signed. "What a waste of time, what did he want?"

"Nothing worth our time," Bifur signed back, "He didn't even try to flirt with you – and with how fine your beard is today! He should be ashamed of himself."

Oin petted the upturned ends of his braids proudly, smiling back. "Nothing compared to yours, I'm afraid. Now where were we?"

"We were discussing how sweetly you will be crying out when I tup you later," Bifur signed, chuckling into his beard as he picked his ale up to take a swig, eyes dancing.

"Are you sure? I was certain we were discussing how beautifully you moan when you're riding my cock. You do know it's the exact pitch I can actually hear? You wouldn't deprive an old Dwarf of his one joy, would you?"

.

The barmaid sighed as the Dwarves left their payment in small coins on their table and left again. Such strange things, stranger than most of their kind, even. They came in at least once a week, drank, and left again. They never spoke to anyone or even to each other. Not that they'd get far, with one unable to speak and the other unable to hear.

"Just makes you sad, don't it?" she commented to one of her regulars. "Poor old dears, they must be so lonely..."