An Unexpected Romance (Repost) - GerryStAmour (orphan_account) (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Bilbo was incredibly warm. He felt as if he were back in his bed, wrapped in bedding with his head cushioned well off the cold hard ground. He resisted the urge to wake, but everything was so oddly still, it was unsettling. There was something warm and solid beneath him, holding him safely and securely. He blinked a few times into the fur collar of Thorin’s over-coat, a slow smile spreading across his face.

The sky was lavender and magenta, twisting and twirling with veins of gold as the sun crested the horizon as he could see through the trees in the distance. It was simply breathtaking. But then he focused to the warm body he was snugly fit to, that genial smile spreading further into one of happiness and warmth, as he was met with the sleeping face of a king.

Thorin looked entirely peaceful, as if he had the first restful night’s sleep in his life. The royal lips were parted ever so slightly in a tempting pout, short puffs of breath wafting over Bilbo’s face. He looked far too peaceful to wake. Very carefully Bilbo wiggled his way out of Thorin’s grip, a feat not easily achieved as the events of the previous night came rushing back with a vengeance and sent a zinging pain through his backside and up his spine. He bit back a hiss, gritting his teeth as he stood, being sure to tuck Thorin flush under the furs before he made his way to the center of camp.

The company was still asleep, all looking quite peaceable as well. Snores and huffs filled the early morning silence, the faint song of birds the only other disturbance to the placate scene. Fíli and Kíli looked about to faint, and Bilbo made his way over with a smile.

“We’ve got many hours before we’ll be leaving, why don’t you two go get some shut eye?”, he whispered, and was pleased when the pair lazily nodded their agreement and trotted off to presumably sleep.

The hobbit, as he had always been a decently early riser, produced his smoking pipe from his coat pocket, swiftly filling the bowl and lighting with a spare match. The smoke was sweet and strong, and this early in the morning brought a sting to his lungs, though the familiarity took away the bite.

As the rest of his companions were still blissfully asleep he set to rousing the camp fire, going to the sack that carried their food stores and sifting through to make breakfast. Once he found what he desired (some porridge grains to be boiled and sausages to fry) he set to his task of making the morning meal.

When Thorin awoke, and the memories of the night before floated back to him, a warm smile touched his lips. He was well-rested, for the first time in years that he could remember, and painfully aware of the warm tug in his chest. Rolling over, he sought out the warm body of his hobbit, only to meet an empty bedroll.

Disappointment flooded him, as he blinked blearily at the empty space beside him, the remaining traces of sleepy contentedness gone in a flash. There was a moment of anxiety, that Bilbo had still harbored feelings of regret for what they had shared. It was still a point of confusion for Thorin where the Halfling had gotten the idea that he would be no longer wanted.

And then there was the blinding panic and crushing sense of rejection that Thorin was definitely not accustomed to feeling. The fear that Bilbo had awoken this morning and decided that there was nothing more between them.

The dwarf was chiding himself silently, lecturing himself about the idiocy of letting emotions he had no business having take over when he heard the whisper of movement behind him. Sitting up, he turned toward the fire, the tension leaving his shoulders as he saw Bilbo, hunched over a skillet with a touch of a smile to his lovely lips.

Thorin huffed a breath, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he watched his hobbit portion out two bowls of food. Discovering he was not rejected after all, the dwarf relaxed further, watching the burglar’s silent and deliberate movements from across the camp.

The hobbit padded his way across camp, weaving around and toeing carefully over the slumber mounds of dwarves sprawled about snoozing contentedly. Hobbits were indeed quick, quiet, and light on their feet, as Bilbo eloquently demonstrated as he waltzed through the camp with twin bowls of breakfast in hand, a skein of water that had chilled overnight tucked under his arm, until he was at the bed roll he had shared with the dwarven king.

The expression on Thorin’s face was soft and the glowing beams of the rising sun caught the sharp angles of his face and softened them. A fond smile played about his lips,those kissable lips, that wrinkled the edges of his eyes. He looked serene. It was an odd sight to Bilbo who had never seen the dwarf so at ease, but a welcome one that made him swell with a tepid joy.

“Breakfast? Apologies, it’s not much at all, is it?” the Halfling spoke softly, still very aware that everyone was deep in sleep. He handed Thorin his bowl before kneeling, shifting slowly, teeth gritting and a pained hiss escaping him as he settled beside Thorin in the mass of furs on their bed roll. He was trying his very best to hide his discomfort, forcing a smile as he noted Thorin’s expression, but it was clear that the next few days on the road were to be trying.

“Thought it’d be best to let them all sleep for now,” he whispered as he took up a spoonful of the porridge and carefully pushing his sausages to the side of the bowl, to save for last.

Thorin noted the hobbit’s discomfort with no small amount of guilt as he accepted his food. Though Bilbo had enjoyed their activities, and had even asked for it, it did not excuse his lack of restraint. Vowing to check his hobbit properly for injury later, he ate his sausages quickly before working on his porridge.

“This is perfectly adequate,” he reassured Bilbo quietly, lifting his head to gift the smaller man with another smile. “And I’ve decided we will stay here for one more night.”

He immediately regretted the bluntness of his words as Bilbo flushed deep crimson and began to stutter out protests at the mere mention of pausing for any reason. Thorin lifted his head again and pinned the hobbit with a stare before continuing. “The men are tired, and our supplies low. We could use a day to freshen up, hunt, and regroup before traveling further. I am sure the ponies would appreciate the rest as well.”

As he finished his porridge, Thorin placed the bowl down on his lap, watching his hobbit eat slowly, almost daintily. The way the creature savored each mouthful of the bland food was a marvel to the dwarf, and his lips quirked again.

At this rate, Thorin was going to lose all his respectability as the standoffish and aloof King Under the Mountain if he continued acting like a love-struck tween. With that thought, the dwarf cleared his throat and said, “I would like to speak with you about last night.”

He spluttered on a mouthful of his now mushy and nearly finished porridge, cheeks flushing fully in the morning sun with no darkness to hide behind this time. He sheepishly looked up to Thorin, gulping deep as he forced himself to relax. It was a hard task, but he managed well enough.

“Of course.”, he replied with as much dignity as he could muster having nearly choked himself with his breakfast and embarrassment.

He scanned the camp once more, still quite content that every member of the company, even the early-to-rise Dori, was soundly asleep. It was best to have this conversation when there were no ears to pry. He wasn’t sure he could handle the ribbing he was sure he would get if any members of the company knew of their moonlit tryst by the stream.

Bilbo found himself muttering out his first string of questions, none coming to completion and only serving to make him sound like a right tosser.

“I did…well that is to say, I—oh bugger.”, he muttered, cheeks flushing further and brow knitting.

Thorin was completely amused by the hobbit’s embarrassment, and when the urge to kiss the flustered Halfling came over him, he followed it.

Leaning forward, he captured Bilbo’s lips in a soft, chaste kiss, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth when he pulled away. “Are all hobbits this skittish about such topics?” he asked softly, kindly, with no edge of mocking.

With a sigh, though, Thorin turned serious, brow furrowing as he watched Bilbo’s face intently.

“Why were you under the impression that I would discard you so easily?” he questioned as a black anger swam into the back of his mind, the thoughts of past lovers doing something so selfish to his hobbit coming to the surface. He couldn’t ever imagine leaving a bed-partner unsatisfied, but perhaps there was a difference in Hobbit culture.

Bilbo was indeed skittish, shoulders jumping up to his ears as Throin gifted him the kiss. He had little trouble relaxing though as Thorin sat back with an easy smile. He could get used to this.

“Ah.”, Bilbo breathed, looking away quickly. He stirred what little of his meal was left in his wooden bowl. “Well, in Hobbiton, you lay with another only if they’re your intended. A-At least, for most hobbits.”, he continued coyly, trying to shrug off the importance of his words. “So, in if a hobbit’s going to…mess around”, he cleared his throat awkwardly, choking back a squeak.

“You don’t bring it up. It’s very taboo, you could say. So, i-it’s highly irregular for anyone to—I mean, that you— Or even that—”, he began stumbling over his words once more, becoming increasingly flustered and he scooped out one of his sausages and promptly bit it in half.

“Oh bugger it.”

Thorin reached across the space between them and cupped Bilbo’s cheek with a softness he hadn’t thought himself capable of until now. There was a terrifying surge of emotion that had his heart clenching before he reigned it back in.

“That did not answer my question, my hobbit,” Thorin murmured, his calloused thumb brushing down Bilbo’s hairless cheek to press lightly at the corner of his mouth before slowly sliding back up. “Where I can understand your fear that last night would be the only time I bed you, why did you assume I would abandon you to attend to your own need?”

He leaned closer to meet Bilbo’s hazel eyes. “Speak your mind. There is no reason to feel embarrassed with me, for there is nothing you could say that would anger me,” he implored, feeling slightly ashamed of himself that he had, thus far on the journey, made the Halfling impossibly insecure around him.

Bilbo was exasperated, reigning in his whirling emotions with a long drawn breath through flared nostrils. He ran his fingers through his mop of honey-curls, worrying his bottom lip gentle with his teeth. But as Thorin spoke, as his words eased his worried mind, Bilbo’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no easy way around what he was about to say so he simply decided to come out with it.

Hazel-green eyes resolutely set ahead Bilbo let go of a sigh. “It’s really a race to the finish. Whoever gets there first…wins the race.”, he finished with a shrug. “You could say I’m more of a turtle than a hare.”

The idea of treating sex like a race rankled Thorin’s nerves. Though dwarves were not the most romantic creatures, and often took many bed partners (at once, even), it was never acceptable to leave anyone unsatisfied. Intercourse was meant to feel good, amazing even; not rushed as if to fulfill an inconvenient need.

“That is…” the dwarf trailed off, growling lowly before shaking off his anger. He forced his features and voice to soften as he said, “I remember telling you I required a moment to recover last night, my hobbit. Did you not hear me?”

Bilbo couldn’t suppress the smile that curled his lips at the wordsmy hobbit.It sounded so nice, and Thorin’s deep, sexy voice was doing wonders for his libido with such endearments on his lips. When Thorin brought up that he had spoken Bilbo turned to lock eyes, not hiding his confusion.

“Sorry?”, he shook his head, eyes darting to the side and then back to Thorin’s. “You were going on in that tongue Bifur uses, I’m afraid if you were speaking to me I couldn’t understand you.”

Bilbo felt quite foolish now, understanding why Thorin had been so bewildered when the Halfling had risen to take his leave.

Thorin blinked at the hobbit, for a moment not registering how Bifur had become involved in this conversation until he remembered that the dwarf didn’t speak Westron. Barking out a laugh that had the dwarves around them stirring, Thorin dropped his head forward.

“You buggered me so well, I forgot how to speak Westron,” he muttered under a quiet round of chuckles before meeting Bilbo’s eyes again, gifting the hobbit with a tender smile.

“Then I apologize. Last night’s misunderstanding was entirely my fault,” he said, looking around as the dwarves of the company began to get up and raid the breakfast Bilbo had cooked.

To Bilbo’s delight, everyone was far too enamored with the meager meal he had prepared to pay the odd pair much mind. The roused slowly, backs arching, arms stretching, yawns and grunts and a few good mornings to be had, but no one brought up what they were currently seeing or had heard last night. The Halfling felt comfortable enough with everyone’s ignorance, he leaned against Thorin’s side absently. “Good to know I could be of service…”, he held his thoughts for a moment, voice dipping down low with a quirk of his lips. “…my king.”

Some light teasing was always a fun time, but after seeing the effects the words had had on the dwarf the night before, well…how could he resist?

Thorin felt heat spike through his nether regions at the hobbit’s teasing, a growl escaping his throat. Dipping his head, he captured Bilbo’s lips in a brief, but passionate kiss. The only thing that had him pulling back was the halfling’s modesty and embarrassment of being ribbed by the other dwarves.

No doubt, once they were all fed and settled, the teasing would begin if Thorin didn’t put them all to work.

“You should get some more rest, my hobbit,” he said softly as he stood up, his and Bilbo’s bowls in his hands. If Thorin could help it, the camp would be empty and quiet for the morning, allowing the hobbit to sleep off some of the pain he had caused him in relative peace. Perhaps, by lunch, Thorin will have been able to discourage most of the teasing his men had in store for the halfling.

Bilbo melted into the kiss, his heart hammering as they were not able to hide so clearly in the open. Apparently Thorin had no intentions of keeping their…relationship? That seemed incorrect, spending one passionate night did not make a relationship. It was an arrangement at this point, a mutual understanding of desiring to spend time with one another, times for comfort and times for satisfaction, and whatever else it led to.

When Thorin rose he sank easily back into the furs, giving him a lazy smile. The dwarf must have understood the pain he was experiencing, how drained he was from the act. The furs still contained the warmth from the body heat the pair had generated, and Bilbo Baggins very quickly found himself being lulled into sleep.

His slumber was not to be peaceful however…

Fíli woke suddenly, very aware of the silence in the camp around them. The sun was higher, though not far above the horizon. The blond estimated he and his brother had been napping for close to four hours.

Lifting his head and raising an eyebrow, he saw that the camp was all but deserted, bedrolls still set out and the fire snuffed. Distantly, he could hear boisterous laughter from the stream.

A smirk came to his lips as he realized their privacy and turned his attention to the dwarf he was spooned up against. He pressed his rapidly filling co*ck up against Kíli’s bottom, groaning at the sweet pressure on his arousal. Rocking lightly against the brunette, he slid his hand up over Kíli’s hip and into his smallclothes to coax him into a similar state.

“Brother,” the blond groaned out, grinning against Kíli’s shoulder as the brunette’s co*ck responded to his ministrations. “Wake up.”

Kíli had been enjoying a deep sleep, where he dreamed of home and hunting grounds, but then everything melted away. He felt like he was buzzing. His head swam as he came back to the world, chocolate eyes searching blearily. Camp looked to be deserted. The sun shone high in the sky, nearly noon-time. Then with a hiss he noticed the teasing heat that was tugging his prick, insistent and slow, causing his semi-flaccid member to fill suddenly. He could also feel something pressing intimately into the pert swell of his rump. Pain lingered there from the night before last, a slight sting that refused to go away, and he hissed again.

“Fíli…”, he began tiredly as he turned in the blondes arms, raising a hand to rub the sleepiness from his eyes. “It’s the middle of the day.” The brunette protested verbally, his tone mournful as he had been roused from a most pleasant dream. It was a rarity when this far from home, to say the least. Kíli, however, found himself melting to the gentle touch now that he lay on his back and there was nothing but the ground to put pressure on his sensitive backside. He brushed his lips against Fíli’s, feather light, allowing the kiss to grow. It was a slow, comfortable slide of lips, languid and tender with promises of so much more.

Fíli groaned into the kiss, rutting against his brother’s hip as he slid his tongue into Kíli’s willing mouth. They sparred slowly, neither fighting for dominance, but also not submitting. The blond however grew impatient with the pace, not wanting the others to return before he had Kíli coming at least once.

Hoisting himself up and over the brunette, Fíli slotted himself between Kíli’s legs and grinding their groins together with a delicious pressure. He huffed a pleasured sound before returning his mouth to his brother’s for a brief, heated moment.

“We are alone, for once,” the blond groaned, humping Kíli slowly with long strokes. He slid a hand down and grabbed a firm arsecheek.

“I need you,” he growled lowly before crashing their mouths together.

Airy gasps left the brunette as the lazy intimacies began to grow in their fervor, hips rutting and tongues dueling between them. Fíli was on fire above him, the sweet words pouring from those kissable lips left him groaning in frustration. “And I you, but I’m a bit out of sorts…”, he trailed off, losing his train of thought as the blonde gave a particularly rough thrust that left him keening. He was reaching into those tawny gold locks, tangling his fingers and raking them through soothingly.

Kíli leaned up to steal a kiss, his tongue darting through his brothers parted lips, sweeping into the wet cave of his mouth with a sigh. The swordsman always tasted of bay-leaf and thyme, reminding him fondly of hearth and home.

“Or have you forgotten?” He teased, giving those tendrils a gentle tug.

Fíli shivered at the tugs in his hair, the kiss sweet and warm. These were the moments the blond lived for, when the archer was open and playful, his smile free and his affections so easily attained. The last time they had been this intimate was before they left for their journey; that last night in their shared bedroom was a fond memory and had more heat spiking through his belly.

The reminder of Kíli’s discomfort, however, had Fíli flinching and a new plan forming in his mind. There was no way he was wasting this time alone with his lover.

“I have not,” Fíli said against his brother’s cheek, keeping a smirk from coming to his lips, and rocked down against the brunette's arousal. “I will be gentle, you know I can be.”

At this statement the brunette frowned, deep and rather out of place of that usually cheery face. It was a look seldom seen on the dwarf. His lips twisted into a scowl, giving his lover a shove, and when the blonde persisted, it rankled the younger prince.

“I’m no’ havin’ any’o that today.”, Kíli growled, wrestling now with his brother. It was only that he caught the toothy smirk that he caught on, flashing his own to Fíli as he rolled on top of him easily. The occasional laugh escaped his brother, a bubbling sound from deep in his gut, a sound that could always stretch Kíli’s smile from ear to ear.

He had been working his brother’s lips with his in steamy, open-mouthed kisses that were all teeth and tongue and desperation as he began to rut against Fíli. Kíli’s hands trailed down Fíli’s sides, the rough pads of his thumbs straying to a dusky nipple from time to time. The temptation of Fíli’s collar bone was too great, and soon Kíli found himself sucking dark reminders of their carnal relations into the taut, tanned flesh.

Fíli was reeling from the rapid assault on his body, bucking up against his brother, seeking harder contact. Mahal, but it had been a long time since he had found himself beneath the young archer, and he found he had missed it, so much so he was almost made dizzy by his need.

Hands were in Kíli’s wild hair, holding on for dear life as he threw his head back with a long, low groan.

“Kíli,” he gasped out, the word edged with heavy need. Yanking the younger back up for a scorching press of lips and teeth, Fíli licked his way into Kíli’s mouth, f*cking the moist cavern with his tongue as they moved against each other. The blond felt his own release coming on quickly and he shook with the effort of trying to stave it off.

”Oh no, you don’t,” Kíli ground out, suddenly sitting back up and off his brother. The most wicked idea crept into his mind.

With dark eyes that were slowly half-lidded and a mischievous grin tugged at his lips, the brunette brought one of his fingers up to his mouth, dipping it in and making a show of swirling his tongue around it until it was thoroughly coated. He noted with a great deal of satisfaction that, as he deftly untied the lacings on Fíli’s pants, the blonde had already lifted his hips into the air to aid in their removal.

Kíli dragged the trousers down, removing and tossing them with little care behind him. The sight of that burning, throbbing co*ck that was ready and waiting for him made his mouth water, but he resisted that particular urge for the moment.

“This time, you’ll be the one waiting for me.” His voice was thick and husky and rumbled in his chest, and the archer thought he could see a slight blush spread across his elder’s cheeks. With a low laugh he mercilessly drove his slicked digit into his brother, stilling it there to deny the blonde the sensation he craved.

Fíli bit back a scream at the sudden intrusion, though he wasn’t successful in stopping all noises from escaping. Aulë, it had truly been a long time since Kíli had taken him, just the one digit already causing discomfort.

But his brother had brushed his prostate on the slide in, and that had him panting and seeing stars for several seconds. Blinking up at the sky, Fíli moaned loudly as he tried to f*ck himself on the archer’s finger, gritting his teeth as the imp held his hips down with his free hand.

The blond turned his blue eyes to meet Kíli’s gaze, a light glare furrowing his brow. He needed more, but if the brunette expected him to beg, he would have to do better than that.

Kíli only grinned further. Fíli was so very much like their uncle. Even when they wanted others to be in charge they could still wear a face that said ‘I could do better.’ This was going to be so much fun.

His co*ck throbbed, bringing a low growl and grit teeth from the usually light-heated brunette. Only Fíli had ever seen him in this way outside of battle, had seen him so ready and willing to take charge and love every second of it. He slid his finger out of his brother’s core tortuously slow, giving his puckered entrance a quick, teasing swirl before invading again with a forceful shove. Even with only one finger, the tight ring of muscle gripped him snug. He would have to take his time get Fíli ready.

He felt a twinge of guilt to see his brother flinch when he reentered and began an easy rhythm. Two strokes in to adjust the muscle tension, his finger crooking to brush Fíli’s neglected prostate on the third stroke, before repeating the motions.

Fíli would never grow tired of seeing his brother so fierce, so determined in proving himself as a dominant bed partner. By the stars, did the blond thoroughly enjoy his successful efforts. Though these couplings were few and far between, they always left both brothers reeling and breathless, their minds blanked out by pleasure. It was always an intense experience, and perhaps that is why they did it this way so little.

As the old saying went, too much of a good thing…

Coherent thought was scattered in the wind when Kíli nudged his prostate, pulling a sob from his throat. Fíli wanted to move, wanted his brother’s finger to keep hitting there, oh gods, yes there!

It took Fíli a few breathless seconds to realize he had spoken those words aloud, and it was only the brunette’s smug grin that clued him in. The swordsman gnashed his teeth against the rest of the babbling pleas that were on the tip of his tongue and slammed his eyes shut.

He desperately needed more than just one finger. This was barely enough to tease him.

“I’m not made of glass,” he gritted out, the final word ending with a whimpering scream as Kíli’s fingertip pressed against his prostate, massaging the bundle of nerves.

The words that slipped through his brother’s grit teeth ignited him. It was a surge of lust so forceful he felt as if someone had slammed their fist to his gut. He could almost feel his voice of reason slipping away, the nagging little voice that constantly reminded the archer of how surely delicate Fíli would be as he was very seldom on the receiving end.

With a feral growl, baring his teeth like some wild animal, he sunk in another digit, now pegging his brother’s prostate mercilessly while his free hand captured the base of Fíli co*ck in a vice-grip. He was often made to suffer his brothers hand in this way, to feel the build of ecstasy only for it to be dashed away…it was time for Fíli to have a taste of his own medicine.

Before Fíli could protest, and with his fingers still firmly calmed around his brother to ensure his stasis, the archer roughly withdrew his finger, dipping down as he lifted Fíli’s thighs up and over his shoulders so that his knees hooked at the crown. He descended upon him without hesitation, his tongue rushing to the loosened orifice and lathing it mercilessly.

The blond was fairly certain he was losing his mind at the pleasure his brother sent coursing through his body. That wicked tongue of his spearing into him, licking at him, and those lips suckling at the most intimate part of him. He clamped his thighs around his brother’s head as shivers shot through his body, the rasp of Kíli’s stubble against the sensitive flesh or his rear further unraveling his mind. Mahal, it was no wonder Kíli enjoyed receiving this act so much. For a few delirious moments, Fíli was sure that if for the rest of his life, he was brought to climax on Fíli’s wicked tongue in his arse alone, he would die a happy dwarf.

He was loud, no longer attempting to silence his cries, especially after the first blocked org*sm had him gagging on the corner of a blanket he’d been using to try and muffle his cries. Now he was mewling whor*ishly, one hand tangled in his brother’s hair, the other gripping the hand wrapped around his co*ck. He wanted the obstruction gone, but at the same time languished in the rising, but never piquing pleasure.

And now his voice was breaking around his cries, and he vaguely realized that he had been shouting and begging the archer, needy in his delirium. By the stars and everything that was sacred, he needed to come, and he needed Kíli’s co*ck buried so deeply inside him, Fíli would feel him there for weeks.

He wanted—no, needed to feel the ache and burn of his brother’s girth tomorrow as they continued their journey, and the day after that, and again the next day.

Kíli’s devilish tongue flitted about, teasing every inch of the sensitive flesh it could reach. He brother was unraveling in his arms, and by Durin’s beard, if he didn’t have to stave off his brothers org*sm he would be feverishly working his prick until he reached his own. What a sight…the golden son of Durin, first in line for the throne…and he had him, thighs spread and begging for relief.

Once again the world was a haze of warmth, but through that haze the burglar could hear something. Something dark, something secret…Bilbo squinted against the sun, trying to find the source of the wavering sounds, and he pushed himself up against the log that lay behind him.

Hazel eyes opened impossibly wide at the sight the greeted him: Kíli’s face buried between Fíli’s legs, and Fíli with mouth agape and keening. The sight sent a surge through him, a feeling that tickled up his spine and made him buzz with electricity. Everything felt so warm all of a sudden. And the sounds the elder prince was making…by the stars, did that send a sharp spike of heat to his groin.

He slumped against the log, still half covered in Thorin’s furs, the earthy scent drifting up with the breeze and arousing him further. A hand slid carefully down to his quickly filling member, palming it slowly through the layers of clothes.

He certainly hadn’t expected this…but his body had already let him knowit’sexpectations, and no one was around…why pass it up?

As another org*sm surged up and was held back by Kíli’s sure grip, Fíli lost all strength in his limbs and let his arms fall to the ground at his sides. This was too good, too much, and he needed to come so bad he couldn’t see straight. The sky was spinning above them, his sight fading to white around the edges as the tension in his gut grew again.

Making little, aborted half-thrusts against his brother’s mouth, he spoke his pleasure in heavy, panting breaths. His voice was stripped, almost shattered already and the archer hadn’t even f*cked him yet. His eyes rolled back, and he gasped out more words that he wasn’t completely sure were any language his brother would understand.

Kíli was pleased with the dribbling mess he had reduced the blonde to, noting with satisfaction his greedily twitching and weeping erection. The tight hole he speared his tongue against was much more pliant, ready and willing and the archer was only happy to oblige. While sat on his haunches, Kíli dropped his brother into his lap with a grunt, adjusting himself until his thick co*ck lined with Fíli’s tight entrance. With no small amount of effort he sunk into to Fíli’s core without warning, ensuring he held fast to the blonde’s member with one hand and the slope of his hip with the other. He pressed in slowly, brushing along that bundle of nerves that he knew all too well could wipe a dwarf’s mind blank. It was like a vice, tight and blindingly hot andoh it was so damn good. Kíli was starting to understand his brother’s appreciation for topping so often.

“You want this co*ck?”, Kíli ground out, his teeth ferociously hooking his bottom lip, the moans escaping his usually contained brother pushing him close to his own release. He thrust into him once, growling low, stilling himself when he was up to the hilt inside of Fíli. “I wanna hear you say it!”

Bilbo was carefully drawing in breaths from parted lips, his soft tongue gliding over them in a way that he hoped would soothe his desire. He had quickly undid his trousers, that greedy hand dipping under his small clothes to grip his searing erection and stroke firmly. He shuddered, forcing himself to keep a slow and even pace, until he watched as the brunette sank balls-deep in his brother, the most amazing noises and seductive words spilling from their lips. Bilbo gulped hard, his thumb gliding over the head of his co*ck to catch the bead of moisture, spreading it down over his glans in a move that made a desperate whimper escape him. He simply could not look away.

Fíli was locked in a sharp arc of his back as his body was invaded, eyes wide but unseeing. As Kíli’s thick rod settled inside him, the blond moaned filthily, mouth gaping as he tried to blink away hot tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes.

Gods, why didn’t he do this more often? The burning stretch of his hole around the scorching co*ck of his brother was a pleasure incomparable to any other, especially with the way Kíli knew to slide in at just the right angle. The continued pressure against his prostate was mind-numbing, pulling a sharp sob from him when the stimulation let off.

When Kíli bottomed out, filthy words dripping from his lips and savage teeth biting into his lip, the world came crashing against the blond, his sense of sight flooding back and his hearing, and he realized he was whining. Durin’s beard, he was bloody whining for his brother’s throbbing prick to f*ck him into oblivion.

“Yes,” he whimpered quietly before shouting, “Yes, gods, yes! Brother, please—ah!—I want it!”

Kíli came undone, an animalistic growl erupting from him as he began a tortuous pace. He slammed himself repeatedly into that fantastic body, the body that could be so comforting one moment and so arousing the next. He couldn’t stop himself at this point, so far gone in his own passion, his own need creeping up on him; he was f*cking his brother open with reckless abandon.

“That’s right, you f*cking love this co*ck, don’t you?” Kíli ground out as his fingers dug mercilessly into his brothers hip, puling the blonde's body down to meet him thrust for thrust. He dug his nails in, the sharp pressure used to emphasize his word.

“You want me fill this arse up, don’t you?” He was slowly forgetting himself, allowing the words to tumble sloppily from his lips as he lost himself to passion. Through his haze he heard something in the background, something like the breath hitching in someone’s throat, and what was this he saw?Oh my.

Kíli met Bilbo’s gaze, at first shocked to see the sated expression there, then swelling with pride to see the bobbing of the furs that covered his lap. He didn’t let his eyes leave the hobbit now, his tongue slicking his lips seductively as he continued on.

“You want it too?”, he breathed, his grin tugging up. And the sputtering moan the cute little burglar gave him…by Aulë, what a temptation.

Bilbo wanted to stop. He could feel the most embarrassing heat rising in his flesh, showing red against his will. He could also feel the mighty throb his co*ck gave in his hand as Kíli acknowledged him. He wanted him to watch…he wanted to watch him in return…

Bilbo was only left to shiver from frustration, a part of him wanting desperately to go and join the pair, the rest of him settling on pulling Thorin away from camp later.

Thorin stood in his place by the stream where he had been watching his Company goof around while working. They were relishing in the break, and it did wonders for morale. The son was now high above them, marking the time at nearly noon. Bilbo will have rested by now, and the dwarves would be hungry soon. With a smirk, Thorin decided that slipping back to camp a bit early for a bit of fun with the hobbit before the Company wanted lunch was a very good idea.

He walked purposefully through the woods, and it was a longer walk than the one he and Bilbo had taken the night before. To make sure his hobbit got enough sleep, the dwarf had led the Company further down the stream so their laughter wouldn’t be too loud and wake the poor hobbit.

So lost was he in his imaginings of Bilbo coming undone under his hands, he didn’t notice the racket coming from the camp until he was able to see it.

“Aulë,” he gasped out, pausing just inside the tree line as he took in the sight of his nephews, obviously f*cking, though Fíli was underneath the younger and completely incoherent.

Blue eyes were fluttering as wrecked moans slipped through slackened lips, his bearded face a portrait of pure bliss as Kíli thrust into him brutally. The brunette’s hair was a mess, knotted and wild, dripping with sweat as it hung between him and his older brother. Determination and hunger mixed in his youthful face, sending heat pulsing into Thorin’s length.

By the stars, the king was sure nothing could make this scene more perfect until he noticed his hobbit watching with rapt, desperate attention, his hand moving beneath the furs.

“Feel free to join us next time.”

“On the condition that you bring your delicious little burglar along, too.”

He remembered the mischievous duo’s words, and if the need on Bilbo’s face was anything to go by, well…this just opened up a world of possibilities.

Without any further thought, the dwarven king strode up to the log his hobbit sat against and dropped onto it, his thighs bracketing the small creature. Before Bilbo could react, he was pulled into Thorin’s lap, and the furs fell away to reveal his perfect co*ck and the soft hand working himself.

“You like watching my nephew’s f*ck?” he growled into Bilbo’s ear, nibbling it lightly as he pressed the hard line of his own erection into the curve of his hobbit’s pert rump.

Kíli barely noticed his uncle’s imposing form, his chocolate eyes still too focused on Bilbo’s enraptured gaze, but he couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped him as Thorin took a seat on the log the hobbit had propped himself against.

He regarded the hobbit familiarly now, something that warmed the archer thoroughly. As the fur covers slipped away to reveal the hobbit’s hearty and frankly surprising member, Kíli licked his lips once more, his submissive side tugging at him to take that delicious member into his mouth and coax that hobbit into giving him a drink. But Thorin had his arms holding the halfling close, fingers fanned and caressing the milky skin. While Thorin looked positively heated, Kíli could make out another emotion in that familiar gaze; possessiveness.

Bilbo responded with a surprised yelp as he had been hoisted onto Thorin’s lap, his muscles tensing as he pressed back into him, the hard line of the kings erection pressing into his sensitive backside. Soon enough though he melted, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth to keep himself in check, resisting every urge he had to spin in the dwarf’s lap and satisfy himself with a shameless kiss. He simply nodded, unable to answer as he clenched his jaw.

Fíli whined as the rhythm was thrown off, his prostate no longer being nailed on each thrust and the pace slowing down. The world around him returned, and he blinked his watering eyes up at Kíli. When his eyesight refocused, he saw that Kíli wasn’t looking at him with that painfully aroused expression.

Making a distressed sound, Fíli tipped his head back and gasped at the sight of Thorin and the hobbit seated together on a log only a handful of feet away.

His first reaction was mortification, not at being watched, but that Thorin was watching this. Watching his heir submit so wantonly to his younger brother. Watching the dwarf that was to be King Under the Mountain after he beg for co*ck like a cheap whor*.

Then Thorin’s heated gaze met his, and the blond moaned. His uncle was enjoying this, enjoyed watching him, and his blue eyes went wilder at the sound that escaped Fíli’s throat. With that knowledge, Fíli shoved back his insecurity and turned his attention back to his younger brother.

“Kíli,” he whimpered, wrapping his legs around the brunette’s slender waist and thrust up against his brother. “Please, harder.”

Thorin hissed at Fíli’s whimpering tone, his co*ck pulsing against his hobbit’s perfect little rump. He rutted against it slowly, dangerously close to tipping over the edge, what with Bilbo on his lap and his nephew’s writhing together on the ground. He slid one hand down to stroke the Halfling’s co*ck, shivering at the delicate weight of it in his calloused palm.

“Mahal,” he groaned, breath puffing against Bilbo’s ear and cheek.

“You would like to join them, wouldn’t you? Watching isn’t enough for you, is it?” the king gasped out, the movements of his pelvis against Bilbo becoming stronger and more determined, and he prayed silently that he wasn’t merely projecting his own perverse desires on his hobbit.

But by Aulë, the three of them would be a gorgeous sight to behold.

Kíli responded instantly Fíli wrapping his legs about his waist, pulling the brunette deeper once more. With a grunt that wrapped into a husky laugh Kíli began his assault once more, gripping the base of the blondes co*ck firmly as he began to mercilessly stab at his sweet spot. The way Fíli writhed and moaned and begged, the fire in his uncles eyes, the helpless Bilbo that was being attended to by said uncle…Mahal help him, he would willingly loose his mind and be slave to these pleasures if he could.

Kíli caught Thorin’s eyes once more before he looked to Bilbo, his lust seeming to radiate off of him. That beautiful, soft, tight little body had tempted him from the first night, the night when they nearly destroyed Bag End. The archer licked his lips as he watched Thorin’s hand moving obscenely over Bilbo’s length. The hobbit had slipped down into his uncle’s lap and let his legs relax and spread wide. He could see the irritated hole that Thorin had abused last night, could see it and instantly wanted it for himself.

“You want this, hobbit?”, he ground out, his dark smile only growing as Fíli continually moaned for him, slamming into the blonde again and again. “I’d bugger you ‘till you couldn’t remember your own name.” His voice was deep, dark, almost warning. “I’d have you begging for this co*ck, just like mykâzash.”

Bilbo was helpless under Thorin’s talented hands, shuddering gasps and breathy moans escaping him. It wasn’t until Kíli’s eyes were locked with his once more, such vulgar suggestions pouring from those tempting lips that made him tense in Thorin’s lap. His jaw fell slack, each muscle tightening as he could feel his release building, one hand flying up and over his shoulder to tangle in Thorin’s raven tendrils, the other to one of the muscular thighs that bracketed his own. “O-Oh gods…”

Thorin snarled at his nephew’s words, eyes flashing as he pressed his lips to Bilbo’s neck just below the ear. Mine, his mind roared at the idea of Kíli f*cking his hobbit as thoroughly as he was doing Fíli. Mine, he thought as he bit the flesh of the Halfling’s throat and sucked a deep purple mark, tongue lathing the abused skin.

Mine. He met Kíli’s eyes at that final thought, a warning in the set of his brow as he marked his hobbit further, biting bruises into his shoulders and neck.

The hand tangling in his hair derailed his jealous thoughts, the tug and yank of that little hand calming him. His Bilbo was desperate for him, mewling for him, and even now, Thorin could make out his name in the garbled mess of words tumbling out of the hobbit in a whisper.

The anger left him as he moaned, the fire in his eyes dying and he relaxed back into the pleasure of the hobbit fairly bouncing in his lap. The Halfling was his, and as he thought now of Kíli taking him and making him scream, only a tightening in his chest gave away his jealousy. The heat it sent careening down his spine, however, far outweighed any misgivings.

“You want that,” Thorin growled thickly into Bilbo’s ear, and he groaned as the hobbit shifted his hips back and pressed just right against the tent in his trousers. He thrust against the warm body, his release rapidly approaching.

With his unoccupied hand, he fondled the Halfling’s sac, rolling the balls in his palm before sneaking a finger down further to massage the sensitive perineum. He was careful not to stray too close to Bilbo’s entrance, not wishing to cause any more discomfort for his lover.

“You want him to take you, rough like this, while I watch,” Thorin ground out through clenched teeth. “He’d make you scream for me, my hobbit.”

Bilbo Baggins had experienced many things in his life but nothing he had ever lived through could prepare him for his current circ*mstance. He watched with baited breath as two of the most handsome dwarves in middle earth went at it like rabbits, all while being stroked to completion by aking. Gandalf hadn’t been kidding when he had told the hobbit he would have a tale or two to tell of his own when he returned to his peaceful Shire.

Through all the haze and heat and calloused hands teasing him in just the right ways Bilbo stilled for a moment. His breath came out it short puffs, his hazel eyes unseeing with brow knitted…would he want to return to the Shire at the end of all this? Surely Thorin, having reclaimed his throne would have absolutely no interest in doing so…would he have to choose between a place that he loved, or a—

With a shake of his head the hobbit cut himself off, noticing how Thorin had seemed to tense behind him. He tried to shift in the man’s lap, awkward with how wide his thighs were spread, craning his neck and reaching to quell his worries with a kiss from the dwarf.

“And what about you?” he whispered, only a hairs gap away from the dwarves lips. Though he knew that over the grunts and lusty cries coming from the pair only a few feet away he wouldn’t likely be heard, he wanted these words to be for Thorin’s ears only.

“I thought you wanted to make me scream…” Bilbo’s gaze lowered to Thorin’s lips, then back up to those stormy orbs, his tongue darting out briefly to wet his own in anticipation.

Kíli could feel Fíli squeezing around him desperately, could hear the garbled pleas spilling from the blondes mouth in mixes of Westron and Khuzdul. The level he had reduced the swordsman to was incredibly intoxicating, wanting to follow his further into the depths of this wicked pleasure.

“You are close…”, the archer breathed out in harsh Khuzdul, his voice gritty from all of the grunting and groaning his throat had endured. “Beg…”

Fíli screamed, eyes rolling back at the growled words while his back arched. By Aulë, it was delicious when his brother would slip into their native tongue. He thrust his hips up, meeting each harsh slap against his arse desperately as he let his pleas slip from his tongue.

“Please, Brother! Please let me come, please,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper as his voice refused to cooperate after so long of being abused. “Please, please, please. I need you to—ah!—I need you to come, too!”

Thorin was lost in the sounds of his nephew coming unhinged and the breath of his hobbit against his lips, and gods the scent of them in the air. The king was quickly losing himself, but he needed Bilbo to come first, he needed to know his hobbit was well taken care of before he could take his pleasure.

He pressed his lips down against Bilbo’s, the angle awkward and their teeth knocking slightly, but it was exactly what Thorin needed. The way his nephew’s had turned the hobbit on, and riled him up, yet still he turned to Thorin…dangerous thoughts filled the king’s mind before he shoved them back. Such heavy thoughts were best to leave until after he was done rutting against the tailbone of his pliant and whimpering lover.

It was a lingering, passionate press of lips and slide of tongues, despite the difficulties presented by the position, but they both succumbed to the pleasure of it. Neither was silent, both dwarf and hobbit groaning and sighing into the other’s mouth as they rapidly approached their org*sms. Very suddenly, Bilbo tensed, his entire frame shuddering in Thorin’s arms with a strangle cry.

He was holding back his release, and that was no good for Thorin.

Pulling away a fraction, he groaned before whispering low enough that only the exquisite creature squirming in his lap could hear, “Then scream for me. Let go. I have you.”

Kíli had allowed his eye to wander only once, only for the briefest moment to see Bilbo and Thorin entirely fixated on each other. It tugged at his pride, but only for a moment as he was brought crashing back to Fíli pinned beneath him.

Mahal, if he didn’t look wrecked; mouth lulling opening and lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and dark, usually well-kempt golden locks strewn about and tangled, his braids coming undone and loose from their beads.

It was perfect.

The brunette let out a fierce growl, his hand moving swiftly to pump at Fíli’s neglected co*ck, his hips a piston as he relentlessly plowed into his elder.

“Come for me,âzyungâl,” he roared as he felt himself tumble into oblivion.

He threw his head back, eyes screwed shut as he was overcome with the most violent org*sm he could remember, his fingers digging so harshly into the tanned flesh of Fíli’s hip that pools of blood blossomed beneath the skin, giving way to deep purple bruises from his fingertips. He could feel his co*ck pulsing deep inside of the blonde as he spilled his seed, and was overcome with satisfaction as he could feel heat spill over his fist from the blondes throbbing shaft.

Bilbo had glanced at the brothers once more, but the flush it painted him with, from the tips of his ears and down to the supple skin of his chest, signaled how very embarrassed and exposed it made him feel to watch such an erotic scene. He instead focused wholly on Thorin, his words so comforting and arousing all the same time.

“I…o-oh Thorin, I-I’m—” He cut himself short as he crested, his whining giving way to helpless whimpers as his org*sm began to claim him. He thrust desperately into the circle of the king’s hand, his hands tangling once again to tug at Thorin’s hair as his org*sm crashed through him. He obeyed, opening his mouth, his voice cracking as he called Thorin’s name into the wind as if it would save him from this pleasurable torture.

White hot ropes shot from him, landing quite to Bilbo’s later embarrassment all over his own chest and even his face, a few stray drops dangling suggestively from his lower lip. His breath came in ragged pants, his throat stripped from screaming Thorin’s name.

The king moaned long and loud as his hobbit came spectacularly, his hand’s leaving Bilbo’s sensitized genitals to grip his hips tightly. Holding him there, Thorin rutted viciously against the halfling’s perfect rump.

The milky pearls of liquid that dappled Bilbo’s chin and lips had Thorin growling as he reclaimed the warm little mouth. The small taste of his lover’s cum had the dwarf shuddering through his org*sm, the suddenness almost more overwhelming than its intensity. He was growling out declarations in Khuzdul as he tumbled into absolute incoherency, and it took everything he had to remain seated on the log. As he came down from his high, and ignoring the annoyance his soiled trousers brought him, he wrapped his arms around Bilbo with a soft sigh, deliberately smearing his hands through the mess on the hobbit’s chest.

On the ground, Fíli drifted back into consciousness (Durin’s beard, he had actually been buggered senseless. For a delirious moment, he thought of how insufferably co*cky Kíli would be from now on), a chagrined flush coming to his cheeks as his dazed mind tried to process everything again. There was still a softening co*ck inside him, sliding slightly in his slick hole as he panted for breath. It was slightly unpleasant, but Fíli enjoyed the closeness far too much to complain.

He looked up at his brother, the younger staring down at him, dark eyes concerned, and his sweaty, tangled hair falling down around them in a curtain, hiding their faces from their unexpected audience. Kíli’s mouth was gaping with his heavy breaths, tongue flickering out to wet his lips every few seconds. The archer’s mouth was moving, and Fíli realized his brother had spoken.

“Fíli, are you okay?” the younger asked, his voice raspy and edged with worry.

The blond smiled, dazed, and lifted a hand to cup his brother’s cheek softly. “Kiss me, you idiot.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Thorin called the Company to a halt at about midday, everyone grateful for the break. They had all been roused in the early morning, the sun not even breaching the horizon, and the pace was pushed to attempt to make up for the day off they had taken. Most had grumbled over being forced to eat a cold breakfast on their ponies, but did as they were told. Fíli just looked miserable to be on his pony, regardless of the time, and Kíli seemed terribly smug.

“Stretch your legs,” he ordered as he dismounted, eyes scanning the immediate area. “Eat. We continue in an hour.”

His eyes found Bilbo, standing a few yards away and chatting with Bofur while he happily munched on an apple. His tinkling laughter reached Thorin, and the dwarf could feel a warmth bubble up in his chest at the sound.

Quickly, that heat moved south as he watched Bilbo’s tongue flicker out to catch a drop of juice that streaked down his chin. The halfling absentmindedly swiped at the juice and sucked his fingers into his mouth as he listened to Bofur go on about birds, or trees, or whatever it was the dwarf found interesting in that moment.

Thorin was rock hard and wanting.

It was a physical need to have the Halfling, something Thorin had never quite experienced before with a lover. But even yesterday, as they had hurriedly tidied (Fíli requiring quite a bit of assistance from his brother), Thorin found himself stealing kisses from the hobbit, wishing terribly to clean the mess on his chest with his tongue. By the time the Company was returning to camp, the king was ready to drag his hobbit into the woods and have his way with the tiny creature again.

That night was torturous, to have the object of his desire pressed flush to his body, but lacking the time, energy, and privacy to do anything.

He’d had several lovers in the past, and a few he had been especially physically attracted to, but never had he felt this pull. Not for years, back when he had begun to feel desire for the flesh. With Bilbo, he couldn’t get enough.

Bofur walked away from Bilbo to go join his brother and cousin, leaving the hobbit standing at the edge of the group alone, and before Thorin realized he was doing it, he was stalking forward and grabbing Bilbo’s hand.

“Come with me,” he requested, leading his lover just inside the tree line and barely out of sight of the group of dwarves. Crowding the hobbit against a tree, he cupped Bilbo’s chin and cheeks in his large hands and lowered his head to press a firm, searching kiss to the hobbit’s lips.

Bilbo had slowly been learning of the stubbornness of dwarves on this seemingly endless journey, but he had not ever wondered about the thick-headed or lusty natures that they also seemed prone to.

He had been sharing light-hearted conversation with one of the few members of the company he could easily call friend and not fear offense, but when the pig-tailed dwarf strayed away to his kin Bilbo found himself being tugged away impatiently by his new-found lover. The halfling followed willingly, albeit confused. They had barely moved, naught but ten paces away from where Bilbo had been standing on the edges on the group, when Thorin pinned him to a tree and sought his lips impatiently.

Bilbo made a squeak, his face heating instantly as he thought he had heard a lull in the once bustle group, as if they had all stopped and stared. The burglar balled his fists against Thorin’s chest, pushing back against the strong frame that had him pinned. When Thorin persisted, his tongue flicking out against Bilbo’s lips to demand entrance, pushing their way through to tantalize the moist cavern of Bilbo’s mouth, the hobbit resorted to shaking his head furiously.

This seemed to get the king’s attention, as he broke the waning touch with a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, something low and warning. Bilbo was shaking ever so slightly, his brow furrowed angrily, somewhat afraid of his emboldened lover’s lust and just exactly what dwarves found acceptable as far as privacy was concerned. Even with his Tookish tendencies, Bilbo had his limits. Not to mention his Tookish side seemed to flea him completely and all that was left was his Baggins blood screaming at him.

“Have some restraint!”, Bilbo hissed, glancing over his shoulder, noting with no small amount of embarrassment the snigg*ring coming from the other side of the pine. He returned his hurt glare to Thorin, his face dyed a fiery red. He looked as if he were about to cry.

“We can’t keep acting like love-sick teens! We’re grown and we— well it’s just— we can’t—impropriety!” he stuttered, his shoulders tense with his tightly balled fists moving from the dwarf’s chest to his sides.

Thorin was taken aback by the hobbit’s resistance, though he still took a step back at the sight of tears in Bilbo’s eyes. Frustration filled him at being denied, as well as shame at his earlier persistence. He could hear the snickers from his Company and wanted nothing more than to go throttle the lot.

It would seem hobbits weren’t as carnal as dwarves, though admittedly, not many races were.

But Bilbo’s words cut him deeper than he would like to admit. Having what they had shared and that Thorin was reluctantly allowing himself to feel, equated to something some idiotic tween would call love…? Especially with Bilbo’s admission of his virginity, and the importance he had placed on it. And questioning his propriety, as if he would do something considered indecent (his voyeuristic tendencies with his nephews excluded) with so much on the line. Even merely suggesting any part of his culture was remotely improper was offensive in and of itself.

It had his compassion rushing out of him as he took a full step away and releasing the hobbit completely. Thorin was still painfully aroused, and he cursed it. Rejection, on any level, was not something he was accustomed to, and it would be so much easier if he could stop being so attracted to the infuriating creature in front of him.

“You raise an excellent point, Master Baggins,” he said stiffly as he straightened. “We don’t have time for such dalliances, what with reclaiming my kingdom on my mind, and returning to Bag End constantly on yours.”

As Thorin closed his sentence Bilbo felt something snap.

His jaw shut with an audible clack of teeth, his mouth set in a passive thin line, but his eyes burned with a fury that very few had ever seen in a Shireling. His quivering framed stilled eerily, the pair of soft hazel orbs filled with rage he didn’t know he contained or was capable of.

Drag him behind a tree and try to snog him silly with all of his mates watching for a good laugh, and this man has the nerve to be spiteful withhim?Heaven help Thorin Oakenshield.

“Oh,” Bilbo began curtly, his voice seething with a coldness that the dwarf, or any other member of their party for that matter, had never heard before. The halfling’s icy stare reflected his tone.

“I see. Well then, if we’re quite through here, I’d very much like to sort myself out before we’re back on the road,” he continued coldly, his expression like stone, an unreadable mask that he wouldn’t dare crack and show how deeply the king’s words had cut him.

“After all, as you so easily stated, the sooner this is finished the sooner I can return home. I would hate towaste anymore of your time.”

To the hobbit’s dismay, he could feel his voice crack ever so slightly as he put emphasis on the word, so he turned on his heel without another word, skirting around the edge of the group to his pony, eyes fixed on it as he made for the steed.

He would spend the remainder of their break seated on a stump next to Myrtle, absently brushing her coat, if only to keep himself from crying.

The tension in the party was palpable when Thorin returned close to an hour later and ordered everyone back onto their mounts. There was a bite to his tone that left everyone scrambling to do as they were told, and soon enough they were back on the road.

The king pushed them, the pace hard and long, until the sun had almost set, and they had only stopped by Gandalf’s intervention. Claiming it was unsafe to travel further in the dark of night, the old wizard had gained the immediate agreement of the rest of the Company. Thorin was halfway tempted to continue on alone, if only to avoid seeing the hobbit so crestfallen.

He had regretted his words the moment they had left his mouth. When the halfling had walked away, Thorin could do nothing but stand there in stunned horror at his frustrated words, and the effect they had taken on his gentle hobbit.

For three-quarters of an hour, the dwarf stood there, ashamed of himself, yet still injured by Bilbo’s own words, wrestling with himself to go apologize to the small creature, to beg forgiveness, to do anything he had to in order to fix this mess he had made.

The hurt won out, and kings did not beg for anything. The hobbit was clearly embarrassed by their relations, and in a way it was true that they hadn’t the time to indulge in such reckless distractions. This was proof enough that emotions can get to tangled up, and on such a dangerous journey, where either of them could end up grievously injure, or worse dead—

That thought stopped him cold, an icy knife of dread plunging into his chest. It was that thought that pushed him into movement again. They would complete this journey, he would reclaim his kingdom, and the hobbit could return home to Bag End where he would be safe. They shouldn’t have coerced him into coming in the first place. Thorin would keep himself closed off from the hobbit; he had to, if only to make sure he wasn’t too distracted to keep them all safe. At the time, as he had returned to the Company, he figured the halfling’s anger and hate would be easy enough to handle.

Now, as he subtly watched Bilbo cook their dinner, he came to realize he’d been wrong. The hobbit was not smiling as he usually did, was not humming, his usual bounce completely gone. He looked heavy, and Thorin had to look away. Shame and guilt began to bubble up again, but once again his indignation and own hurt returned to tamp those emotions down.

Mahal, and if his nephew’s weren’t insufferably perceptive, with their knowing looks that quickly turned disapproving.

Bilbo supped alone, being sure to sit well behind the brothers Nori, Dori and Ori. He faced the opposite direction, happily ignored as the party took their meal and regaled stories of times past. He had caught Gandalf’s knowing, misty blue gaze more than once, the wizard doing him the kindness of sitting with him for a time after the meal to smoke, their pipes puffing in tandem as each blew smoke rings into the night. He would not look back. He would not meet the smoldering pair of eyes that he could feel bore into him every now and again. Bilbo had had enough ofthatparticular dwarf for the day.

He was the first to volunteer when Bofur began taking their bowls to the stream to clean, carrying what the toymaker couldn’t balance and toting them off into the night. He balanced his own easily enough, though he felt as if something weighed him down, his feet dragging as though he had spent their trek on foot alone. He also kept his pipe well packed and lit, the stem clamped between his teeth, the ember showing cherry red in the darkness as the pair made their away from the company.

He was glad again for the cheery company of the dwarf, nodding along with the occasional “Yes” and “I see”, if only to keep the toymaker rambling. Between the two of them the washing up went quickly, and before Bilbo wished it they were tromping back for the camp. Once again, thanks to the kindly old wizard that had pulled him into the mishap of and adventure, Bilbo didn’t have to stray into the circle of dwarves. Gandalf took his load of dishes with a smile and a nod, thanking him for his hard work, so that Bilbo could get back to smoking his pipe in private. The sky was still such a beautiful sight, even when his chest ached painfully, and he was left with his thoughts. All of his earlier insecurities, all of the doubts and hateful words that had filled his mind, they were all returning and berating him endlessly.

‘Fool of a Took. Shame your name and belief in such fairy tales, well this should teach you a thing or two.’

Then there was a familiar pressure of a knee bumping his companionably, heat at his side, and he startled from his thoughts to see Kíli seated next to him on the ground. Legs crossed and digging through the folds of his tunic, he produced his own pipe and match as Fíli came up to his other side and framed him.

They were silent. Something about the subtle gesture of comfort, something about their understanding, tugged hard at Bilbo’s heart, making a painfully uncomfortable lump jump in his throat. He tried to swallow it down to no avail, his tears stinging with frustration.

“Hard day,” Kíli murmured as he passed his lit match to Fíli so the blonde could light his own leaf.

“Mmm,” Fíli muttered in agreement as he lit his pipe, puffing for a few quiet moments as he kept his blue eyes on the hobbit next to him. “It’s nice to sit and relax after such a long ride. Days like this are enough to make anybody’s temper short.”

Belatedly, he saw the tears in the halfling’s eyes and he cursed quietly to himself as his words had the opposite effect he had been hoping for. Slinging an arm around Bilbo’s back, he pulled the tiny thing close for a moment before releasing the hobbit. He hoped his gesture was comforting, as it was intended to be, not wanting to upset Bilbo further.

“We will sleep well tonight,” Fíli continued calmly, a smile on his lips. “Tomorrow should be better, you’ll see.”

Bilbo sucked in a hard, deep breath through his nose, willing the tears to recede. He felt foolish for placing so much stock on what had clearly meant little to a dwarf. He cursed his own foolishness and swore to himself then he wouldn’t bother with any more of these useless emotions, lest he make a bigger arse of himself.

“I do hope so.”, he agreed quietly, taking a particularly long drag from his pipe in the hopes of calming his nerves. What he wouldn’t give for a whiff of Old Toby right now. To melt away and forget the things around, simply be consumed by a clouded mind and the purple smoke that would fill his lungs. No such luck for the halfling this night, however.

The expression he wore was still quite grim, though Fíli had managed to tug a smile from the supportive gesture. Kíli’s hand was now resting on Bilbo’s knee, fingers fanned and relaxed, another sign of silent support from the princely brothers.

Nori was to take first watch, he could hear Thorin announce gruffly, signaling that it was time for the party to take their rest. He had kept his pack close to him all throughout the evening, making it quite clear to anyone with eyes that he would, once again, be taking his slumber alone and a small distance from the company.

Bilbo tapped out his ash and ember, patting the bright ball of light with the thick soles of his feet, before bidding the brothers good night. The burglar threw out his bedroll, producing his now weathered and thin cotton blanket, and laid down without another word.

He stared into the darkness as the noise behind him began to dwindle, eyes searching the constellations, connecting the dots as he would with his mother when he was a babe. So many thoughts still ran about his mind, like a heard of wild stallions tromping and trotting and stamping their hooves vigorously, refusing to let his mind find peace in the silence of the night.

As the brothers stripped out of their heavy coats, Fíli looked over at the lonely hobbit so far away from the group. It pained him to see the tiny ball under a thin blanket, and he was loath to leave him there alone. Gathering up his pack, he nodded to Kíli with a vague motion toward the halfling and made his way across camp.

The hobbit was in agony, that much was easy to see, and if Thorin was going to be an arse about it, then it was up to the brothers to take care of Bilbo.

The blond quickly spread out his bedroll next to the hobbit and laid down, pleased that Kíli had interpreted his motions correctly and was settling in behind Bilbo. He smiled warmly at the confused halfling and snaked a hand underneath the blanket to touch one of his small hands. He would let Bilbo decide whether or not to cuddle in further.

Thorin stood by his bedroll, watching his nephews sidle in and spoon around his hobbit, a dark jealousy pooling in his chest. Of course, he had no right to feel this way about Bilbo now, despite the claiming marks that still riddled his throat and shoulders. The young dwarves appeared to be using Thorin and Bilbo’s separation to their advantage, and he couldn’t stop them.

And with the way Bilbo looked to be allowing their closeness, Thorin began to think that perhaps the only pain the hobbit had been feeling was that of embarrassment. Residual shame from Thorin’s unwanted advances, and not at all heartbreak. Perhaps he had discovered a preference for his nephews’ softer, fairer features, or their less intimidating presences. Both such descriptions would be far more desirable to a hobbit.

His features pinched as his thoughts devolved into self-doubt, and Thorin turned away to slip into his bedroll, wanting nothing more than to drift off to a dreamless sleep, though knowing he wouldn’t be so lucky.

Bilbo had barely moved when Fíli and Kíli pulled up to him, settling at his front and back to share their warmth. It was then, with the cover of darkness and sounds of nature about them, hoping against hope that he could not be seen, that Bilbo dared to obey his aching heart.

With a shuddering breath he instantly gravitated into the warmth of Fíli’s chest, an arm reaching back to tug Kíli close as well, as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He buried his face in the folds of Fíli’s shirt, once he was satisfied that Kíli was molded to his back and would remain there, his fists bunching up tight in the fabric to muffle his gentle sobs.

The comforting warmth of the two bodies pressed against his was like sunshine and seeped into his chilled skin, their heart beats in tandem lulling him eventually into a dreamless sleep.

It continued like this for days.

Bilbo was sure to keep himself at the back of the riding column, at the edge of the party when they seldom took breaks, washing up once the rest of the party had finished to do so completely alone, and laying to rest at the fringes of the group.

Fíli and Kíli were ever faithful in their support, some sort of bond having been formed on the last day they had any prolonged rest and had shared an intimate moment together (granted in a round-about way). They occasionally supped with him when the wizard was off doing Aulë know what, would watch from a distance as he washed up (for the hobbit’s safety, of course), and laid their bedrolls on either side of the burglar each night.

To the brothers’ dismay, it did appear that their burglar was truly in the grips of heartbreak. Though Bilbo would wear a brave face, they could see the differences more and more each day as Thorin continued his stubborn avoidance of the halfling; A false smile plastered to his weary face, his once bright and warm hazel orbs now hallow and distant, and each morning waking to tear stained cheeks. Yes, it was abundantly clear to Fíli and Kíli. How in the world could their uncle have missed these signs?

Each night alone was progressively more agonizing for Thorin, however. Watching his nephews slide into what should be his spot, and hanging back while the hobbit bathed, and supping with him. Mahal, watching the three of them together was becoming he most difficult thing for him, next to staying away from Bilbo.

So many times, Thorin had had the urge to scoop the little creature up and apologize endlessly, take back every nasty thing he had said, and the humiliation he had caused with his affections. The hobbit had even taken to avoiding the group at large, Fíli and Kíli excluded, and this pained the king the most.

It was one thing for Bilbo to be alienated from Thorin, it was quite another for him to isolate himself from the group almost completely. Had he really leveled such a mortal insult on the halfling that he found it impossible to mingle with the others? Guilt gnawed at the dwarf’s insides, even as he desperately clung to the hurt the hobbit had caused.

He stubbornly held onto that, the way Bilbo belittled their feelings. By now it was easy to admit he was being stubborn, but he wouldn’t let it go. Couldn’t. He was already so entangled in his emotions toward the hobbit, it was better for everyone that they stay like this. If Thorin got too much more involved, and something were to happen…

Then again, such thoughts were assuming that Bilbo had felt any bit as strongly as Thorin did.

Though he would never admit it to himself or anyone, Thorin was too afraid to find out the answer to that, and so he completely avoided Bilbo. He made a point not to look at the halfling unless it was to do a quick headcount as they mounted their ponies for the ride, and kept himself as far away from the hobbit when they took breaks or set up camp. Once again, though he’d never admit it, he was running full tilt away from Bilbo Baggins and not bothering to look back at the damage he was causing.

It had been several days and nights since Thorin and Bilbo’s whirlwind affair had come to a screeching halt, and for once when Thorin commanded they make camp for the night Gandalf was the one to protest, suggesting they move on.

But the king was having none of it, suggesting Oin and Gloin get a fire going, and that Fíli and Kíli were to look after the ponies.

The hobbit glanced back at his companions, catching their hungry gazes on each other that sent a thrum of heat through him, something he shook off quickly. They would be glad to be rid of a downtrodden fool like himself.

Bilbo glanced up in time to watch Gandalf turn from the disgruntled king with a shake of his head, stomping his way past the company. “Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of one who listens to reason.” The wizard huffed.

Bilbo’s brow creased in confusion. “And that is—”

“Myself Master Baggins! I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day,” he called back as he stomped into the brush.

Bilbo looked to Balin in desperation, the elderly dwarf giving him a sympathetic shrug in return.

He could hear Thorin call out, his tone even and unamused, “Come on Bombur, we’re hungry.”

‘Ah. So he doesn’t want my cooking now either. Well then.’

His argument with Gandalf (about bloody Elves, for Aulë’s sake) had been exhausting, on top of everything else that had been going on. He delegated the task of cooking to Bombur so he wouldn’t have to see the heaviness that surrounded the hobbit now as the man cooked.

He sat heavily on what was left of a wall as everything was seen to by the rest of the Company, and tipped his head back, eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose. He’d barely gotten any sleep since the last night he had shared body heat with his hobbit.

The hobbit.

Aulë. It was going to be a long night.

Once they were relatively out of sight and earshot of the rest of the group, Fíli pulled his brother against him and claimed his mouth hungrily, and deep groan spilling out of him as the brunette yielded to his advance. His hands rested on Kíli’s hips as he slid his mouth wetly against his brother’s, the kiss slow and deep despite the urgency of its beginning.

With a groan, he pulled away slightly to kiss his way down Kíli’s throat, teeth nipping lightly as he sighed happily.

“Mahal, I have ached for you,” he whispered into the archer’s ear. He rucked Kíli’s tunic up to loose the ties on his trousers as he reclaimed the brunettes mouth in a hotter, more brutal kiss.

Kíli was more the happy to accept the sloppy kiss that Fíli planted on his lips, teeth clacking as their tongues dueled. He rolled his hips up and against the desperate touches, his own hands wandering over firm shoulders and tangling in the tresses that always reminded him of the color of threshed wheat. The archer ducked down briefly, nipping at the flesh of Fíli’s neck, his tongue dragging slowly across the flesh, the salt from the day’s work stinging his palette.

“And I you, brother,” he breathed as he captured Fíli’s earlobe, his breath hot.

“With all these nights, so close to warm body, and not yours…” he growled low in his throat, contentedly ignoring the whinnying of the ponies.

“It’s been maddening,” he finished, his teeth clamping down on Fíli’s pulse point briefly, the gasp escaping his shadow gratifying and sending a surge of blood to his loins.

“I don’t know how many more nights I’ll be able to suffer that warm body so close…” he admitted, his cheeks flushing darkly.

“And we already know how Bilbo feels about our relationship, so I…” He looked away for a moment, a frustrated puff of air escaping his before he pressed his mouth once more to the blonde’s.

“Surely this has crossed your mind…” He ground out, rutting deliciously against Fíli.

“Aulë, yes,” Fíli moaned as he finally pulled his brother’s co*ck free, his hand moving surely on the hardening length. “Oh, I have thought on it, Brother.”

And he had, a vague sense of guilt falling over him every night as his desires swam up as a dull heat in his stomach. He wanted to support Bilbo, help him through this bump in the road, be there for him until Thorin ceased being a stubborn fool, but by the stars, was the halfling tempting.

His mouth found Kíli’s desperately as he was overcome with need, his free hand sliding around the back of the brunette’s neck to hold him there. They stood, locked together like that, with Fíli’ hand on Kíli’s prick, stroking firmly and determinedly as the ponies fretted a few feet away.

Pressing his pelvis against Kíli’ hip, the blond rutted lazily, groaning into the archer’s mouth. “He would make a gorgeous sight laid out beneath you,” Fíli moaned out, the imaginings overwhelmingly heated. “Mahal, if only he had come with us.”

Kíli’s hips stuttered up into the tight circle of his brother’s hand, head falling back and eyes rolling with a groan. Now his mind was swarmed with Fíli’s suggestion, his imagination conjuring that soft body, the lovely face painted scarlet, those tempting soft lips…

“Mahal…”, the archer breathed, bucking up against Fíli’s touch. He swung his head down with a growl, eyes shut tight, mouth crashing into the blondes with a grunt. He was nearly wild with need now, whimpering through the heated kiss, all teeth and tongue, his pearly-whites catching that talented tongue and scarping deliciously.

Then he heard it, a crash in the underbrush, the ponies fretful braying growing loudly in the distance. He broke the kiss instantly, Fíli following easily, and they began to straighten themselves out.

Just what they didn’t need at the moment; prying eyes.

He cast his brother a heated look, placing a chaste kiss on Fíli’s lips swiftly with promises of more once they laid for the night. Even if they had to reach around the hobbit, he wasn’t going to be left aching for another day.

The pair jogged over to the ruins they had secured the ponies, frowning when they were greeted with just that: ponies. No member of their company, no wild animals lurking about, so then what could…

Kíli stared hard. Two were missing. He could feel Fíli still beside him as well.

Just as he was about to release a dwarven curse to the wind, knowing that a railing like no other would come from their overly stressed uncle, Bilbo walked up behind him. He carried their dinner, something that had been prepared by Bombur by the smell of it. Bilbo slid up between them easily, as he now did every night, staring at the corralled steeds.

“Problem?”, he chirped.

“We’re supposed to be lookin’ after the ponies,” Kíli muttered, willing what was left of his erection away.

“But we’ve…run into a slight problem.”, he heard Fíli continue.

“We had sixteen. Now there are…fourteen.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Thorin had just begun to settle into his meal (substandard as it was, but then again they had been spoiled rotten by the hobbit’s cooking) when Fíli came stumbling into the camp, breathless and looking almost scared. The Company was instantly alert.

“Thorin,” the blond gasped, sucking in a deep breath as he tried to explain. “Trolls, in the woods. They have the ponies, and Bilbo went ahead to free them—”

“You sent a hobbit up against trolls?” Thorin roared as he stood, his bowl of soup clattering to the ground.

“Kíli is there,” Fíli gasped out, his brow furrowing as he began to doubt the split-second plan he had made on the spot with his brother.

“How many trolls?” his uncle growled as he picked up his axe and motioned for the others to arm themselves quickly. “And how is it possible for such large beasts to capture the ponies under your watch?”

Fíli hesitated, just long enough for the king to level a deadly cold glare on him with a muttered, “child.” The blond barely contained his flinch, knowing his uncle hadn’t meant the word to be so harsh. If anything, he had gotten the reaction Kíli was certain would be received.

Thorin was nearly mad with his fear and concern. The hobbit was quite possibly in the hands of trolls, as well as his youngest heir. What were trolls even doing here?

“We must proceed quietly, lest we alert the filth to our numbers,” he said firmly, and they followed Fíli into the trees. They moved silently, or at least as silently as dwarves could, until they could see the light of the trolls’ fire. Thorin motioned for them to slow, and they edged forward.

“I said, drop him!”

At Kíli’s shouted words, Thorin’s mind went blank. Bilbo was in serious danger.

Mindlessly, he charged forward, absently registering the Company following him. He was determined, attacking the first troll he came across. There were three of them, he noted as his mind went into its battle-focused state. His nephews sent a hobbit up against three trolls.

The dwarves had an advantage in numbers for sure, but trolls were tough, and they were large. Soon, as the filthy beasts regained some semblance of composure, they began snatching up dwarves and throwing them.

“Lay down yer arms, or we’ll rip ‘is off!”

Thorin whirled, axe raised, and he froze. Two of the trolls stood there, holding Bilbo aloft by his arms and legs, and gave a warning tug. The hobbit grimaced, and looked pleadingly down at the king. He looked absolutely terrified, his eyes a bit wet.

There was a part of Thorin that wanted to attack the trolls, that tried to convince him that he could save Bilbo that way. That with the advanced numbers on his side, the trolls would sooner drop the hobbit than harm him. Mahal, he wished nothing more than to sink the blade of his axe deep into the ugly trolls’ skull.

But the risk of the hobbit coming to any more harm had Thorin’s stomach roiling, bile rising in his throat. The little thing shouldn’t have come. They shouldn’t have asked him to come on this terrible quest. They should have stayed well away from Bag End, and Durin’s beard, Gandalf was a fool for ever thinking of Bilbo as their burglar.

Though the real person to blame was himself, he knew. He had seen within five seconds of stepping into that hobbit hole so many weeks ago that Bilbo was not fit for this. Not that he was weak, but that he was naïve and untouched. He probably had never known the terror of possibly being quartered by trolls, or killed by orcs in a night raid. The hobbit had been blissfully ignorant, and positively in bliss there in his home. Then a rowdy group of dwarves tore through his home, destroyed his pantry, and coerced him to leave his life of comfort and serenity, all for what? The thrill of the adventure and the smidgen of hope for gold at the end?

He should have had his dwarves to leave the Shire the moment he saw Bilbo.

Thorin threw his axe to the ground with a dwarven curse and motioned for the rest to do the same.

“Do as they say,” he ordered, mood dark as the trolls exclaimed in delight and shoved the hobbit into a sack.

Bilbo was shaking violently, could feel each muscle straining, as he was pulled taut like a sheet in the wind. It hurt, his joints cracking and his muscles straining, and with wide eyes he looked to Thorin.

There was hesitation there. Bilbo feared, for a fleeting moment, that he would be sacrificed at the chance of salvaging the ponies. With a sigh he didn’t know he was holding gusting out of him, however, Thorin abandoned his axe. The others followed suit, Kíli going so far as to cast his sword away, as if it were hot to the touch, the twist of anger that marred his features sending a new wave of terror through the hobbit.

What was it with dwarves lately? Between Thorin trying to snog him without permission, and now Kíli glaring as if he wanted to knock out Bilbo’s teeth when he had been one of the two to suggest he venture in to save the ponies, he was nearly set on turning tail and heading home as soon as he was set free.

Bilbo squirmed violently once he was tied into his personal burlap sack, half of his companions (including the three Durins) joining him in an unruly pile that he was happily at the edge of, and the other half promptly tied to a spit and turned over the fire in their underclothes. Quite a sight, that.

He had resigned himself to fate for the moment, listening with waning interest to the protests of the dwarves as he stealthily tried to wriggle free when one of the trolls’ words caught his ear.

“I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

Bilbo’s eyes lit. He glanced up to the lot of trolls. There was time to save this yet.

“The dawn shall take you all!” Gandalf cried as he jumped onto the rocky outcrop, the trolls muttering amongst themselves as Gandalf’s staff came crashing down and splitting the stone, the fiery yellow beams of the early morning sun pouring through and turning the trolls to stone. Bilbo watched, eyes transfixed on the great beasts, as the turned dusty and gray and stilled to silence. A great cheer went up all around, and quickly enough Gandalf had set to freeing each of them.

Bilbo was released first, followed by the brothers, and then they all quickly undid the rest. Each was happy enough, laughing and back slapping as the all slipped back into their proper clothes.

Bilbo was pumped full of adrenaline, turning about as his stripped himself of his soiled jacket, a smile beaming. He sought the man who saved him, hoping against hope that he would met with equal enthusiasm. But when he did finally meet the king’s gaze, he merely scowled and turned away, striding over to Gandalf with purpose in his step. No doubt to tell him the company burglar was to be relieved of duty and sent home for this fiasco.

Bilbo deflated instantly, shoulders sagging as he looked longingly in the direction of the raven haired dwarf. This was not something to be fixed, apparently. He would suffer this injury till the end of his days.

He swallowed hard, that stony, impassive mask reappearing as Fíli and Kíli approached. The also wore serious expressions, Kíli more so, and Bilbo shrunk back from their advances nervously. Now they were to hate him, too? He was hoping Thorin would order him away, at this point.

But as Kíli closed the gap, he took Bilbo in a powerful embrace, squeezing him so tightly he thought his ribs would crack.

“M’sorry,” the archer whispered through sweat-soaked bangs, shaking his head. He pulled back to regard the hobbit, gripping Bilbo’s shoulders tightly. The halfling could feel him shaking; he had been frightened.

“M’so sorry, Bilbo,” he breathed out, pursing his lips to keep back the onslaught of embarrassing words that were sure to pour out. Bilbo canted his head ever so slightly, clearly confused.

“What for? I am the one who nearly killed us all,” he muttered guiltily.

Fíli barked out a humorless laugh as he slid in behind Bilbo, wrapping his arms loosely around the pair and pressing his bearded mouth into the hobbit’s hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you could have been killed,” the blond muttered miserably. “And it would have been our fault. We are so sorry, Bilbo.”

He didn’t want to explain how they had planned the whole rescue to go far more differently, and had expected Thorin’s resulting relief that the halfling was alive and whole to be enthusiastic and immediate. That, however, didn’t appear to be the case.

Thorin stood where Gandalf had left him, staring over at his nephews embracing the hobbit. Blinding jealousy roiled inside him, and Thorin wondered darkly how long it would be before this passed. It only seemed to get worse each time someone so much as touched Bilbo, even something so innocent as the companionable thump on the back that Bofur had just delivered to the halfling.

His lip curling, he ordered everyone to follow Gandalf to locate the trolls’ cave (and possibly hoard), his mood turning sourer as Fíli and Kíli fell in on either side of Bilbo. This had better get easier as the journey continued, he thought darkly. It had been roughly two weeks since their fall-out and he was only feeling worse, with the shame and jealousy heavy as a rock in his gut.

The day from there had passed in a blur or running across the wild, terror gripping them as they were hunted by Orcs and Wargs. Thorin lead the group with Gandalf, glancing back every now and again to find Fíli and Kíli close behind him. Bilbo was near the middle of the group, holding the tiny sword he had received from the troll hoard.

His form atrocious, as it was obvious the creature hadn’t held anything larger than a kitchen knife, but his determined expression was absolutely breathtaking. There was terror in his eyes, of course. Being teased about Orc hunting parties is one thing, but to be chased down by one was a completely different story. But his small mouth was pressed into a tight, thin line as he ran, only falling open to suck in large gulps of air when they would pause in their running.

It was only a matter of time before they would be descended upon. They were on foot, their distraction had failed, and Wargs were terribly quick. And blast it all, the wizard had disappeared completely.

With a dwarven curse, Thorin looked around, running.

“We’re surrounded!”

He found his youngest heir, then looked for Fíli, finding the blond drawing his swords and getting ready for battle. Thorin felt his stomach sink, nausea gripping him for a moment.

“Kíli, shoot them!” he barked, eyes searching for his hobbit, and was relieved to find him nearby. “Stand your ground!”

The pack of Orcs closed in slowly, Kíli’s arrows barely making a difference as he shot at them. Thorin took a calming breath as his growing distress almost took over. He couldn’t have the men in his command slaughtered by Orcs not even halfway through the quest.

These dwarves trusted him, had faith in him enough to join him on what most of their kind considered a suicide mission, and even now were willing to die for him. Even the hobbit readied his newly-acquired blade while putting on a brave face.

Mahal, the thing hadn’t even had much of a chance to gather his wits after the ordeal with the trolls, and here he was facing down certain death. There wasn’t a tear in Bilbo’s eyes this time, and it shamed Thorin to feel a curl of arousal pool in his gut. Even covered in filth and grime, his large feet black almost to mid-shin, he was gorgeous, despite the tremor of fear that had begun to wrack his tiny frame.

Thorin felt a dull throb in his chest at the thought of Bilbo dying in this field, dying anywhere that wasn’t his home in the Shire. Swallowing against the bile that rose in his throat, Thorin took a step to charge the nearest Warg.

“This way, you fools!” they heard Gandalf shout, and they all turned to find him standing amongst large boulders.

The Company rushed over, Bilbo ushered down what was a sharp incline underground first. The dwarves followed suit quickly, and Thorin looked up to find Kíli still standing in the field, putting down as many Orcs and Wargs as he could with his bow.

“Kíli!” Thorin bellowed, his heart almost stuttering to a halt at the sight of his youngest nephew standing alone with screeching Orcs closing in on him. The youth, thankfully, turned tail and ran as soon as the king called.

Fíli paused at the opening beside Thorin.

“Go,” his uncle ordered gruffly.

“Not without Kíli,” the blond said quickly, his tone full of challenge and defiance. He refused to take his eyes off the archer as he approached quickly, a Warg in hot pursuit, and only slid into the hole after Kíli.

Thorin sliced the beast with his own new sword, putting the animal down before jumping down to join his Company in the safety of the underground cave.

Of course the wizard would lead them to the Hidden Valley. The bastard had only been badgering Thorin incessantly about the damn Elves the entire journey. Thorin just kicked himself over not realizing Gandalf’s trickery as soon as he heard the horns and saw the Elven arrow.

To add insult to injury, Bilbo looked completely enraptured by Rivendell, his face losing the hard lines that had set into it over the past couple of weeks, and his eyes going wide and soft. Thorin was struck by how lovely the hobbit looked when he was this relaxed, this awed by something. He’d forced himself to look away from the halfling when Gandalf began to lead them deeper into the valley toward the Elven palace.

To Thorin’s dismay, the Company immediately warmed to Elrond at the mere mention of food, bed, and full use of his baths. Though he was loathe to admit it, the dwarven king himself was thankful for the lodgings, desperate for at least one night in a proper bed with a full meal in his stomach. There was a grumble in his abdomen at the simple thought of food.

At dinner, Elrond educated them on the weapons they found in the hoard, and despite himself, Thorin was pleased to find he had acquired a very useful and famous blade. He glanced at the hobbit briefly, finding him staring down at his own weapon as Balin muttered something to him. As the halfling’s face fell at whatever the old dwarf had said to him, the king looked back to Elrond with a nod of thanks as he accepted the blade back from the elf.

Even though the food was light, meatless, and relatively flavorless, the Company seemed endlessly grateful for it and it had already done much to raise morale. When Lord Elrond offered his home to them for as long as they required, Thorin agreed with Gandalf’s suggestion of a fortnight to completely recover from the journey thus far.

Bilbo happily munched on his plate of greens, humored by the grumbling dwarves that tried their best to eat their meal graciously. Balin, with his white hair furled like a bird of prey, seemed eager to share Bilbo’s company in Elrond’s dining hall. He was telling the hobbit of his learned ability to speak with birds, Raven’s specifically, of how he could remember Erebor in its hay day, of the glamorous human city of Dale on their door step, and of Thorin’s noble lineage.

Bilbo’s vivid imagination was spinning webs of images, wispy and white, ghostly in his mind’s eye. He glanced down the table, containing a giggle as Oin stuffed a napkin in his ear-horn, attempting to block out the flute playing elf behind him.

He was the only member of the company that finished his meal in whole, savoring the clean taste in comparison to the greasy stodge they had suffered since Bombur became ‘company cook’. He excused himself gracefully, remembering his manners as his mother had taught him when company in another household, taking his leave swiftly and silently to the baths.

He washed quickly, deciding it would be best to savor the steamy water for another time, once the rest of the party had had their fill of Lord Elrond’s hospitality.

Rivendell was indeed a sight, the valley bathed in shimmering golden light that caught the glistening falls, refracting and returning the beams in brilliant hues of the rainbow all around. Imladris was indeed all he had ever dreamed and then some from what little he had read in his books. It was every bit as magical as he could have ever hoped.

He pushed into his private quarters, with a huff, taking the moment of privacy to dig through his pack and retrieve his spare jacket. He hoped there was a place to wash his soiled clothing as he tossed the worn maroon coat onto a hanging rack.

Bilbo had just pulled his suspenders down his shoulder, tugging the hem of his shirt free from his trousers as the door opened with a slight creak. The hobbit startled, his arms folding defensively across his stomach and chest as if he were a school-girl, but as Fíli and Kíli wandered in and tossed their packs to the side with twin thumps, Bilbo relaxed.

“Ah. You scared me for a moment,” he breathed as he finished tugging his shirt free. If he had bothered to look up he might have stopped at the pair of burning eyes that had settled upon him.

The halfling unbuttoned the cotton garment before shrugging it off and tossing it on top of his coat, his still damp hair glistening as a few stray drops of water flew from their curled tips. Kíli’s heart was pounding madly in his chest. He dared not speak, but kept himself firmly planted to the spot, allowing his gaze to wander over each new patch of milky skin that was revealed. He was sure Fíli was following suit.

“You’re staying with me again tonight?” Bilbo questioned them half-heartedly as he stretched his arms above his head, back arching gracefully. Kíli could get lost in those delicate curves.

“Oh aye, Master Baggins,” the brunette breathed, feeling his desire rising to ITS boiling point.

He took a few steps forward, pleased when then hobbit didn’t move to put space between them, his hands capturing Bilbo’s waist gently and tugging him forwards. Arousal surged through him as Bilbo stuttered slightly, tiny hands moving to the dwarf’s broad shoulders, a bright red flush suddenly rising in the halfling's cheeks.

“W-Wouldn’t you two rather enjoy the night alone?” Bilbo suggested gently as he was tugged against the archer, gulping hard as Fíli came up behind him and he felt another pair of hands on him, snaking around and covering his hairless chest. Kíli rumbled a deep laugh, one that was echoed by his elder, as the brunette leveled a very serious and telling stare with the hobbit.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Fíli lowered his lips to the curve of Bilbo’s throat, barely touching and fanning damp puffs of breath across the porcelain skin. Mahal, the thought of all this perfect skin, hidden beneath layers of cloth, and the sheer idea of it being so close every night for the past several days; it had him hard and aching, his trousers tented.

He hovered there, hands stroking soothing circles over Bilbo’s chest and torso before his thumb caught a pebbled nipple. Groaning, the blond rolled the nub between his thumb and forefinger, shifting so he pressed his erection against the hobbit’s flank.

“Aulë,” Fíli whispered against the pale flesh, eyes rolling back at the little sounds the halfling made. “We would hate to leave you to sleep alone, Master Hobbit.”

For a moment, his rational mind broke through, the part of him that knew that Bilbo might not want this from them, and he quickly added, “Unless that would be preferable to you.” His voice was still shaking from arousal, but he thought he did a relatively good job at sounding reassuring. At least he hoped he had.

The brothers pressed against him, their stiff members each finding a hip and sending shock waves through him. Bilbo’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes drifting shut as the sensations began to rock through his body, pulsing like the beat of a drum. He shook his head absently as Fíli suggested the hobbit would prefer his privacy, turning his head and meeting him with noses bumping into each other.

“Don’t leave,” he managed out shakily, embarrassed at just how helpless he sounded as he closed the gap, cautiously brushing his lips against the blondes with a fluttering moan.

He heard Kíli echoing, leaning down to kiss and suck precariously at his collar bone. He hoped for a moment he wouldn’t bruise as easily with the boys as he had with Thorin, but the thought vanished quickly as he pushed the king from his mind for the time being. He had been suffering more than just heart ache alone since Thorin had walked away, and after the events of the day, after nearly losing his life in the grimy hands of trolls, he felt entitled to a bit of weakness.

And that is truly what he considered it; Weakness.

The kiss had grown fervent between himself and the blonde, tongues now boldly darting out to meet each other, teeth nipping and tugging and demanding more. Bilbo was nearly beside himself as the group toppled onto the mattress. Fíli was sprawled at his side, quickly curling around him and rutting desperately against his hip, his co*ck having somehow been freed from his trousers, and Kíli was…oh my.

Bilbo suddenly broke the kiss with a gasp, propping himself on an elbow as Kíli licked along his full length. He was blushing deeper than he could remember, the fiery heat burning through his cheeks and neck and chest.

He groaned appreciatively as Fíli reclaimed his mouth, Kíli’s talented tongue flicking idly across Bilbo’s head and watched for a reaction. Bilbo sucked in hard, a moan escaping him but breaking in the middle, his mouth falling open as he was consumed by lust.

Fíli sighed against the slackened mouth, grinding his hard co*ck against Bilbo’s hip in desperate little movements. He wouldn’t last long, but he had no doubt his partners were in the same uncomfortable position.

He pulled away to press his mouth against Bilbo’s throat, a hand returning to his chest to tweak his soft, pink nipples. “He’s very good at this,” the blond murmured, nibbling at the flesh of the hobbit’s throat shortly. Sliding his hand down Bilbo’s torso with teasingly light touches, he tangled his hand in unruly brown hair and encouraged his brother to take the co*ck in his mouth deeper.

“Tell us how you like it,” Fíli said as he guided the bobbing of Kíli’s head. He took in the sight of his brother’s lips stretched around another man’s co*ck with wide, blown eyes, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Aulë, he might just have to take Kíli before the night was through. Perhaps Bilbo would enjoy another show, though tonight might be an admittedly short one.

Bilbo bit back a desperate moan as Kíli took him deeper, the dulcet tone of Fíli’s deep voice sending a shiver up his spine.

“I-I’m not usually on the-ah! -o-on the receiving end,” he admitted sheepishly, only pausing once to gasp out as the archer twirled his tongue deliciously.

Hesitantly Bilbo reached for Fíli, encouraging the blond with his gentle mewling as he wrapped his smaller hand around the dwarf’s engorged co*ck, unable to hide his smirk as the swordsman groaned and bucked into his touch.

Kíli watched them with darkening eyes, his hair now a rumpled mess from where his brother’s hand had been easing him down onto Bilbo’s length. He groaned around the member, savoring the bitter taste and every little twitch and sound it pulled from the burglar. Thorin must be out of his mind to let such a prize go, he though idly to himself as he palmed his erection through his trousers.

He recalled the sight of Bilbo, tugging at himself under the pile of furs, expression radiating his desperation as he had watched the brunette f*ck his brother to the point of no return. It sent a mighty shudder through him, his co*ck throbbing.

He wanted to taste this beautiful creature, wanted a drink of him so badly he hallowed his cheeks and twirled his tongue about the sensitive glans in his mouth. He was going to suck the hobbit dry.

The halfling couldn’t contain his ragged shout of pleasure, something embarrassing and obscenely wanton escaping his lips as his free hand gripped the bedding desperately. He was babbling now, the words that managed to leave his lips part of a broken run-on sentence that was impossible to decipher.

Fíli’s hips stuttered against the hot ring of Bilbo’s hand, a groan escaping his throat at the sounds the hobbit made. Durin’s beard, he had missed this sight in his own pleasure the last time they shared intimacies. The halfling was absolutely gorgeous.

When the archer moaned at Bilbo’s near-scream, Fíli returned his hand to stimulating the hobbit’s nipples, biting at the hobbit’s throat as he quickly approached his release. “He loves it when you scream,” the blond moaned out, eyes rolling back at the keening escaping the hobbit beneath him.

“Let him hear you, Bilbo,” Fíli encouraged desperately, pinching lightly at the halfling’s nipple and pulling another sound of startled pleasure from the tiny creature.

Outside the door, Thorin (who had been on his way to his own chambers down the hall) stood frozen, listening to the cries of pleasure his hobbit was making. He could hear Fíli’s low voice through the door as well, though could not make out his words, and where ever the blond was, Kíli was sure to not be far behind.

So, the hobbit has fallen into the arms of his nephews, Thorin thought numbly, staring unblinkingly down the hall as the noises just beyond the portal grew louder.

A sharp pain shot through his throat, a ragged fist shoving up from within his chest at the thought that he’d been so easily replaced with—

He cut off the childish thoughts, refusing to allow himself to put more stock into what he’d had with the halfling. They had, what exactly? One night and a day together intimately. Willing the stinging in his eyes away, Thorin tried to regain the numbness he had been feeling previously come back over him, but it was gone.

Forced was he to feel the bitter remorse of throwing something away, the jealousy and underlying rage in his gut almost overwhelming in its intensity. And on top of it all, he felt his body responding to the sounds, and to his imaginings of what was happening behind the door.

With a snarl, Thorin forced himself to move and continue on to his own bedroom. It wouldn’t do well to linger there and hear any more of this.

Bilbo huffed, his mouth falling slack as another broken moan escaped him. He was so grateful for the privacy of their room, so grateful that for once he wasn’t aware of the wonders of nature, the hoot of owls and the chirp of crickets, while he fell into bliss.

He tried to tug away as he felt his completion approach, trying his best to warn the archer who was sending all of these beautiful sensations singing through him, but Kíli was having none of it. He gripped Bilbo’s hips tight and without a word of warning swallowed him whole, gagging only for a moment before he adjusted to the hobbit’s girth.

Bilbo’s org*sm crested so suddenly, a ragged cry for the stars above spilling from his kiss swollen lips, as he spilled his seed inside of the prince’s throat, his grip on Fíli’s member punishing as he bit his lower lip hard enough to leave a bruise.

He could feel Fíli clamp down on his neck through his haze, but soon enough the world was white washed and he cared not for rejection or evidence…just the pleasure that consumed his flesh.

The blond was losing his mind at the pleasure the hobbit’s sounds was bringing him, and the wanton cry as he spilled into Kíli’s mouth had Fíli clamping down on Bilbo’s throat with bruising forced. Before he could pull away and out of the punishing grip on his co*ck, the swordsman was coming in thick ropes against the hobbit’s side and stomach, making a filthy mess on the halfling’s previously clean skin.

He moaned as he released the bite on Bilbo’s neck, wincing at the angry bruise that was already rising before glancing down at his brother. Moaning, he watched his brother pump himself desperately, his slack mouth hovering over the hobbit’s spent co*ck as he panted and whined. Within seconds, the brunette was keening through his org*sm, the evidence of his release hitting Bilbo’s thighs and pooling on the duvet beneath them.

Fíli removed himself from the bed as Kíli stretched so he was lying next to Bilbo, curled around the smaller man and happily peppering kisses along the softer, hairless jaw. Fetching the cloth from the washbasin in the corner of the room, Fíli returned to the bed to wipe Bilbo clean, smiling warmly at the tired man when hazel eyes blinked up at him.

The fell asleep together under the blankets, curled tightly together and for once, much to Fíli’s delight, Bilbo seemed relaxed.

Over the duration of their stay, Thorin became increasingly aware of two things.

First was the dark bruise that had appeared on Bilbo’s throat after the first night. The sight of it had sent him into such a blind rage, he holed himself up in his chambers and destroyed half of the furniture. He couldn’t even explain his possessiveness, or his jealousy. He had the hobbit once, and he was behaving as if they had been lovers for years. He had no claim over the hobbit.

Second was the way the three of them would disappear as soon as they would finish dinner. Some days they wouldn’t even leave the hobbit’s chambers. If Thorin was willing to admit it, he paced the halls a lot on those days just to listen into the room briefly. Most of the time, there was complete silence, and on occasion Bilbo’s pleasant humming. More often than not, he could hear Fíli talking calmly and Kíli’s boisterous laughter. The few times he heard something different, Thorin would leave quickly, lest he burst into the room and do something he would regret more than casting the hobbit away in the first place.

It was two days before they were set to leave Rivendell, and Gandalf announced that it was time to speak to Lord Elrond of the map. Thorin disagreed vehemently. The Elf had been hospitable and a gracious host, but he was still an Elf and had no place touching his family’s property.

Of course, Gandalf would have none of his arguments and bid him to fetch the hobbit for the meeting as well.

Thorin stormed down to the wing the Company was occupying and flung Bilbo’s door open as he said, “you’ve been summoned to a meeting with Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and myself.” His voice was gruff as he steeled himself for what might meet his eyes inside the room.

Kili who had been seated across the way, pipe puffing and fingers moving deftly as he tended his bow, raised a finger to his lips instantly as their uncle stormed the room they had been sharing with the halfling since their arrival. Fili didn’t move from his spot, sitting up against the headboard and dragging on his pipe idly as well, but held fast for one reason; the hobbit that was sleeping peacefully and curled into his side. He was serene, looking more rested and relaxed than he had for weeks. The sight made the king’s heart lurch, his anger forgotten at the sight of the beautiful creature, once again so innocent and peaceful.

Fili’s hand was on his shoulder, something that had begun as a comforting rhythm to help the sleep-deprived burglar find some rest, and was now a protective gesture as Thorin’s voice boomed about the space. The king had hushed himself, taking the twin glares as a warning, Kili standing slowly to cross the room.

“Uncle, he has not had decent rest in weeks,” the brunette pressed as he turned to look on the sight as Thorin did.

He felt a surge of love for his lionhearted brother, swelling his heart and spilling over as the blonde tenderly petted Bilbo’s mop of honey curls. The gentle contact only served to bring the hobbit closer, nuzzling and cuddling into Fili’s warmth with a contented huff.

“This is the first he has fallen asleep on his own and stayed that way. Must he accompany you?” Kili turned to look now at Throin, pleading clearly for the halfling’s sake. The raven haired dwarf was incredibly open in that moment, his expression soft for an instant, but only just.

Thorin was relieved to see Bilbo sleeping soundly. He had heard the muffled sobs in the night on the road, heard the constant shuffling of movement from wherever the halfling slept.

He was on the verge of thanking his nephew when something stung his scenes. A scent, pungent and thick, surrounded the brunette. It was familiar and thick and recalled passionate nights in the arms of others.

The smell of sex clung to the archer like a perfume. He could feel his insides twist angrily, that dark jealousy consuming him if only for a moment. Of course the hobbit had found sleep. But only once he was done being shagged senseless by his nephews.

Thorin snapped back into character, fixing his scowl back in place. He did not bother to press the question, believing he already knew the answer, but in his haste assumed too much.

Bilbo had been away, sifting through the many tomes of Elrond’s library to find the few written in Westron. He had enjoyed his quiet afternoon reading books while his room-mates had satisfied a need. Thorin however, blinded by jealousy, merely assumed the hobbit’s involvement and sentenced him without trial.

“The hobbit is to attend, per the order of the wizard. I could care less if the grocer attends,” Thorin spat coldly, locking his gaze with Kili’s first, then to Fili, a challenge in his eyes. Inwardly, he reeled at his own spiteful words.

“Nor do I care if he slumbers for the first time this year. Wake him,” Thorin growled the last order, sneering darkly, unable to stand the sight for a moment longer as he turned his back to leave.

He elected to wait just outside their room, hands tucked authoritatively behind himself and chest aching. He reminded himself again, now that he had the silence about him that he had never held any real claim over the hobbit, had never courted the little thing or even set a braid in his hair with his own bead. He was acting as a petulant child.

Kili stood in wide-eyed disbelief as their uncle left them, shocked by just how coldly he regarded Bilbo. He felt a sudden urge to protect the delicate thing, to stomp out there and straighten his uncle out, but he was not only kin, but he was his king. The brunette raked his fingers through his hair, turning to Fili with a grimace. The blonde returned the expression before looking to the sleeping hobbit.

Fili gently rocked Bilbo, urging him to wake, his voice barely above a whisper. The burglar grumbled mournfully about “just a few more minutes”, and Fili shook his head with a smile.

“Oh you dear thing,” Fili cooed as he shook him again, successfully rousing him. “Thorin’s come to fetch you.”

That had Bilbo’s attention, eyes shooting open and shoulders tense. Kili had rushed up behind him, one hand finding the small of his back and moving in soothing circles.

“Now now, don’t fret. You’re goin’ to be meetin’ with Lord Elrond for one reason or another. Mister Gandalf had uncle come to fetch you.” He tried his best to placate the hobbit’s worries, hoping the crease would leave his brow, but it only deepened.

Clearly knowing that Thorin was being made to get Bilbo, not choosing to do so of his own accord, pulled that far too familiar expression from the hobbit. It hurt Kili deeply to see the burglar so unhappy. He glanced to Fili, seeing the hurt there as well.

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Bilbo replied with a soft huff, crossing the room to throw on his overcoat. It had been freshened days ago and felt so light on his shoulder, yet something clearly weighed him down.

He straightened his shoulders resolutely as he turned to the brothers, plastering his most convincing false smile on his face. The boys could see right through it.

“Don’t wait up for me,” he said, cheerily as he could manage, waving to them as he exited the room and joined the king in the hall.

Thorin barely spared him a glance, his expression dark and menacing, his lips curling as if there was something distasteful about Bilbo. He tried to hide his hurt expression, failing, as he followed slowly behind, eyes fixated on the tops of his feet.

The meeting was more Gandalf convincing a stubborn dwarf to show an elf a map of his home, of his inheritance, of his legacy. Bilbo wasn’t surprised when Thorin folded and handed the relic over to Elrond, and was once again happy to witness the wonder of the fair-folk.

They emerged onto a wide cliff, water falling and catching the silvery beams of the moon, a giant crystal wedged into the rock face. It was with this that Lord Elrond read the mystical Moon Runes.

As soon as he had finished Bilbo was left shaking his head. “Durin’s day? What’s that?”

Bilbo listened carefully as Thorin and Balin batted back and forth, until the elf lord cut in with a disapproving look. “So this is your purpose. To enter the mountain.”

“What of it?” Bilbo shuddered. Thorin’s voice was dark and deadly low.

It did little to phase Elrond.

“There are some who would not deem it wise,” he stated, before turning and sharing words with Gandalf.

Bilbo was the last to scurry away, barely noticing the exchange between the elf and wizard. Thorin looked murderous.

Balin had retreated as well, catching the look and apparently settle on the decision to discuss this turn of event later.

Bilbo was once again trailing Thorin through the abandoned halls, the ethereal lights catching his pale skin through the pillars. Thorin was clearly unsettled, and against Bilbo’s wishes, his heart gave a painful tug. He wanted to comfort the dwarf, wanted to reach out if only for an instant to reassure him that their quest would not be in vain; that they would have their home.

Bilbo cleared his throat awkwardly, speeding his pace if only to be heard clearly and closer to the dwarf, he dared to speak.

“I-I’m sure everything will be alright,” he tried to reassure with a stutter, a nervous smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “We’ll m-make it to the door, you’ll see.”

Thorin was lost in his thoughts, the stress from it all consuming him. The lives of thirteen men, one of which wasn’t even a dwarf, were his responsibility, and already they had almost been lost twice. They hadn’t even reached the Misty Mountains which had, when they planned the quest, been their biggest concern for their safety (ignoring the dragon at the end). With two near-deaths, it did not bode well for the rest of the journey.

Now, there was a time limit placed on it, one short season and a bit, and they had spent two whole weeks eating leaves and making merry with elves. It had his teeth gnashing just thinking of the time they had wasted here, and the sheer impossibility they faced with finding a hidden door on the side of a mountain that housed a dragon the could scent them from ten miles away almost bowled him right over.

A headache had begun to form, and he barely noticed his shadow until the hobbit spoke. The burglar’s words caught him off guard and a whirled on him, eyes bewildered.

He’d been a right arse to the hobbit for weeks now, he was fully able to admit that to himself now, and here the thing was comforting him. A pain so raw and terrible ripped through his chest as he thought on his cruelty toward the halfling, the way he’d ignored and belittled him. Though he had felt justified all those days ago in his hurt pride, he no longer saw it that way. He realized his error, but now…?

It was far too late.

Bilbo cowered away from him, shuffling back as if to avoid a blow, and it was like a punch to Thorin’s gut.

His hobbit feared him, Thorin observed with a sense of abject horror so sharp and tangible, it must have shown on his face.

The king longed to reach out to him, to hold him close and apologize endlessly for his idiocy, for his words spoken out of anger, frustration, and indignant hurt.

It was too late. He had gone to his nephews for comfort, and had found peace with them. Should he upset that? The jealousy in his heart roared to life once again, and his anger began to seep back.

It hadn’t even taken a day for the halfling to fall in with his heirs, to allow their affections, and since arriving to Rivendell, he’d enjoyed it wantonly with no regard for who knew or heard. Had the burglar been planning to leave his bed for the young dwarves’ since the day Thorin walked into camp on him touching himself while Fíli and Kíli coupled not ten feet away?

Regardless of any of this being true or false, real or imagined, Thorin thought on the soft look on Bilbo’s face as he dozed with Fíli, the way his cuddled in tighter at the slightest touch, and Kíli’s protectiveness. Thorin had seen the loving look Kíli had bestowed upon the pair on the bed.

It was too late.

“I do not much care for the opinion of outsiders, Master Baggins,” Thorin snapped, everything hitting him all at once. “If I had known consulting Gandalf on this quest would lead to the likes of hobbits and elves being brought on, I would have done this without his help, one way or another.”

His tone dipped further, the pain in his heart tingeing his voice further. “You should not have been brought on, and I curse Gandalf for his choice in burglars every day,” he spat, only wishing for this nauseating rise and fall of emotions to have never happened at all. He wished the hobbit wasn’t here, in harm’s way, and to remind him of the cost of stubborn pride. If this was love (the very thought made him seasick), he wished himself free of it, and cursed the gods for bringing the halfling into this terrible mess to make him feel it.

“Your reassurances are meaningless when our journey has a dragon at its finish, Master Baggins,” he finished with a growl, blue eyes watching the hobbit with a fierce intensity.

Bilbo’s eyes were wide as Thorin’s words tore through him. Memories from the night spent by the stream, the night he had given such a gift to such a great being, had thought it was cherished and had reassured him of his worth, wrapped themselves in with each syllable the dwarf spat.

He was tearing Bilbo down, piece by piece, and slowly but sure the light left the hobbit’s eyes completely. It was a visible change. Twin streams fell down his cheeks, shining against the light of the mid-summers moon, unbidden by the hobbit.

Bilbo held his gaze for only a few moments as time slowed around him. But as he took his leave he said nothing, did not make a sound, as he stepped to the side and walked past the king with unseeing eyes.

Bilbo merely stumbled, wandering the corridors blindly. He could not focus on any one thing before him. His mind was entirely blank, the malicious tone of Thorin’s venomous words torturing him endlessly. He was faintly aware of the stinging in his eyes, the way his lips quivered without his consent. Everything felt empty.Everything felt cold.

He found himself standing before the portal to his room, turning the knob slowly and entering without announcement. He was vaguely aware of voices. He looked up to the source of sound, eyes watery with unshed tears and throat stinging. Their mouths moved, but the sounds the figures made were unintelligible. Everything sounded as if it were at the end of a long tunnel.

Kíli was ill at ease when Bilbo entered. The hobbit looked drastically different than they had ever seen him before, his face void of all expression and looking strangely vacant. As Bilbo met his gaze he nearly jumped at the sight of those hazel eyes, empty and wet with tears.

Bilbo forced himself to focus on the figure nearest him, recognizing it as Kíli as he moved forward, and reached out. Kíli reached back.

That’s when Bilbo snapped into focus, grabbing the front of the archer’s tunic and tugging him forward into a kiss. It was all for the sensation, nothing soft and sweet as the brunette had only experienced from the hobbit up until now.

Bilbo only broke the kiss for a moment to breathe, the words “f*ck me,” leaving his slack lips before he went in for another meaningless kiss.

Bilbo did not want to think, did not want to feel, did not want to remember any of the stupid mistakes he had made in the arms of Thorin Oakenshield.

Thorin had frozen as he watched the halfling crumble beneath his words. He had expected yelling again, for the little being to rise to the challenge once again and spit venom back at him. It was what he had come to expect from the hobbit when unfair judgment had been laid against him.

Tears were the last thing he had wanted.

The halfling looked shattered as he stilled, wet streaking his round cheeks, and instantly Thorin’s resolve, anger and frustration melted away. It didn’t matter if it was too late to fix what little relationship they had had, he couldn’t stand another moment of continuing this cruel façade.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said as the hobbit skirted past him, but he was resolutely ignored. He didn’t chase after the small man, knowing it was far too late to begin to even try to salvage anything between them, not even a semblance of friendship.

And with that, he hurried to his chambers, walking briskly past Bilbo’s bedroom door and ignoring all sounds within. There was a long few days ahead of them, and he was already going to lose enough sleep to guilt as it was.

The prince made to protest but then Bilbo was upon him again and the sensation was too tempting to push away at the moment. He returned the kiss, dragging himself away to look to Fíli, bewildered.

Before any more doubts could wriggle their way into his mind, the nagging little Baggins voice that told him not to give up such a precious thing so easily once more, he was unlacing Kíli’s pants and tugging him free.

He dropped to his knees quickly, eyes screwed shut as he took the archer into his mouth, coaxing his member to his full, stiff length quickly enough with the heat of his mouth. He did not pay any special mind to the dwarf, viewing this merely as a means to an end, as he swirled the tip and swallowed Kíli’s co*ck. He looked up for only an instant, met with a dazed and confused gaze, but the blush that covered the brunette’s cheeks spoke to the job well done Bilbo was doing.

Kíli held as still as he could manage, bucking his hips when the hobbit would sending him keening with pleasure.

“Bilbo, wh-what’re you—“ he gasped out, biting his lip as Bilbo worked him vigorously.

If they were to catch Bilbo’s eyes they were to see his eyes had not regained any of their life. Bilbo pulled off of the dwarf with an obscene pop, dragging them both down onto the bed and pulling Kíli on top of him with a roll of his hips.

Kíli gave in then, the ministrations of the hobbit making him groan with frustration as he descended on the creature’s neck, sucking and biting at the burglar’s pulse point and what he could reach of his collar bone.

Kíli moved with the hobbit as Bilbo stripped himself against the mattress, barely bothering with his top as he opened the buttons and let it lie haphazardly on his lithe form. When Bilbo reached his trousers Kíli rolled to the side, allowing Bilbo ample room to unlace and remove them fully. He tossed them off the bed carelessly to the floor, his small clothes following suit.

Bilbo impatiently tugged Kíli back atop him, spreading his legs whor*ishly as he forced the archer between his thighs with a muttered “f*ck me” to reaffirm their actions.

It was then that Kíli noticed, his breath hitching in his throat as he looked down to the burglar, just how removed and vacant his expression was. Bilbo wasn’t there. Bilbo had receded in on himself and was merely waiting to be used. Kíli shook his head then, prompting another round of affirmations from the hobbit.

“f*ck me, Kíli, I want you to f*ck me.” He was pressed to Bilbo’s entrance, but once again he looked to Fíli in desperation. He shook his head helplessly as Fíli moved to the mattress. The tent in the blonde’s pants wasn’t helping his resolve much as the swordsman approached.

“B-Bilbo,” he breathed in warning, his hands resting on the burglar’s thighs. “You are not yourself.”

Fíli intervened, pulling Kíli off of the hobbit. “Get dressed,” he ordered firmly before turning to the squirming, half-naked halfling on the bed. Taking a deep, calming breath through his nose, trying to will away his thick erection, he quickly buttoned Bilbo’s shirt back up.

The blond wasted no time in lifting the creature into his arms and holding him tight as Bilbo fought the restraining hold. “You do not want us to f*ck you, Bilbo. We can see it in your eyes,” he said calmly before pulling back enough to force eye contact.

“Do not use us as revenge against our uncle,” he said, voice like iron, but his expression still soft and warm.

He fought hard, thrashing about until Fíli’s voice reached him, his hazel eyes coming back into focus as they grew glassy.

“Just let me forget, I want to forget,” he managed out before a sob broke from him, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he continued to push against the dwarf.

“I-I want to forget every damned word that he ever said, I want it to mean nothing at all!” he nearly shouted, shaking violently in Fíli’s arms as he gave in finally to his grief. The flood gates were open and there was nothing to stop him now.

“I want it to mean nothing at all that I gave him something so…damned…important,” Bilbo ground out, his fists now coming down to pound harmlessly against the blonde’s firm chest, his shattered gaze meeting Fíli’s for the first time. He was completely destroyed.

“I’m sorry Fíli, but please, just don’t cast me aside…I just…I don’t know what I’d do if…”

The blond dwarf made a wounded noise as he pulled the hobbit in tightly against his chest once again, tucking the man into his lap as he looked over at his now-clothed brother.

“We aren’t going anywhere, Bilbo,” he said soothingly, seeing the quiet rage in Kíli’s eyes as the brunette climbed onto the bed again. Fíli laid back on the bed, turning onto his side with his arms still tightly wrapped around the hobbit.

The blond knew that Bilbo was heartbroken, just as he knew their uncle was, but there were no words that could convey that believably to the sobbing halfling in his arms.

“We’re here, for as long as you have need of us,” Fíli murmured soothingly, pressing a lingering kiss to Bilbo’s forehead.

Another broken sob escaped the halfling as he gravitated into Fíli’s warmth, holding on for dear life as though the dwarf were a life line. As he had on their first night together, turned into the blondes firm chest, he gathered bunches of the coarse tunic and resigned himself to his misery. He didn’t bother trying to speak. He simply allowed himself to be soothed.

Kíli was enraged. He could feel a sickening feeling crawling up inside of him and he sat on the edge of their bed, unable to bear the sight of the broken hobbit in his brother’s arms. Something so foul wormed its way into his gut, something that had him perpetually shaking his head. Then suddenly he stood, making a bee-line for the door before his elder could protest, and stomped his way out and down the hall.

It was late, the corridor long abandoned, and the archer found himself outside of Thorin’s private quarters. He could see a light under the door, but heard no voices within.

Without much ceremony he gave a single knock, twisting the knob and letting himself in before his uncle could consent. There were flames in his usually mischievous eyes, his brow furrowed uncharacteristically.

“Have you any idea what you have done to him?” he spat out before he could stop himself.

“He is broken, uncle. Bilbo has no will or self-respect left,” he barreled on now, head still shaking in disapproval. “He would throw himself at us if only to forget his heartache. Must this continue?”

Thorin looked up from the book he had been numbly skimming since returning to his chambers. He hardly heard a word his nephew had said, but it was obvious he spoke of the hobbit’s latest distress. There was no way for him to respond to the question given to him, nothing he could possibly say to his youngest nephew that would put off his anger. On top of that, he knew there was little point in trying to hide his own turmoil.

“Go back to him, Kíli,” he said softly while returning his attention to the book , lips a tight grim line as something gripped his throat. His eyes stung once again, and he had to clear his throat. “Your presence there would be more useful than yelling at me for things that cannot be changed.”

The brunette growled, his fist slamming into the door as he turned to leave. He paced there for a moment, his rage boiling, and he turned back again to Thorin. He stomped over, taking the book from his hands and crouching before him. His chest was heaving with the effort not to throw himself headfirst into a full on brawl.

“Then you listen to me,” he commanded, voice deadly low. He made sure not to continue until he held Thorin’s gaze. The passiveness in those eyes only emboldened him further.

“We shall not clean up this mess for you uncle,” he said lowly through grit teeth. “If you do not feel Bilbo is worth your time, if you do not feel any need what-so-ever to go to him when he is in that room a broken man and weeping like a babe, then that’s your decision.”

He took in a deep breath his eyes narrowing to a dangerous glare. Thorin looked as if he were going to haul off a throttle him. In Kíli’s mind it would be better than no reaction at all.

“But if that is your choice uncle”, he said as he stood, leveling a deadly look with the king, his tone seething. “Then you stay far away from Bilbo Baggins.”

He let the silence hang between them for a moment, the air thick with tension. No one moved. They scarcely breathed. The archer broke the silence. “Well then?”

Rage snapped in him at the nerve of his youngest nephew, but it fizzled at the imaginings of Bilbo distraught and sobbing. He screwed his eyes shut as they stung once again, before standing.

“If you think I am indifferent to Bilbo’s pain,” Thorin said slowly, his voice rough with contained emotion as he met his nephew’s eyes. “You would be wrong. What I have done tonight is, to my shame, irreversible. There is nothing I could do to alleviate his sorrow.”

He laughed hollowly and turned toward his bed and began removing his heavy fur coat. “To say I regret everything I have done would be a gross understatement.

“And as for your ultimatum,” Thorin continued, clearing his throat again. “I will only interact with Master Baggins as much as strictly necessary.”

Kíli bit his lip savagely, snarling as he shipped the book Thorin had been reading across the room, it coming into sharp contact with a resounding smack against the wall. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“Damn the stubbornness of dwarves,” he snarled as he stomped his way out of his uncle’s room, slamming the door behind him. He made his way slowly back to their chambers, growing more and more somber as he went.

What Bilbo was going to endure now was torturous as far as the archer was concerned.

He peeked into the room, grateful find Bilbo slumbering with tear stained cheeks in his brother’s embrace. He caught Fíli’s gaze, doing little to hide his dark expression before looking back to the hobbit. Kíli made a pained noise, something cracking in the back of his throat, to see Bilbo with puffed eyes and tear stained cheeks. The burglar had cried himself to sleep.

“I tried,” he muttered, defeated, as he perched himself on the end of the bed.

Fíli nodded slowly, shutting his eyes as he reached over to pull Kíli in to curl around the other side of the sleeping halfling. The warmth of both dwarves on either side of him seemed to calm the hobbit further and he puffed a sigh into the blonde’s chest.

“Aulë willing, things will work out the way they are meant to,” the bearded dwarf murmured stretching around Bilbo to press a light kiss to Kíli’s frowning lips. He offered a warm smile that didn’t reach his eyes before he settled in to try and sleep some, though anything restful was highly doubtful.

When dawn broke through their windows, Bilbo was roused unwillingly from the deep, dreamless sleep he had been in. His eyes were sore, his pride and heart still felt shredded beyond repair, and the warmth of Fíli and Kíli on either side of him was far too comforting at the moment to want to stir.

His body, however, had other intentions. His bladder protested and he was forced to shuffle his way to the water closet to relieve himself. Thankfully it seemed none of the other member of their company was running about so early.

When he returned to their shared quarters, Fíli had been roused, and groggily made his way to the wash basin to splash the sleep from his eyes. Kíli was still entirely asleep, snoring contentedly, even through Bilbo’s reentering the room.

He greeted Fíli meekly, nodding as he made his way over. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“I’m terribly sorry about last night.” He glanced away, feelings of shame rising anew.

“I’m afraid I let my emotions get the better of me. Won’t happen again,” he nodded, albeit without confidence.

Fíli closed the gap between them and pulled the hobbit into a light embrace, before directing them both to sit at the table in the corner of the room. After a relatively sleepless night, he thought of several things he should have asked the halfling at the beginning of all this. At first, he had not wanted to dredge anything too painful up, in hopes that his uncle would see reason and work with Bilbo to bridge the rift between them.

Now that that was not happening, Fíli realized the need to understand what had gone on all those weeks ago was much more prevalent.

“Never apologize for your emotions, or the expression of them, Bilbo,” Fíli insisted as they sat down together. “It is an admirable ability that some of my kind could do well to learn.”

He thought of his uncle down the hall, stubbornly sitting in his own sadness and forcing the hobbit to do the same out of some misguided form of honour.

“What happened between you and my uncle?” he asked softly. “We need to understand, Bilbo.”

“Ahh,” he huffed, exasperated, a hand rising to bury itself in his hair. With the early morning sun pouring through the windows they were a brilliant shade of rich copper, bringing out the shocking green in his hazel eyes.

“Well, to be honest, he made it abundantly clear the first day you laid with me.” He shrugged, bring his hand down the side of his face, tugging at his hairless chin for a moment before settling his hands in his lap.

“He had tried to…well,” he paused to clear his throat awkwardly, not wanting terribly to discuss anything to do with their leader at the moment. However, as Fíli had suffered his foolish outburst last night he felt it was only fair to comply. “He pinned me to a tree, tried to snog me while we were on break. I could hear laughing, so I know someone saw. I stopped him.”

He shrugged despairingly, looking between each of Fíli’s eyes imploringly.

“I simply said we needed to use some control as I had no desire to be seen as some lusty tween. I wouldn’t have others watching when we…when we. Well,” he cut himself off again, clearing his throat shortly once again to distract himself from unpleasant memories that warmed him disturbingly. “You know.”

Fíli blinked at the hobbit before barking out a short, disbelieving laugh that had Kíli stirring on the bed across the room. He scrubbed at his beard, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling for a few moments. Leave it to Thorin to get offended first before simply explaining cultural differences.

“I fear you committed a bit of a…cultural blunder, so to speak,” the blond said miserably, turning his eyes back to Bilbo. “It doesn’t excuse Thorin’s actions since, by any means.”

He looked over his shoulder at the brunette, who was slowly working his way to being fully awake before turning back to the hobbit with a sigh.

“Dwarves have a heightened need to procreate, since dwarven females are so rare. Simply put, we are constantly ready to tumble,” he said delicately. “Especially when we are young, and especially when we are in love. Many dwarves are insatiable.

“Because of this, we’re very open with our physical affections. To insist on hiding a coupling is to say you’re ashamed of your partner,” Fíli continued. “In a way, the more public the act, they higher in regard that dwarf holds you. Kíli and I are more discreet with our relationship because it makes many of our kind uncomfortable.”

He watched Bilbo’s face, looking for any sign that the man might be on the brink of another breakdown as he said, “any laughter you heard on that day was at Thorin’s expense, little one. He hasn’t acted the randy tween since he was one, so Dwalin said when he left with you.”

Bilbo nearly choked himself spluttering, heat rising to his cheeks as the gravity of his actions truly sunk in. No wonder the dwarf had reviled him so. In Thorin’s eyes, Bilbo had been the one to cast him off with cold indifference. He had simply been returning the gesture. Bilbo groaned as he scrubbed his hand over his mouth, still disbelieving as Fíli continued on.

“I’ve made a right mess of this,” the halfling muttered, his fingers now steepled and pressed to his lips as he thought. “It is the exact opposite for hobbits. Very private business, what one does in the bedroom, never to be spoken of really.”

He looked to Fíli with a lopsided grin, bemused by the somewhat shocked expression he was met with. “And that isn’t to mention lovers. In fact it is rather deplorable to take lovers before you’re wed. Taboo you could say. It simply isn’t done. And when it is,” he continued with a sigh, now leaning on the table with his arms tucked under him. “It’s a one-time affair and never spoken of again. A messy business really.”

Kíli had sat up in bed and listened lazily to the conversation, breaking the pauses with over-dramatic yawns. Bilbo then looked between the two; another statement the blonde had made dawning him.

“So your kind view your relationship as odd?” he questioned the pair. They both nodded, Kíli asking sleepily as he rolled out of bed, “Wha’? You don’t find it peculiar?”

The hobbit gave the prince a shrug, incredibly indifferent to it all. “It’s common practice in the Shire for cousins, even siblings in some cases, to bond and marry. That’s why family trees are so large and intertwined in most cases.”

Bilbo was once again snoozing, this time having dozed off in his chair, a book in his lap. Fíli and Kíli roused from where they had been tousling on the bed, hair a disheveled mess. Young dwarves were indeed insatiable. They had been carefully quiet so their burglar could sleep, but were off each other in an instant when Thorin entered. As they had the night before, each drew a finger to their lips before nodding to the slumbering hobbit.

Kíli was slow to meet his uncle, still feeling the churn of anger of Bilbo’s behalf, but once he had straightened his clothes and raked his fingers through his unruly mane he slid up to Fíli’s side.

“Problem?” He asked quietly, eyebrows raising suggestively. He felt the blonde’s elbow dig into his side and he muttered an apology.

Thorin paused for a few minutes, eyes darting between the sleeping hobbit and the dwarves on the bed, their clothes half undone and barely hanging onto their bodies. He was impossibly confused by what he saw, though infinitely relieved. If he had found the hobbit on the bed with his nephews…he didn’t know what would have happened.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to his nephews, temper flaring briefly at Kíli’s insubordinate tone. It would seem his eldest was more for being diplomatic at the very least, so he regarded Fíli as he spoke.

“We are departing within the hour, and must be free of the valley by sun-up,” he said quietly, glancing at the slumbering halfling. He paused as he took in the tender sight, feeling a hard tug in his chest before he returned his gaze to Fíli. “Take your time rousing him. We won’t be making camp until tomorrow night.”

With that, Thorin left the room before his youngest nephew could make any smart remarks and marched to his own chambers to ready his pack and tend to his weapons.

Once their uncle had taken his leave Fíli saw to packing their things, throwing himself back into his heavy over coat and fastening his many belts and scabbards into place. Kíli was the one to wake the hobbit, stirring him gently from his slumber with whispers and nudges.

Bilbo opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep, to be greeted with the sight of the archers smiling face. He returned the gesture weakly before he realized Fíli was busy packing their things.

“Something wrong?” Bilbo inquired as he sat up, placing the book he had been reading on the table top.

“We’re leaving the valley. Time to get back on the road,” Kíli replied before he followed his brother’s example and began slipping back into his traveling garb.

Bilbo now rushed about, skittish as nearly all proper hobbit’s were before leaving for travel, throwing on his maroon traveling coat and gathering his tidy pack.

“Leaving so suddenly? I thought we were to be seen off by Lord Elrond and his kin come the morning,” Bilbo pushed as they made their way for the door. The brothers looked back to him with a shrug, ushering the hobbit out of their chambers hurriedly.

“Looks like our plans have changed.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

They were nearly out of the valley as the morning sun broke, the company of Thorin Oakenshield tromping along. Though the rest had done them all some good it was clear that they would miss the leisurely days they had spent in Rivendell. A particular member of the company, a hobbit, stopped to admire the sight wistfully one last time, only turning to follow as their leader called for him to keep up.

They trudged on for hours, not stopping once for rest or food, for whatever fear Thorin was driving them forward. Night had fallen when they were in the mountain pass, and an unyielding storm had begun.

The wind whipped and moaned, thunder and lightning cracking the sky above. He could hear others calling out, could hear someone voice the need for shelter. He was shoulder to shoulder between Bofur and Dwalin, inching his way along the shallow overhang cautiously. The slickness of the stone beneath his bare feet, however, gave way and the hobbit began to topple forward. Much to his relief Dwalin rescued him, an arm like iron clamping over his chest and pulling him back against the rock.

Then everything began to fall apart. Before wide, unbelieving eyes, the mountains came to life. Giant beings made of the very living rock, warring angrily with one another through the storm.

At some point Kíli felt the ground give way, a rumbling beneath his feet, and he looked back to his brother. Time stood still as the mountain split between them, the archer catching his brother’s desperate words.

“Kíli, grab my hand!”

But the gap was too wide. He stared desperately willing his eyes not to blink, he heart to keep beating as his shadow was torn away and they were separated.

The leg of the beast that Kíli was on came crashing against a solid part of the mountain range, and he could faintly hear his uncle call back for them all to run. He tore forward blindly, on the heels of his elders, and they all managed to find solace on the solid ground.

But they heard shouts of fear, the words “hold on”, echoing around them. Kíli focused hard, watching with desperation as the other half of their company, Bilbo and Fíli included, clung to the leg of the beast.

Thorin turned to watch the giant, eyes trying to find his nephew and hobbit through the torrential rain that came down around them. He could see the vague shape of the giant stumble as another of its kind rammed into it. To Thorin’s growing horror, he watched as it stumbled and spun again, the ledge half of the Company, stood upon hurtling toward the cliff-face.

“No!” he roared desperately as the giant crashed against the mountain with a resounding thunderous clap.

“Fíli!” Thorin bellowed as he broke into a dead run on the treacherous path. He was half mad with terror, not wanting to see the gruesome sight that would meet his wild eyes when he turned the corner. Kíli was hot on his heels, a choking sob escaping him as they hurried along as quick as they could.

He almost passed out under the weight of his relief upon seeing his men in a heap in the mouth of a cave. Fíli, in particular, was in the center of the heap, dazed and shaking off the remnants of his blinding fear. His mind was a constant mantra of ‘where’s Kíli’ when he found himself with a lapful of the dwarf in question.

The blonde’s mouth was claimed in a desperate kiss, hands trailing over his body chastely as they searched for wounds. “I am alright, my love,” he murmured against Kíli’s cheek, relieved tears stinging his eyes as he maneuvered his brother so they could both stand.

“Where’s Bilbo?!”

Bofur’s cry froze Thorin’s blood instantly, and he looked around wildly with the others as sorrow gripped him. ‘Aulë, no,’ the king begged silently, feeling a hard knot form in his throat. ‘Not like this…’

Suddenly, Bofur and Ori were scrambling at the edge of the cliff, yelling and hollering for help and Thorin’s mind blanked. He was jumping down before he could even begin to form a rational thought, one hand on the slicked stone and a booted toe finding a foothold as he grabbed the back of Bilbo’s jacket with his free hand.

In the brief moment Thorin saw Bilbo’s face before he fairly threw him up into Bofur’s ready arms, he saw shock, the halfling’s mind completely shut down in his terror.

The momentum of tossing the hobbit had his foothold giving way underneath him, and his grip on the wet stone of the cliff’s edge was not enough to keep him from falling. He felt a moment of vertigo, not even long enough to realize what was happening, before he was hauled up by Dwalin. Thank the stars for his oldest friend.

As he caught his breath, the brute went to Bilbo and clapped him on the back. “I thought we lost our burglar!” he guffawed and Thorin flinched.

The past ten minutes came crashing against him, and for the first time, he truly questioned the worth of this quest. He had almost lost half of his loyal men, his heir among them, and a hobbit who had no real reason to be there. Mahal, he had almost perished twice before they even reached Rivendell.

This was not his journey, and the only incentive he had was a portion of gold, but how much was that worth if the journey was as fatal as the creature guarding the prize? Erebor was not the halfling’s home to reclaim, yet here he was among them. Risking his life at every moment, crawling through goblin-infested mountains and almost being smeared across the cliffs all for what? A kingdom he hadn’t heard of until only a few months ago?

They had had no right, Gandalf had had no right to ask this of him; this reckless risk-taking that would have even the hardest of dwarves trembling.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home,” Thorin yelled over the din of the rain, his voice wavering as sorrow washed through him. He wasn’t sure what would happen to him if Bilbo were to die on this quest. “He should never have come; he has no place amongst us!”

His features pinched as absolute misery filled him, and he turned away from the halfling before he revealed anymore of his pain. He lead them all into the cave that had saved them from being destroyed and ordered them to get some sleep while the storm passed and that they would begin their trek again.

“We were to wait in the mountains for Gandalf to join us,” Balin argued, face disapproving.

Thorin thought on that, and thought of putting Bilbo, his heirs, and his men in anymore unnecessary danger in these cursed mountains.

“Plans change,” he said lowly and ordered everyone to rest once again.

Bilbo had been pinned to the rock protectively by Bofur, the toymaker panting above him from his dual part of the daring rescue. Bilbo felt the urge to say his thanks, his chest heaving for air, but the Thorin’s harsh words silenced the group as a whole before he stomped into the mouth of the cave. He sat in the rain, Bofur waiting on him for a few moments and offering a hand up.

No place amongst them.

The words resounded with him, tormented, would not give him a moments peace. Thorin’s distaste for him had apparently surpassed any rejection the hobbit had dealt him and now he truly was an outsider in the king’s eyes.

He made a point of moving away from the group, sleeping on the fringes, even asking the brothers to stay away from him this night. They did so reluctantly, but Bilbo offered them a bleak smile, reassuring him that he just needed time alone with his thoughts. They laid to rest together, clinging to each other, and Bilbo had stayed at the back of the cave.

He waited in silence, eyes shut though he did not sleep, and when he was assured the company had fallen off he made his move. Quickly he stood, rolling his blanket and snapping it into his pack, taking up his walking stick as he tentatively padded across the floor. Everyone was sleeping so soundly, and the hobbit was so skillful, no one stirred as he made his way for the entrance.

“Where d’ya think yer goin’?” Bofur asked as he chewed his nails, still shaken by their adventure thus far.

Bilbo froze in place, turning to him with a grim look. There was no point in pretending. “Back to Rivendell.”

Bofur shot up, pleading with the burglar. “No! Ye’ can’t go! Yer’ one’a us, yer part of the company!”

“Ah, but I’m not now, am I?” He pressed, his chest tightening uncomfortably.

“Thorin was right. I’m a Baggins, not a Took, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to force a smile. “I never should’ve run out my door.”

“Yer homesick! I understand,” Bofur tried to soothe. It made something inside Bilbo snap.

“No you don’t,noneof you do! You’re dwarves! You’re used tothislife! The life on the road, never settling in one place, notbelonginganywhere!” The sudden withdrawal on the comforting face instantly tugged at Bilbo’s heart-strings, making him back-peddle immediately.

“Look, I-I’m sorry, I ju—” He cut himself off with a frustrated sigh, kicking himself mentally for losing his temper. But the next words Bofur uttered tore at him more.

“No, yer right,” the pig-tailed dwarf began, shoulders drooping in defeat. “We don’t belong anywhere.”

Bilbo felt like the biggest arse the world had ever known. He was on the verge of apologizing when Bofur’s hand clasped his shoulder companionably, his smile as warm and kindly as Bilbo had ever seen it. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.”

As he pulled away something caught the toymaker’s eye. “What’s that?” he asked curiously as he pointed to the small, elvish blade at Bilbo’s hip. There was a faint glow from the scabbard. As the halfling tugged the blade up slowly, revealing the shimmering blue light, his heart sank.

And then the floor was gone.

____________________________

The following hours—even days, perhaps—were a whirlwind of running and fighting for their lives. Falling into a goblin city was definitely nothing they were prepared for with their small numbers, and even with Gandalf rescuing them it was a bitter fight until they found the light of day.

Thorin was in terrible pain, his back on fire from the goblin’s whips and flogs. He could feel the bloom of bruises beneath his broken skin, movement sending torment singing through his nerves. But they had to press on.

So punishing was their pace through the caves as the pushed on to daylight, that Thorin was unable to take a headcount of their party. The wizard kept them moving, the winding paths making little sense, and Thorin was concerned they were being lead further into the mountain rather than out of it.

The sight of daylight sent a shiver of excitement through the dwarves, and as they burst from the small mouth and into the wild beyond, tearing down the hill until they could no longer see the opening into the goblins’ home.

As the came to a stop to catch their breath, Thorin shifted stiffly, his body in white hot agony from the pressing hours of tearing through filthy underground tunnels.

Gandalf was counting them, and Thorin sucked in a harsh breath through his nose as the wizard began looking around, looking concerned. “Where is your hobbit?”

The dwarves scrambled, looking around, and Thorin deflated, dread crushing his heart in his chest. He absently heard Nori mention the halfling slipping away when they were first taken and the breath whooshed out of him, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

The foolish hobbit had probably intended to save them, and in doing so had gotten himself lost or killed. Or worse, caught. His stomach turned at the thought of such vile creatures capturing his gentle hobbit, and he felt bile rise to his throat as he listen to his men bicker about what they should do about the missing Bilbo Baggins.

Of course, none of them had known of Bilbo’s adventures with Gollum and acquiring a magic ring and soon they were all fearing the worse.

With his new treasure still secure around his finger, rendering the world oddly devoid of color and churning around him, Bilbo followed the party. He knew now that he was invisible to their eyes, yet he hid behind a tree as he heard raised voices over his absence.

No longer able to handle the thought of the hobbit trapped in the clutches of angry goblins, held as prisoner for the Defiler to deal with (if what the Goblin King had said could be trusted), Thorin moved his thoughts to stubborn denial.

“I will tell you what happened,” he said suddenly, his voice silencing his men, even if it sounded brittle even to his own ears. “The hobbit saw his chance and he took it. He has though of nothing but his soft bed since he left hom.”

He looked around, willing the stinging in his eyes away desperately. Though he sounded about to break, he couldn’t look it, not in front of these men that looked to him to be their king.

“We shall not be seeing our burglar again,” Thorin continued, his voice wavering on the last word as he looked toward his nephews for a brief second. Kíli was visibly devastated, and his blond brother was doing his best to hide his own upset. “He is long gone.”

Bilbo had remained hidden behind the tree, holding his breath as he listened to each word. At first he was enraged, wanting to stomp over and set the stubborn fool straight. How dare he assume, again and again, the Bilbo would abandon this quest? But he could hear his voice falter, could hear as the mask slipped away.

A glimmer of hope, something blindingly bright in this colorless world as he peered around the tree. Fili and Kili barely contained themselves, each company member wearing vastly different expressions, but Thorin’s sent a shudder up his spine. The king looked devastated.

Without wasting another moment for the silence to grow, Bilbo worked the thick gold bank off his finger, dodging around the tree and into the group with a shake of his head. “No, he isn’t.”

All eyes were on him. He heard a gust of air escape each of the princes, their eyes alight with joy. Bofur, he noted, looked the most relieved to see him out of the company. He locked eyes with the toymaker for a brief moment, sharing in a smile.

“Bilbo, we’d given you up!” Kili choked out, willing the tears in his eyes to stay in place. He felt Fili’s hand squeeze his reassuringly.

“How did you get past the goblins?” the blonde asked. Dwalin was looking now on the halfling with a fond glint in his eyes, standing next to Thorin.

“How indeed,” he sighed with a gentle tugging smile. Quite self-conscious at the moment Bilbo gave an awkward laugh, taking great care as he tucked the mystical ring into his vest pocket for safe keeping. He heard Gandalf’s voice, barely processing the words, until Thorin’s voice broke all of his barriers.

“It matters,” he heard the king ground out, their eyes snapping to one another’s in an instant. “Why did you come back?”

Thorin’s tone was so soft, so helpless in that moment, all of Bilbo’s past anger and insecurities melted away.

“Look, I know you doubt me. I know you do. And you’re right,” he conceded with a nod, pursing his lips for a moment in thought. “I do think of Bag End. I miss my books,” he rocked back and forth, from his heels to his toes, thumbs hooking his pockets. “And my arm chair. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back, because you don’t have one.”

He took a breath, his hazel eyes caught by the beams of the setting sun and making them shine brilliantly, and in that moment Thorin Oakenshield would be able to see every ounce of love this hobbit of the shire, Mister Bilbo Baggins, had for him and his company.

“But I will help you take it back if I can.”

Thorin was almost bowled over by the hobbit’s devotion to, not only him and his nephews, but to the company. The utter conviction in the tiny man’s voice, despite his discomfort with so much attention on him, had the king almost smiling with overwhelming affection for the hobbit.

His resolve broke at the pure emotion in Bilbo’s eyes, an emotion that Thorin dared not put a name to just yet. Mahal, he would grovel at this hobbit’s feet as soon as they had paused for real rest and beg his forgiveness. After those hours of fear, and those few minutes he had been sure his hobbit had been captured by filth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to continue this journey without Bilbo knowing how important he was to the king.

Thorin couldn’t bear the thought of Bilbo dying thinking he was nothing to the dwarf.

Nodding gently to the halfling, his features softened, he turn to the company and was about to issue orders when a chilling howl rent the still air.

Wargs; and that meant Orcs.

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin cursed, readying Orcrist once again.

“And into the fire,” Gandalf added before he urged them further down the incline, their pace hard as the beasts gained on them.

Fate, as it would seem, was laughing at the small band of dwarves, for the inclined ended quickly at a cliff, trapping them quite nicely for the Orcs that pursued them. So into the trees around them, they climbed as high as they could, out of reach of the circling Wargs on the ground.

That was when Thorin saw him, the Pale Orc, his severed hand replaced with a hooked spike and an arrogant smirk upon his face. Azog’s pale eyes found his and his rotten smile spread wider, a dark delight taking over his features.

He spat orders to his Orcs and Wargs in his hateful language and the beasts at the bases of the trees began jumping, knocking the trunks with such force that the trees began to topple. The dwarves and hobbit scrambled for purchase on the next tree, and like dominoes, each tree fell until they were all trapped in the final one that was balanced precariously on the cliff’s edge.

All hope seemed to be lost as the filthy mutts converged on them, when Gandalf began lighting pinecones on fire and sending them down among the Wargs. Soon, as the dwarves helped in the lighting of the cones, a sizeable fire spread and scared the beasts back (as Wargs are terrified of fire).

The dwarves gave a great cheer as the wolves and Orcs backed off a bit, but soon their weight and movement became too much for their refuge to handle. It tipped back, a few thick roots holding on desperately, but the company now hung over open space to the valley below.

Thorin looked at all his men, and paused as he looked at Bilbo and the strange mixture of fear and calm on his round face. The dwarf despaired again that they were in a terrible spot of danger, that the chances at survival were very small, and the hobbit still may think him indifferent. Aulë, he wished he could take the past several weeks back.

He turned to look at the Defiler, a black hate filling him at the memory of his grandfather’s head, thrown across a battlefield to land at his feet. A fierce protectiveness came over him as the men in his company struggled to get to a better hold on their branches. He would not let this filth take his men. Not while he still had breath.

With new-found strength, Thorin hauled himself up and onto the trunk, balancing carefully as he stepped past the hobbit. He adjusted his shield and unsheathed Orcrist, brow set determinedly as his pace quickened. As he hit solid ground, he was in a run, teeth bared as Azog rose to his challenge. Barreling through the flames, he raised his elven sword, a yell leaving his lips.

Azog prompted his Warg into movement, and the beast lunged, heavy paw punching Thorin’s chest and knocking him backward. There was a sickening crack in his chest and the air left his lungs, the force of the hit forcing his breath out of him. There was a ringing in his ears as he struggled to regain his feet before Azog came back.

No such luck as the large mouth of the white beast clamped around him and lifted him. The crushing bite sent teeth into his flesh and innards, tearing into him with bone-shattering force. He shouted as his shield arm broke and his ribs on that side cracked further. He fought for coherency, knowing that if he did not escape now, he would be dead in the next few moments.

Swinging Orcrist, he brought the hilt down on the Warg’s snout, causing the beast to snarl and throw him several feet away. The impact upon the ground had him seeing stars.

The world was narrowing as he felt blood streaming out of him. Black was coming in on the edge of his vision, and he battled the faint. Everything was muffled, the acrid smell of smoke fading as his senses dulled. He could see an Orc approaching, ugly sword drawn and a rotten grin splitting his face.

Thorin strained to reach Orcrist, pleading to the gods for the strength to not die here. Then he was praying that his nephews would get away, that they could continue on to reclaim Erebor, that they would keep Bilbo safe.

‘Mahal, please save Bilbo,’ he found himself praying as his wavering vision watched the Orc grow closer.

At the last moment, a tiny shape burst into view, small sword gleaming blue against the orange and red backdrop of the flames and barreled right into the tall Orc.

‘Bilbo, no!’ he wanted to shout as the darkness suddenly overcame him, his last conscious sight being his hobbit wrestling with an Orc.

The world came to a screeching halt. Everything narrowed down to Thorin’s cries of agony echoing through the night. The flames were white hot and creeping in on them, the great pine they all clung to dangling off the cliffs edge precariously. Bilbo forced himself to his feet as Thorin was tossed away. He was vaguely aware of those around him, shouting and screaming for the king-to-be.He drew out his blade, the bright blue glow bleeding though the red and orange fire-light. He could see the gnarled Orc blade, practicing its course, and he no longer thought.

He charged blindly forward with a war-cry befitting a hobbit, something undeniably brave and terrified all at the same time. With momentum behind him he tackled the ugly beast to the ground. Panic gripped his heart as the beast tried to roll on top of him, but he sunk his elvish short sword deep into the Orc’s chest, repeating the motion as it rolled away, black blood spewing violently. He stumbled back from the corpse, hovering protectively over Thorin with Sting before him. His heart hammered wildly in his chest.

The defiler laughed at him then, the white warg he was astride advancing on him slowly. Bilbo swung his sword in a frenzy, the most helpless and frightfully telling sounds escaping him then. He would not leave Thorin’s side. He would die here, protecting his king.

Kíli bellowed as he charged forward, swords flashing in the fire light, followed quickly by Fíli and Dwalin. Each warrior hacked and slashed with expertise and deadly accuracy, bringing down beast after beast. Azog had skirted his way around, catching the hobbit off guard as he battled another foul warg, only to be tossed into the air and landing hard against the ground. He had never known terror like that crystal blue stare. Azog was going to make him regret the day he was born for stealing his moment, the hobbit knew that for certain.

When it seemed all hope was lost, a miracle occurred. Eagles.

They took over the battle, tossing orc and warg alike over the cliff to their deaths. It was only when Azog’s minions numbers had been cut by half did the Eagles carry them off into the night, ensuring each and every last member was whisked away to safety.

It was the most beautiful sense of peace Bilbo was ever to know but he could not enjoy his flight. His eyes were locked on Thorin’s limp form in the talons of one of the great golden eagles. The journey seemed to last an eternity, not once did the hobbit’s eyes leave their leader.

When they were finally dropped onto a plateau everyone rushed forward. The dwarves all crowded from behind, Gandalf and Bilbo from the front, the hobbit stopping short when he found he couldn’t breathe.

Gandalf had dropped down, and hand ghosting over Thorin’s eyes, and with a splutter the king returned, blinking into the sun. Bilbo heard him mutter something, could have sworn he heard “The hobbit?” fall from those bloodied lips. His shoulders sagged with relief, a smile spreading as Thorin forced himself up.

“It’s alright. Bilbo is here,” Gandalf said with a knowing smile.

Thorin was on his feet with Kíli and Dwalin’s help, stumbling back and shaking them off.

“You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” Thorin shouted, voice breaking on the last word as he remembered the brief vision of his hobbit running headlong into battle against a creature almost four times his size. That the halfling was standing here at all was a miracle, let alone uninjured. There was the black stains of Orc blood on his jacket and hands, but Thorin could see no wounds that belonged to the hobbit.

Relief so profound whipped through Thorin, almost bringing him to his knees as he looked upon Bilbo, his Bilbo, alive and well. And this little thing saved him. Saved a man that had been utterly cruel to him for weeks, had deliberately shown indifference and feigned hatred, and still Bilbo hadn’t hesitated to fly into a deadly situation.

“Did I not say that you would be a burden, that you would not survive in the wild and that you have no place amongst us?” He regretted every black word against Bilbo Baggins he had ever said, and above all else, he regretted his petulance over the past several weeks. Bilbo had almost died, left this world thinking Thorin had hated him and that had his heart stopping. He could not bear to let this childish behavior dictate his relationship with the halfling any longer.

He would fix this, or make it up to Bilbo if the gentle creature would have him.

“I’ve never been so wrong in all my life,” he finally said in a low growl as he surged forward and embraced his hobbit so tightly, his barely healed arm protested. The wounds on his torso sent white-hot agony screaming through his body, and he could feel some split back open, but he did not release his hold on Bilbo. Instead, he buried his nose and mouth into those tawny curls and just breathed.

He breathed in the scent of Bilbo, beneath all the blood and grime and sweat, and he was alive. The stress of everything whooshed out of him so fast, he was lightheaded, the adrenaline still coursing through him the only thing keeping him on his feet.

There was hesitation when they separated, the urge to pull Bilbo up into a kiss muddling Thorin’s mind. He dipped his head as he pulled back, hands gripping his hobbit’s arms lightly, and it would have been so easy to close that gap and claim those perfect lips after so many weeks. But the cheers and hoots and hollers behind him made him aware of their audience and Thorin retreated completely, a smile splitting his face.

Bilbo was frozen in place as Thorin’s tone betrayed his heartache. Be it for his near-death at the hands of Azog or the separation they had suffered, Bilbo did not know, but he swore he could see those beautiful eyes, like a stormy sea, glassy with tears.

The king pulled him into a fierce hug, and Bilbo awkwardly melted into the touch, unsure if he should be reclaimed by this fire that burned so brightly for the dwarf. But he could feel his heartbeat, could hear his breathing as bloodied lips were pressed into his curls, and arms like steel holding him in place. Bilbo was slow to return the hug. As Thorin began to pull away, his head dipped and smile heart-warming, he regarded his hobbit with such appreciation Bilbo couldn’t help the quiet laugh of disbelief that left him.

“I was wrong to doubt you,” he heard Thorin mutter, a hand still placed thoughtfully on his forearm.

“Oh, I would’ve doubted me too,” Bilbo confessed with a smile as the events of the past days began to settle in. He had been through hell and high water for this company, and he was quite sure it wasn’t over yet. They exchanged more words, Bilbo’s stomach doing wild twists and turns as he began to realize Thorin was sure to stay by his side.

They watched the Eagles take wing once more, the company watching in awe as golden-tipped wings scrapped the sky, but Bilbo was enraptured by Thorin’s profile as he stared into the distance. It was as if he had seen a ghost, or more rather an old friend from a great distance.

The king’s expression warped from that of disbelief into something so joyous, yet still contained. Bilbo followed his gaze and then he spotted it. A single solitary peak.

“Wait, is that…?” The raven dwarf was already walking forward, his stride sure and full of pride.

Bilbo followed on his heels and he could hear sighs of relief and gasps of surprise from the company behind him. “The lonely mountain.”

“Our home,” he heard Thorin whisper fondly. Bilbo could not tare his eyes from the glorious sight, nor could any other member of their party. Relief was palpable all around.

Their pleasant daze was broken by a sharp chirp, a tiny bird flitting its way over-head and making for the mountain in the distance.

“A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain!” Bilbo heard old Oin exclaim, his gritty voice full of excitement.

“That, my dear Oin, is a Thrush,” the hobbit heard Gandalf reply. He felt warmth brush his arm and turned to be greeted with a sight that made him want to weep; the king of Erebor, with a genuine smile, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Then we shall take it as a sign,” the king muttered, turning to Bilbo. Though his face was scratched and bleeding and bruised, the warmth in that beautiful smile spread up into those stormy blue orbs. Bilbo was grinning like a fool in return.

“A good omen.”

“You’re right,” the hobbit began with a sigh, turning back to stare at their goal. All thoughts of Bag End vanished. Home was behind him, the world was ahead, and he was going to meet it head on with Thorin Oakenshield and his brave company.

“I do believe the worst is behind us.”

~~~

Thorin and Gandalf pushed the company onward, despite the dwarf’s fragile body. The king wanted as much distance put between his men and the orcs that hunted them, and Gandalf insisted on a man living nearby that would shelter them for a time. The trek was hard, Thorin’s body stiff and wracked with pain, but he was aided by his nephews and Bilbo sometimes, when the boys would allow themselves to be separated from his side.

The hobbit stayed close, though, something that warmed Thorin, though he kept a tight hold on the reigns over his hope. This kindling of friendship meant little towards anything like they had begun all those weeks ago.

Their arrival at the giant’s home the next day was a spectacle, for sure, but Beorn was amused enough to open his halls to them for a few nights. It was an invitation they gladly took. Their host served them a grand dinner (though anything would be grand after the hellish week they had had) and told them of their rooms and the bath before warning them to stay indoors during the night.

Thorin sat through the dinner stiffly, conscious of his appearance and his filth, and when his portion was finished he made for the bath. The tub was the size of a small pool, full of warm water and it made sense that it was being used as a public bath for the company.

He bathed as quickly as he could, his arm still stiff and the heated water stinging the wounds that still oozed slowly. By the time he exited the tub, the water was murky and required replacing. No doubt Beorn’s animal servants would be in shortly to do so before the rest of the company came to bathe.

Forgoing his filthy and bloodied clothes, he moved over the mirror set up above a small washbasin across the room. He fought a grimace at the angry pink scars that formed an arc from shoulder to hip on his torso, knowing a matching curve would be on his back. A few of the scars still bled, as they hadn’t been deep enough for the wizard to focus too much of his healing magic on them. He knew someday these would be a point of pride (and that he would have them tattooed to showcase his bravery and resilience), but as they were still causing him pain, the king couldn’t quite bring himself to like them.

There he found several piles of gauze and wrappings out on the table and a corner of Thorin’s mouth lifted in a smirk. Perhaps the giant shape-shifter had seen the king’s sorry state and had had these put out for him. Not knowing if he should be grateful or deeply embarrassed, he set about trying to dress his wounds.

~~~

Beorn was quite literally a bear of a man, large and overbearing in every sense of the word to the hobbit’s notions. He always felt so small and insignificant, even when amongst dwarves, but in Beorn’s halls he felt entirely miniscule. That isn’t to say the company did not keep his spirits up with their boisterous songs and tales, nor was it to say that the hearty meal had not appeased his hobbit’s appetite. The prospect of a hot bath and a night spent in a warm bed was also something that thrilled him and made him all the more comfortable in the shape-shifters home.

The group of dwarves had been offered ale and mead and now clasped each other, shoulder to shoulder, singing and swaying and sloshing their mugs about. The sight reminded Bilbo quite fondly of their last night spent at Bag End, the night he had met all of these wonderful people.

For his tastes however, as the conversation turned slurred, he chose to excuse himself. He set to wandering the corridors, trying to remember his way back to his room. As he wandered, he noticed a large oak door, sitting ajar, heavy steam pouring out and enticing. Bilbo walked over and peeked in to be greeted with a sight that made his face turn scarlet.

Thorin Oakenshield, in all of his natural glory, with wisps of steam swirling around his muscular frame. Bilbo winced slightly at the wounds and scars, but found himself feeling quite odd at the sight. He had always imagined the king as one who was, all in all, invincible. To see him now plain as day in the bright lamp light, covered in scars, both shallow and deep, put the impulse in him to reach out. He wanted to learn that torn and battered skin like a map, something he could memorize and never forget.

The raven haired dwarf seemed to be struggling, a few still angry wounds open across his back that he simply could not reach. Very shyly Bilbo stepped forward, clearing his throat to announce himself. It was as good as it was going to get from the blushing halfling.

“I could help, if you would like,” he stuttered quietly as he inched forward, being very careful to keep his eyes now locked with Thorin’s. He certainly didn’t want those to wander, not when their relationship was still so rocky. He had no idea what Thorin expected of him now but he at least hoped that this sort of familiarity would be acceptable to the dwarf.

He picked up some of the herbal salve that had been provided with the bandages, smearing it gently between his fingers and treating one of the shallow puncture wounds on Thorin’s shoulder. His fingers had trembled at first, still quite nervous around such an imposing and important figure, but slowly the tremors left him and he continued his work with his eyes focused on the wound. The wrappings were bright white, clean and gauzy, and they wrapped quite nicely around the odd contour of Thorin’s shoulder.

“There, I think that should do,” Bilbo muttered, quite pleased with his handiwork, his hazel orbs returning to Thorin’s. Bilbo was sure his heart skipped a bit and his blush returned, as it seemed the dwarf’s gaze always had that effect on him.

Thorin shivered at the halfling’s touch, holding his breath and keeping his thoughts in line carefully, lest something embarrassing happened. The hobbit being here, so close, and his soft fingers on his weathered flesh. It was easier when he wasn’t made to look at the small man, but when Bilbo prompted him to sit so he could better reach the wound on his shoulder, Thorin almost declined.

But the thought of Bilbo leaving…

The dwarf obediently sat, keeping his eyes deliberately set on the halfling’s chest as Bilbo worked after the small glance he had spared upon the man’s determined face almost proved to be too much for his restraint. When the hobbit finished his work, Thorin met his gaze, pleased at the blush that rose to Bilbo’s round cheeks.

“I appreciate your assistance,” he said calmly, though his mind was in turmoil as he attempted to will away the flame the creature sparked in his gut. “I know I have done very little to deserve your care as of late.”

The halfling had worked diligently, ensuring each open wound was salved and bandaged. His touches were feather-light, ghosting over Thorin’s battered flesh, the soft pads of his fingers occasionally running over one of the many thick, rigid scars. They had been silent through the process, each keeping the other at a distance in a way. What Bilbo hadn’t been expecting was Thorin’s kind words.

When the dwarf made his quiet confession, sounding rather ashamed, Bilbo felt a surge of fondness for the dwarf. “Oh, no, no, don’t apologize,” the shireling muttered, an awkward smile curling his lips. “I’m more than happy to help.”

When he smiled next, though his cheeks were still painted with a faint telling blush, it radiated warmth and affection, spreading easily into his round hazel orbs.

Bilbo’s unwillingness to accept his apology pained Thorin, driving home just how much of an arse he had been.

“I have been cruel, unnecessarily so,” Thorin persisted, eyes burning into the halfling’s. “I have acted a petulant child.”

He faltered then, turning his face away from the hobbit as the words stuck in his throat. There was a stinging in his eyes that he blinked away quickly, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth gnashed audibly.

“I knew of your suffering, and I met it with indifference,” he continued carefully, keeping his face turned.

Listening to Thorin now it was obvious that this whole ordeal had been as traumatizing for him, even more so in certain ways that Bilbo surely didn’t understand.

“I am to blame as well,” Bilbo replied, focusing now on the tops of his feet if only to keep his emotions in check. They were what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and Bilbo Baggins would not suffer himself as a fool and allow it to happen again.

“I was ignorant to the offenses I committed. I’m so terribly sorry,” he trailed off, breath hitching in his throat as he looked back to Thorin.

Expression pinched, Bilbo looked over the bandaged warrior and thought of the wargs mighty jaws clamping down on his frame, thought of the gnarled, rusted sword that almost took his kings head.

“I realize now, this sort of thing,” he was whispering, if only to try and mask his stutter. “This journey, it leaves no room for error. And it was such a grievous mistake on my part, and then I—” he faltered, biting his lip and looking away. “I almost—you nearly died, and I just—”

“Bilbo,” Thorin began, turning back to look at his hobbit, angry at himself that this little thing thought himself at all to blame for the hell the king had put them through. “Do not forget that I had committed a greater offence against your gentler nature.”

But as Bilbo became more visibly distressed, Thorin could stand it no longer. He reached up, cupping the hobbit’s round face between his large hands, noticing now that the halfling had lost some weight. Thorin swiped his thumbs across Bilbo’s cheeks, collecting the tears that had gathered there.

“Hush, my hobbit,” he murmured quietly, soothingly, a small shiver going through him as the physical contact stoked the flame in his belly. “I am alive, and I am here now.”

Bilbo held his breath, eyes going wide at the gentle contact and soft tone of the voice he had come to know as dismissive and gruff in the passing weeks. It was so warm, so gentle, and Thorin’s hands on the hobbit’s face felt like warm sunshine.

His breath hitched when he finally tried to breathe again, his eyes now traveling across Thorin’s marred chest, up to his broad and sturdy shoulders that were littered with scars and bandages, up the strong contour of his neck, then up and lingering at his lips until they locked eyes.

All was silent and still. The world narrowed down to the two of them, standing alone in this open-air bath, the deep gray blue of the sea meeting the greens and grays and browns of the earth in each other’s eyes.

Fire sparked to brilliant life between them.

Bilbo could stand it no more.

Bilbo lunged forward with an undignified whimper, his lips just barely grazing the kings. It was delicate and sweet and Bilbo had no idea he had missed it so. The gentle pressure was barely there, his eyes fluttering softly shut like a sparrows wings for only a moment before he was pulling away slowly. For a bewildering instant everything abandoned him. There was no Baggins, there was no Took, there was no company of rowdy dwarves in the dining room. There was only a hobbit and a king.

Thorin groaned at the brief contact, hands slipping back to tangle in tawny curls. He chased those lips as they backed away, suddenly needy and aroused almost beyond restraint. Pressing soft comfort against that pliant mouth, he had to pull away with a low growl.

Shutting his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he reigned in his desperate need.

“We should stop here,” he murmured, voice rough and dark, jaw clenching. “I fear I will be unable to later if we do not.”

Bilbo nodded emphatically, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and chase the earthy taste of the dwarf. Thorin was so close, his body heat unbearably comforting and making the hobbit want nothing more than to fall into those powerful arms and stay there forever.

“Right, yes,” Bilbo began with a shaky breath, his eyes shutting in turn as he tried to will away the pleasant heat that curled in his gut. Oh, but the smell of cracked granite and medicinal herbs, the taste that clung to lips, and the hot puffs of frustrated breath on his face…it was enough to bring out his Tookish nature.

“But do you want to?” he asked quietly, his smaller hands now reaching up gently to frame Thorin’s face in return, his eyes opening half-lidded and mouth parting temptingly.

There was that glint in his hobbit’s eyes, the one that would had Thorin panting and impossibly aroused. It was that mischievous light that had let to the most mind-numbingly perfect night beneath the stars, and had his hobbit taking pleasure brazenly where and when he wanted it. That glint that was so positively dwarvish, the king was bowled over by its intensity.

“I am hardly worthy of your affections, my hobbit, after everything I have put your through,” Thorin ground out through his teeth, even as he leaned forward to ghost his lips against Bilbo’s. The near contact was maddening, but he refused to take what he so desperately desired. “But I will accept anything you choose to afford me, without argument or complaint.”

Bilbo's soft lips twitched in a smile. With the dwarf king so close, he could feel his swiftly growing arousal, it having bobbed a few times to grab his attention. The hobbit wet his lips lasciviously, eyes now half lidded and slowly darkening with his own desires. His gaze traveled, trailing down the dwarf’s front, over his collar bone and then lingering on his lips. They were still split at the edges from the battle-filled days they had endured.

"I would have you," he began, pausing if only to remember to breathe, his eyes finding Thorin's once more. The fire there was enough to make him shudder. Oh, how he had missed this so. "Take what you wanted, my king."

His voice was low, full of want and far to telling of how he had missed Thorin's company. After he had received his abridged education on certain dwarven mating customs he had convinced himself that when Thorin demanded his lust be sated it was a good day to be his lover. It was what had occupied his thoughts since that private talk with the boys back in Rivendell, had kept nagging at him like a mother-hen. Now he was determined to bring out that desire in the dwarf once more.

Thorin growled darkly, using his firm grip on the back of the hobbit’s head to yank him into a bruising kiss, hunger dripping from every desperate motion. Aulë, he missed this, the way Bilbo yielded completely beneath him, his little mouth opening for a questing tongue. The halfling allowed the onslaught, mewled for it, and Thorin’s control finally snapped.

He was hauling the hobbit into his lap before too long, Bilbo’s legs spread impossibly wide to accommodate the dwarf’s muscular thighs. Thorin shuddered violently as the halfing’s clothed erection slotted against his own, and he began a rough pace, rutting against the keening hobbit with abandon, his own noises of rapture spilling forth into the damp room.

Bilbo felt somewhat self-conscious as their heavy panting and desperate groans echoed around the room with resounding clarity and, he was sure, were spilling out the open door and filling the corridors. He ignored everything he had ever been taught in these matters, what was socially acceptable and what was personally acceptable, pushing them to the back of his mind and keening all the louder for Thorin's pleasure. The hobbit's hands wandered freely, incredibly mindful of the still tender injures and rigid scars. He was committing each battle scar to his memory, gentle fingers gliding over the raised flesh carefully.

The halfling sought the kiss further, nipping and sucking on Thorin's lower lip, meekly slipping his tongue in to explore Thorin's mouth in return and glide his tongue over the arch just like the king did for him. He was elated at the response he was getting. Thorin seemed beside himself as he was falling further, allowing himself to be consumed by passion.

Bilbo's hands traveled now up his shoulders, once again minding the wounds he had just bandaged, up the dwarf's neck until he tangled the in the freshly washed locks. The purr that Thorin gave him was encouraging. Through the kiss he weaved his way through the thick tresses, massaging Thorin's sensitive scalp with delicate touches.

The dwarf hissed against Bilbo's soft mouth as the fingers on his scalp almost broke his restraint completely. With a growl, his large hands slid down to grip the curves of the hobbit's arse, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave marks. The rhythm stuttered when Bilbo scraped his blunt nails across the dwarf’s scalp, and Thorin couldn’t help the filthy moan that escaped him.

He needed his hobbit now, needed Bilbo’s tight heat wrapped around him, and he needed the intimacy he had so craved for weeks. The warmth of a bed partner had never been so desired before in all of Thorin’s long life, the connection of bodies never so important to him. Yet here was this perfect little creature, bouncing against him with whines and needy sounds leaving his lips, and Thorin had almost lost him forever. The need to reclaim his lover became important above all things in that moment.

“You are wearing far too many layers, my hobbit,” Thorin groaned, hissing as the sensation of cotton against his sensitive flesh became overwhelming. He ground up against the hobbit hard, holding their pelvises tightly together to drive home his point.

"I agree," Bilbo ground out, gritting his teeth against the sharp sensation of broad fingers bruising the soft globes of his rump. It was sure to leave marks. Bilbo was nearly looking forward to the angry purple bruises he was sure that would be there the next day; each and every one a reminder of their passionate reunion.

Bilbo began fumbling his jacket off, then with the fastenings on his vest. The brass buttons he loved so much (they had been a gift from a very dear relative when the vest was tailored) left him with only one to really fight with. The clothes were piling up on the floor, his suspenders being worked off his shoulders and the hem of his cream shirt being yanked from his trousers.

He was incredibly reluctant to stand, as he had been straddling Thorin's lap and the sensations that sent through him were enough to nearly bring him to completion. Slowly, with lingering kisses and teeth catching lips, Bilbo slid off of Thorin's lap to unlace his trousers and push them to his feet. His small clothes followed suit to pool around his ankles, being kicked off to the side unceremoniously.

He was hesitant when he returned to Thorin's lap, thighs spread wide as he straddled the king once again. He was thankful for the king’s strength regardless of his injuries as strong hands held fast at the small of his back. The halfling's hands returned to Thorin's scalp, giving the tresses a gentle tug to watch for the dwarf's reaction.

Thorin very nearly came at the sight of his hobbit naked and hard before him, a beautiful blush dusting Bilbo’s cheeks as he climbed astride him once again. He had missed this soft, hairless body as much as the man who owned it, and slid a hand around to press his fingertips into the supple curve of the hobbit’s belly. Trailing his hand upwards, teasing pebbled nipples as he passed them, and up the side of the halfling’s neck to cup his cheek softly.

A moan was ripped from him as Bilbo tugged at his hair, eyes shutting as hungry desperation filled him. Lunging forward, he pulled Bilbo into another brutal kiss, a growl slipping into Bilbo’s willing mouth as the hobbit continued his teasing tugs. Thorin reached over to the table with the washbasin, desperately trying to find an oil or lotion or anything he could use to ease his entry into his lover’s small body.

He froze when a round of rowdy, boisterous laughter was heard from the great hall, reminding him of the company of dwarves within earshot only a short ways away. Shutting his eyes, he pulled away from his hobbit with a calming breath to reign in his desire before saying in a strained voice, “the door.”

Bilbo stiffened in Thorin's grip, his lips making useless little movements as he searched for his voice. He could feel his heart rate picking up, his Baggins sensibilities berating him.

Everyone would hear. Everyone would hear every filthy little noise he made as Thorin would plow into him. They would all rib him endlessly, he was sure of it, but they would also know exactly the relationship the pair shared. He remembered back once more to Fíli’s words, to the explanation he had been given about dwarven culture; about how the more public the display the prouder the lover.

With a long, calming breath Bilbo pulled back to regard Thorin. His pupils blown wide and mouth slack, he pressed his brow lightly to Thorin's.

"What about it?" he whispered suggestively, his tongue darting out to slick his lips.

A low growl rumbled out of Thorin’s chest at the acceptance in Bilbo’s voice. The thought of his hobbit, willing to expose himself like this, and for Thorin? It had him reeling for a few moments as he passionately claimed the halfling’s mouth once again. The dwarf wasn’t about to argue when his hobbit was conceding the modesty he had held in such high regard before.

He continued his desperate search with his hand, finally grasping an earthen jar of lotion and pulled it closer so it was easier at hand. There was a current of energy snapping between their heated bodies, sweat mingling where their thighs met, and as their co*cks, slick with precome, slid wetly against each other, Thorin’s need became overpowering.

“Then I will have you here on this chair,” Thorin managed to gasp out as he dipped his thick fingers into the lotion and spreading a liberal amount over the digits.

The reaction had been enough to send Bilbo reeling. He found himself rutting desperately, the slick co*cks sliding together in a way that sent fire to his nerve endings. Little half-moans and whimpers escaped the hobbit as Thorin dipped his fingers into the lotion. Those thick digits, coated in thick, opaque white goo was an incredibly erotic sight.

Bilbo found himself dipping down, his lips running over the clean skin that was slowly growing wet with sweat and was salty to his tongue. Teeth grazed over the kings pulse point briefly before the halfling placed a firm kiss there. He filed that spot away in the back of his mind, deciding he very much would like to suckle that specific patch of skin until he left his own mark.

Bilbo encouraged Thorin by lifting himself in his lap. He was still so tired from the journey so far, but he managed to lift himself high enough that he would be able to slide back down and onto the dwarf when the time came. His thighs, now muscular from all of the running he had done over the past weeks, quivered like jelly from his exhaustion as he braced himself above Thorin's shaft.

Thorin did not make his lover wait long, his hand slipping underneath Bilbo’s body without pause to slide a finger deep inside the hobbit in one sure stroke. The heat was unbelievable, the tightness constricting around his finger blanking his mind for a moment. He remembered the near punishing grip around his co*ck that the hobbit’s little body had caused all those weeks ago, his eyes rolling back at the memory and what was in store for him this night.

“Aulë, you are still so tight,” he ground out as he began to move his slick finger, encouraging the ring of muscles to loosen for him. As jealous thoughts came to his mind, of his nephews enjoying his hobbit’s heat, he had to take a calming breath so as not to roughen his ministrations. They may have had Bilbo for a time, yes, and it had been entirely Thorin’s fault that the hobbit sought out their comfort. But Bilbo was back, and the king was determined not to ruin it with childish jealousy.

That thought in mind, he crooked his finger, searching for that spot that would have his lover seeing stars and screaming for everyone to hear.

Bilbo mind blanked for a moment as Thorin's finger stretched into him. He could feel his muscles clamping down, could feel the thick digit being squeezed relentlessly. He took a shuddering breath, his forehead falling to rest on Thorin's shoulder. He was very mindful of the wound as he pressed his brow into the crook of Thorin's neck, skirting the bandage completely.

He nearly choked on the cry that escaped him as Thorin unexpectedly crooked his finger, searching for his sweet spot and then nudging it mercilessly. The hobbit was trembling in his grip as he whimpered and mewled, his teeth worrying his bottom lip fervently as Thorin continued his ministrations.

"Gods, I have missed this," Bilbo breathed out, voice hitching in a lewd moan as Thorin teased his prostate once more.

Thorin actually grinned at the sounds Bilbo made against his throat, his head falling back to rest against the chair. He added a second finger, slowly and tenderly, not wishing you harm his lover as he had their last real coupling and listened to the way Bilbo’s whines changed pitch. He heard the moment of pain in that sweet voice and felt the halfling tense on his lap, but as he jabbed his fingertips into the bundle of nerves again, Bilbo melted into him again with another cry.

“You have missed this? Surely, Fíli and Kíli took care of you,” he questioned as his pleasure-dazed mind finally worked through the hobbit’s words. He was brought back to the evening he had walked in on the boys fooling around on the bed, with Bilbo clear across the room and asleep. The sight hadn’t made sense to him then, and even now he had his questions.

Despite his confusion, he continued his ministrations, scissoring his fingers inside Bilbo’s entrance before twisting them sharply to wrench another loud cry from the smaller man. The sound echoed in the cavernous room, a fire lighting in Thorin’s gut at the way conversation seemed to pause in the hall for several moments.

Bilbo squirmed in his lap, the sensations that Thorin sent coursing through his small frame were enough to make the earth shake. The hobbit's teeth grazed that flawless patch of skin that he so desperately wanted to claim, his tongue lathing tender every now and again. At Thorin's question Bilbo felt his stomach twist.

So he knew. Bilbo felt slightly ashamed for his prior weaknesses now that he was in the arms of his lover. However, as they had jumped the hurdle of this first row, Bilbo was going to press on regardless. Honest was the answer, in the case especially.

"I never laid with them." He could feel his face heating up at the suggestion. Thorin stilled eerily beneath him, and he canted his head, pulling back slightly to regard the king. "They never bedded me."

The expression Thorin wore was so fierce Bilbo nearly thought he had angered the dwarf. Was this offensive as well to their kind?

"We did have our moments, but I never laid with them as I have with you," he babbled now, rather frightened that he had mucked it up again.

Shame filled Thorin as he remembered his uncharitable thoughts about his hobbit and the virtues he had assumed Bilbo had thrown away upon leaving his bed. The dwarf had assumed Bilbo had allowed the young princes to claim him, especially after he saw the dark bruise on the hobbit’s throat. Slowly, he began to move his fingers inside the halfling once again, the pace kept slow as Thorin softened his features.

“I fear I had assumed the worst about you in my petulance, my hobbit,” Thorin said quietly, seeking his lover’s prostate once again. “After what I had heard the first night in Rivendell, and the claiming mark on your flesh the next morning…”

He trailed off as another wave of guilt flooded over him and he shook his head against the rest of his thoughts. “I do not deserve your affections,” he repeated, but did not remove his questing fingers, spreading them slightly before teasing the ring of muscle with the third digit.

It was Bilbo's turn to freeze. Thorin had heard him with Fíli and Kíli, had seen mark Fíli had left on his neck. Bilbo felt guilty in turn, but all of those feelings melted away as Thorin's attitude seemed to shift. Everything was slow and soft, and while the burglar enjoyed it he worried that the king was feeling rather put off by his confession.

When Thorin made his final suggestion, that he did not deserve Bilbo's affections, the hobbit's head snapped up quickly. All hints of lust had vanished from those hazel eyes, and with steady hands framing the king's face, Bilbo held his gaze.

"I believe that is my decision, Thorin Oakenshield," he said firmly, the pad of one of his thumbs gliding over the king’s lower lip soothingly.

Thorin nodded at the hobbit, eyes soft as he regarded his lover. If Bilbo was willing to have him, despite his cruelty and the belittling of the creature’s character, he would not argue the man’s will. It seemed the king had done enough thinking on the halfling’s behalf as of late, and he vowed to put an end to it.

With that, he edged a third finger slowly into his hobbit’s body, his fingers finding Bilbo’s prostate to ease the burn. He massaged the gland with his three fingertips, wringing whatever noises he could and erasing the serious frown from his lover’s brow.

There would be plenty of time to talk later, after they were sated and filthy and marked up by each other’s teeth and nails.

Bilbo hissed at the brief pain but instantly melted against Thorin as the three digits occupying his tight canal found his sweet spot and reduced him to a writhing mess, a positively obscene moan escaping him. The pressure made his eyes roll back in his head, made his teeth scrape and nip at Thorin's throat just a little bit harder as he pressed his forehead once again into the crook of the large man's neck. His whimpering gave way to his babbled pleas, a sudden need to be filled consuming him. It was so strong and unexpected that the hobbit's words were blunt.

"Now. In me, I-I need you now," he ground out, resisting the overwhelming urge to sink his teeth into the flesh beneath his lips. He bucked his hips desperately, hoping to increase the friction between them.

Thorin moaned outright at Bilbo’s desperate words, the raw honesty a telling sign of his need. Unable to control himself long enough to tease, the dwarf removed his fingers and began stroking his own erection, coating it with the excess lotion that remained on his hand. Returning his grip to Bilbo’s hips, the king met the hobbit’s eyes as he began to lower his lover onto him.

As the hobbit sunk down onto his lap, entrance stretched wide around Thorin’s girth, the dwarf shuddered and moaned out his lover’s name. The head encompassing him was unbearable, the clenching tightness despite the preparation punishing as Bilbo tensed. His pelvis twitched upward as Bilbo finally sat flush in his lap, but the wince in the perfect creature’s brow had the king halting all movements.

“Set the pace, my hobbit,” Thorin rumbled through the strain of staying still, eyes intense as he maintained eye contact with the hazel orbs of his lover. “You are in control for this coupling.”

Bilbo had braced himself, hands on each of Thorin's strong shoulders, blunt nails digging into the weathered skin to leave bright red crescents. Only gasps and ragged breaths escaped the halfling as he slid down onto the king's member, the familiar stinging burn of being filled coming back to him. With eyes screwed shut against the pain and face covered in a furious red blush he sunk down slowly until he realized he was in Thorin's lap. The king bucked up, pulling a desperate whimper from the halfling, but stilled inside him. Bilbo nodded his understanding, his voice still eluding him, and slowly he began to move.

It was hesitant at first, very slow and broken, the pace erratic as he struggled to adjust and take control. Eventually, with his hips angled just right, Thorin's head nudged that little bundle of nerves that had him moaning and begging for more. Bilbo laid against his lover, arms circling the larger man’s neck and hugging him close, his lips pressing idly to the underside of Thorin's jaw as he found his rhythm. It was slow and sensual, each movement made with purpose. He found himself craving more stimulation, craving more from his king, and between mewls he breathed out, "Move with me."

With his arms still wrapped around Thorin's neck and balancing on his broad shoulders, Bilbo's small trembling hands found their way into Thorin's thick, raven tendril once more. After the fresh wash they were luxuriously soft and smelled of herbal soap. The hobbit's fingers wove their way through, giving gentle tugs to spur on his lover, occasionally finding that sensitive scalp and digging in to pull growl after growl from the king.

A low sound was pulled from Thorin as his lover’s fingers found his scalp once again. By the gods, that touch was sinful and had the king obeying the hobbit’s quiet order instantly. Bucking his hips upward as Bilbo dropped, Thorin sighed at the added friction of his movement. He followed the pace the hobbit had set, the sensual slide of bodies pulling soft sighs from the dwarf’s throat. There wasn’t a sound in the room but their sounds of pleasure.

The hobbit’s lips against Thorin’s throat were distracting, blanking his mind as they moved with his whines and babbled pleas, the moist breath the puffed across his sweat-slick skin enough to have his hips stuttering. Something roared for more from the back of the dwarf’s mind, demanded that he claim his hobbit until the little man was hoarse from screaming; this gentle lovemaking as nice as it was, was very uncommon for dwarves.

His fingers twitched on Bilbo’s soft hips, fingernails biting into the pale flesh there as he dipped his head down to pull the hobbit into a hungry kiss, teeth nipping at the kiss-reddened lips as he kept his pace slow, but could not keep the thrusts soft any longer. He shook with the effort to reign in his forceful movements, but Durin’s beard, the heat of his lover’s core was becoming too much to resist.

Bilbo found himself moaning into Thorin's searching kiss, his tongue sliding against the king’s in an intimate duel. Thorin was shaking with his restraint and Bilbo found himself craving his lover's animalistic side. He gave Thorin's hair a gentle tug and breathed out, "It's alright."

His voice was soft and sweet, airy moans escaping him as they continued to slide against one another. The movements were languid and comfortable, with the most incredible pressure in all the right places. No pain lingered from the entry this time and Bilbo was confident enough to give those thick tendrils another firm yank. "You can let go."

He hoped to reassure his lover with his words, his tone soft and sweet. He held fast now as Thorin still briefly beneath him as though he were struggling with himself.

Thorin screwed his eyes shut, his entire body vibrating with the effort to stay still now as the hobbit’s permission washed over him. He was brought back to the way Bilbo had limped, and the way he flinched for days after their last coupling. The dwarf had not desire to harm his hobbit like that again, but the need to move overwhelmed him.

His hips snapped up, lacking the full power he was capable of, the grip on Bilbo’s hips pulling the small body down against him before he began a quick, rolling motion. The hands in his hair were quickly undoing his resolve, as well as the gentle mouth against his as they kissed sloppily. The movement of their joined pelvises made the touch of their lips awkward, teeth clacking together almost painfully.

“I don’t wish you harm you,” he confessed quietly, a soft moan escaping him as the heat around him clenched without warning, his hips pistoning harshly against the halfling’s arse. Mahal, this tightness would be the death of him, he was sure.

Pleasure sang through Bilbo, like waves crashing against the shore, the motion of the sea so similar to the thrusts of Thorin's hips. Bilbo was moving in tandem, his hips rolling in tight circles, causing his hole to clamp down like a vice. It was intoxicating, knowing that control was very quickly slipping away from the dwarf, and knowing that he was the cause only emboldened the hobbit.

Bilbo was silent for the moment as Thorin confessed. The concern there was enough to warm the hobbit through and through, his lust melting away as he smiled brightly for the king. "I know."

He recalled Kíli’s words, recalled the way they had affected his brother so, and the temptation to use the coined phrase was far too great. Bilbo leaned in close, his humid breath teasing Thorin's ear as he whispered, "I'm not made of glass."

His teeth captured the lobe briefly before running his delicate tongue along the shell, little gasps and moans escaping him all the while.

The mewling in his ear, as well as the teeth on his sensitive lobe, had the last rope on his control snapping so suddenly, Thorin was almost lightheaded. His grip on the hobbit’s hips and waist turned to iron, and even as he heard a short hiss of discomfort at the bruising hold, Thorin pulled his lover almost all the way off of him and held him suspended.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he teased them both with minute, shallow thrusts of his co*ck as he groaned out, “If it becomes too much, you need only to say so and I will stop.”

With that, he slammed the hobbit back down onto his lap, canting his own hips just so to nail Bilbo’s sweet spot. The pace picked up in speed and force, the chair creaking beneath them with the vigorous motion and the room filling obscenely with the sounds of slapping flesh and their cries of ecstasy. Thorin even was lost to it, eyes glazed as he let out dark groans, shuddering violently and moaning as Bilbo’s teeth caught the skin on his throat again.

Thorin was pegging Bilbo's prostate mercilessly, the slamming of his hips leaving him seeing stars. The bath was filled now with their lewd noises, all moans and groans and slapping wet skin. Bilbo's hands tugged and scrambled, clawing desperately at the back of his neck and the base of his scalp. Each thrust sent a violent surge of pleasure through the hobbit's smaller frame. It wasn't long before he began to lean back, each muscle going rigid as he could feel the beginning of his org*sm building.

"I don't know--oh bloody, yes right there!" he cried out as he crashed his lips against Thorin's once more. It was a sloppy, desperate kiss, with far too much tongue and obscene moans, yet wholly satisfying. The halfling's ministrations only seemed to encourage his lover as the pace increased, the bruising grip on his delicate hips becoming more painful but still not enough to break through his blissed-out haze.

The dwarf snarled into the kiss, his mind going numb with the pleasure of their lovemaking, his gut twisting as his release approached rapidly. This time, however, he would not come before his hobbit. This time was for Bilbo, and he would make it properly about the halfling. By the stars, the fact that Bilbo was even here, bouncing in his lap and kissing him, gagging for his release…it was almost enough to send the king into oblivion.

Thorin released one of the halfling’s hips as he struggled to regain his wits. His calloused hand fell to palm at his lover’s leaking co*ck, neglected as it had been left untouched and slapping against their bellies with each thrust. The pleasure-soaked sound that escaped Bilbo had Thorin moaning into Bilbo’s mouth and he upped the rhythm of his strokes on the engorged flesh. At the same time, his thrusts became more determined in his assault on the halfling’s prostate.

“Come for me, my treasure,” he groaned, his low voice booming through the huge room, his hips stuttering as his release approached with a frightening swiftness.

Bilbo was trying his best to hold out, hold out as he always had so many times before, but when Thorin began to tug at his weeping erection Bilbo's mind blanked deliciously. He was reduced to begging mess, asking for more, more, more in garbled moans and ragged gasps.

At Thorin's command Bilbo was sent hurtling over the edge, his reaction almost immediate. He spilled over in the king's hand, Thorin's name on his lips as he keened his release, his muscles tightening around Thorin's shaft to pull him along into this beautiful oblivion.

With a filthy sound, Thorin was tipped over the edge, his release following the hobbit’s instantly. He arched several inches off the chair, head thrown back as he gasped through his org*sm. Holding the hobbit down on his co*ck as he pumped his molten release deep inside, Thorin continued to stroke Bilbo, the slide made easier by the sticky cum that coated his fist. He milked every last drop out of his hobbit, groaning as a final spurt landed on his abdomen.

Finally, as his aching body began to protest, some wounds on his chest and back threatening to reopen, Thorin fell back against the chair and pulled his lover in for a lazy, sated pressure of lips and tongue. It was gentle, now that the edge of need was, for now, taken away.

Bilbo was panting as he tried to catch his breath. The strength of the org*sm had drained him for the moment, and regardless of the mess that lay between them he did not resist when Thorin pulled him down. Their lips slotted gently against each other’s, the occasional slide of a tongue between them pulling contented hums from the hobbit.

There was a rustling from somewhere behind the Bilbo and he instantly was alert, sitting up to look over his shoulder. It was merely Beorn's servant creatures. They had come to change the bath water, which they did with speedy proficiency. They were gone quickly that Bilbo had hardly the presence of mind to acknowledge what he had just seen.

The steamy water was tempting, as the hobbit had not yet had the chance to slip into the bath. He could still hear the rowdy company, all clearly still engaged at Beorn's dinner table.

"Don't suppose you would mind another soak?" Bilbo asked curiously as he slid off of Thorin, doing his best to hide the stinging pain that had already begun to settle into his flesh. He rolled his shoulders if only to distract himself, making a very clear effort to straighten his back.

The dwarven king grinned lazily up at his lover and nodded at his suggestion. The hobbit looked perfectly debauched, mouth and chin raw from harsh, bearded kisses and hips carrying several bruises that followed the shape of Thorin’s large hands. Climbing to his feet, he set about removing the bandages on his chest and back, noting with vague annoyance that the wound on his back had begun oozing once again.

Turning his attention away from those types of thoughts, he led his hobbit to the pool and helped him into the deep water. Standing, the water came to about Thorin’s navel, but the hobbit was almost submerged up to his chest. The dwarf began to wash his lover, touches tender especially around the bruised flesh around his hips and bottom, and took care to wash his loose entrance gently. All the while, they stole kisses and more than a few times lost themselves to the pleasure of each other’s clever tongues and lips.

It was all in a lazy, relaxed pace, only a slow-burning fire beneath Thorin’s skin belying his desires. That was a normal feeling where Bilbo was concerned, so it was relatively easy to push to the back of his mind as he licked into his hobbit’s mouth yet again while his hands came around to massage the muscles in Bilbo’s back.

The hobbit smiled through their kisses, his hands resting carefully on Thorin's chest. He was mindful of the wounds, and when Thorin gave him the chance to breath he would glance down as he scooped warm water from the pool and washed the reopened wounds. He would have to keep that in mind next time. If the king was ever to make a full recovery, interludes like the one they just enjoyed would have to be rather sedate on Thorin's part.

He looked up to Thorin, whispering a few endearments as they stole kisses from each other once more. It was a tender moment, the kind of thing that Bilbo had been hoping for prior to their separation. He took his time as he washed Thorin in return, still careful of the open injures and sensitive, rigid scars that littered the kings body. As he reached the larger man’s shoulder (not an easy feat when on tip toe in a deep bath), Bilbo caught sight of his mussed braids.

"I seem to be making a habit of that," he remarked with dry wit as he removed the silver caps, placing the on the bath's ledge. He uncoiled the plaits that framed Thorin's face, working with careful and practiced fingers as he began to reweave the first.

Thorin sucked in a breath as something in his chest seized as Bilbo’s little hands began to work on his braids, his heart pounding wildly. At first, he was just going to allow the hobbit to continue without a word, but after the last time Bilbo made a slight blunder when it came to dwarven culture…Thorin shivered at the thought of the other’s ribbing Bilbo if they ever found out about this practice of his after making love.

“Bilbo,” he said softly, reaching up to halt the halfling’s progress on the final plait and pulled his hands away from his hair, the chord slowly unwinding as it hadn’t been capped off yet. “In dwarven customs, if another person who is not among his kin braids a dwarf’s hair, it is a proclamation of love and claims that dwarf as his own.”

Thorin took another breath, eyes searching the hobbit’s face. “It is declaring the intention to court and marry that dwarf. I need you to understand this,” he continued, maintaining eye contact as he pulled up his mask again.

“Once I reclaim my kingdom, I will not be able to return to Bag End with you,” he said thickly, a vice forming around his throat at the thought of his hobbit returning to his little home half a world away once this journey was complete. He had said it himself, that Bag End was where he belonged.

Thorin couldn’t bear wearing the halfling’s braids with the man’s inevitable departure from his side.

Bilbo had stuttered to a halt, eyes going wide and cheeks dusting beautifully with a light pink blush. Thorin looked distraught, if only for an instant, before that stony mask came up again. It was a face that Bilbo was far too familiar with, and regardless of the fact that it was Thorin, he was starting to hate it. He wanted to see the dwarf smile, wanted to see those eyes like stormy seas alight with happiness, or sadness, or anger, or anything besides this regal indifference.

Bilbo thought on his words, his hazel gaze clouded in his pensiveness, focusing on the firm and muscular chest that he was eye level with. Now that they had rekindled this...whatever this was...Bilbo could not imagine returning home alone. He could not imagine ever sharing his bed with another or spending his days in solitude, not when he had known this joy that the dwarf had brought him. He pursed his lips, taking in a slow and steady breath with a small nod, before he returned his hands to his work.

He said nothing as he continued to reset the braid, fingers moving slowly to ensure perfection. Bilbo could see it in Thorin's eyes, could see the understanding there, and the silence spoke volumes where words simply could not. He capped the braid again with the silver clasp, a soft smile tugging his lips as he appreciated his work.

Thorin held his breath as the hobbit finished the plait, heart pounding as realization sunk in, arousal spinning in his gut once again. His hobbit would stay with him. Thorin huffed out a laugh at that thought; he finally had a right to call Bilbo “his hobbit.”

When the man pulled away, Thorin chased him, lips crashing together as a joy Thorin hadn’t experienced in years (since Kíli had been born) bubbled up inside his chest. Hands tangled in tawny locks, he slipped his tongue against Bilbo’s lower lip lightly, teasing at the halfling’s mouth. Gods, he would have his lover again right here and now if his body could recover quickly enough.

Then again, there were perfectly good beds awaiting them down the corridor. The prospect of teasing his hobbit until they were both hard and wanting once again so appealing, he actually moaned into Bilbo’s pliant mouth.

“I need you, my treasure,” he confessed in a thick growl, eyes dark as he pulled away from the kiss, his hands remaining in the halfling’s hair.

"And I you, my king," Bilbo replied softly, his expression bright with his own joy. He wondered how Thorin felt about flowers, but the thought left his mind as Thorin pursued him for another glorious kiss. He could feel the emotions pouring through with each sweep of his tongue, each teasing tug on his lower lip, each time he was tickled raw by the dwarf's thick beard.

Bilbo slid his arms under Thorin's, hugging him close around the waist, still straining up on tip toe to make the kiss more flush. Only when Thorin backed away once more, allowing them both to breathe, did Bilbo press closer for an intimate hug. He nuzzled the king's chest, unable to suppress the smile that curled his lips as the thick dusting of coarse black hair tickled his nose.

He sighed contentedly, simply enjoying the silence and their company, when he was startled by a tap at the door. Bofur stood in the door frame, with Nori standing just behind him peeking around his shoulder. The pair wore massive grins.

"Hate te' interrupt," Bofur began with a knowing smirk, his tone completely unapologetic. "But ye' aren't the only one's tha' need a good soak."

Bilbo flushed furiously, burying his face once more in Thorin’s chest for a moment. However he recalled the conversation with Fíli in Rivendell once more, and considered this perhaps another insult, to hide one's own body.

For his modesty’s sake, he was as red as a tomato and still impossibly embarrassed, but with a meek smile to Thorin he allowed the king to lead him out of the tub. Bilbo collected his clothes, and as he was about to set in returning them each to their respective places he felt something wrap his shoulders. A massive towel had been wrapped around him, and he looked over to see a similar towel wrapped around Thorin's perfect abdomen (just below his navel) and reaching his knees.

Thorin leaned close to Bilbo’s ear, pressing a chaste kiss to the shell of it before saying quietly, “we have no need for clothing this night.”

Relishing the shiver that went through his hobbit, he slid an arm along Bilbo’s lower back and with gentle pressure, led the small man from the room. As he passed his (their) men, he pulled the hobbit in tighter against his side as he gave the dwarves a warning look. The group that had assembled by the bath just chuckled to themselves, waving the possessive king off as they stepped into the vacated room and began their boisterous merrymaking all over again.

When Thorin found his nephews at the back of the group, he softened his expression, hoping he conveyed some of the gratitude he felt toward them. Though at the time he had been enraged by their affections toward his hobbit, he could see now that they had been taking care of Bilbo, and they were perhaps part of the reason the halfling was even willing to return to Thorin’s side. He nodded to the mischievous duo before turning his attention back to ushering his lover down the corridor to their bedroom.

Bilbo had to keep his eyes resolutely trained on the tops of his feet, his face burning brighter and brighter as the passed the queuing line for the bath. Dwalin even sent out a cat-call whistle and Bilbo's shoulders jumped to his ears in his embarrassment, the company giving a round of boisterous laughter at the gesture. He was comforted however by the pressure at his side and Thorin's sure grip. He managed to raise his gaze for an instant, as they were passing Fíli and Kíli, and noticed with no small degree of humor as the mischievous pair bumped fists with knowing and hungry looks between them.

Thorin had led them to his private quarters for the night, and Bilbo was happy to note that the king had shut the door behind him. At last, some true privacy, so that they could enjoy each other to the fullest without distraction.

Bilbo set his clothes on one of the twin chairs that framed a large table in the corner near a window, the night air whistle in through the old and creaky panes. When he turned to the bed (which was simply monstrous by the way), he made his way over and found a way to scramble up onto it. He was still quite contentedly wrapped in the oversized towel, and with a fire roaring in the hearth, he was snuggly warm. He propped himself against the carved headboard, smiling happily to Thorin across the room. He could spot the desire in those eyes now from a mile off.

He let the towel drop on either side of him, sliding down slightly as he kicked back the duvet, his head and shoulders resting on one of the giant, plush pillows. The orange firelight lit his milky skin beautifully, setting him a glow, and he reached for his king.

"Care to play again?" he chirped happily, his smile never faltering and all modesty having given way to comfort and familiarity when alone with his king.

Thorin admired the picture his lover made there on the bed, shadows dancing across his fire-lit flesh enticingly. It was really the first time he was afforded the chance to truly look at his small lover, the way his milky skin was smooth and uninterrupted, not a single wound or scar on him. The soft curves of Bilbo’s tummy and hips had Thorin salivating, and the urge to bite and suck marks into the supple flesh was almost embarrassingly arousing. The dwarf, however had few qualms over taking his pleasure in whatever struck his fancy.

With a smirk and an approving hum at the pretty sight Bilbo made surrounded by massive pillows on a bed fit for a giant, Thorin dropped his towel. Leaving it pooled on the floor, the king stalked forward slowly, his eyes darkening with lust as his co*ck twitch with interest.

Climbing up was made a bit difficult by his injuries, but soon enough he was sliding in next to Bilbo, leaning over him to slot their mouths together in a scorching kiss.

“Aulë, you know the answer to that question, my treasure,” he groaned softly, lips never leaving Bilbo’s. He felt like a youth all over again, despite his body’s delay in reacting. His mind was hazy with his need, his skin hot to the touch, and already a thin sheet of sweat breaking out across his flesh.

Bilbo eagerly accepted the kiss, one of his hands reaching to gently run down those exquisite cheek bones and onto his lover’s neck, snaking its way back around to massage lazily at the base of Thorin's neck. He completely submitted to Thorin's searching kisses, now overly comfortable with the privacy of their room and the heavy wooden portal that segregated them from any prying eyes.

He made Thorin rest back against the pillows, worried as he could feel the dwarf's road weary muscles trembling beneath his fingers. He pushed him back gently; the sheets and pillows cushioning his fall, and Bilbo lazily draped himself across his king's chest. The kiss was tender and languid, but slowly beginning to grow as he could feel Thorin's skin alight like fire beneath him.

The hobbit delicately traced his fingers over Thorin, traveling down his sides and back up to pull satisfying shudders from the warrior. He continued his teasing little ministrations, pulling back to suckle gently on Thorin's lower lip.

"How else would a dwarf claim their lover?" Bilbo asked hesitantly as he distracted himself with a lazy rut against Thorin's hip.

The dwarf allowed himself a contented smile as Bilbo took over their gentle kiss, his breath leaving him in a soft sigh as he relaxed completely against the firm mattress. Thorin lifted a hand to cup his hobbit’s round cheek at his question, guiding him in for a chaste brush of lips.

“There are many ways, my hobbit,” the dwarf murmured, teeth catching the halfling’s lower lip in a stinging bite, the motion betraying the intense need he felt boiling beneath the surface. He could feel Bilbo hardening once again as he humped Thorin’s hip and very slowly, the dwarf’s body began to respond in kind.

“Though I fully intend to end this night with my co*ck inside you,” he began bluntly, his voice going rough at his imaginings (Bilbo on all-fours so Thorin could see the hobbit’s pink hole spread wide and tight around his girth, perhaps). “How would you like me to claim you until then?”

His hand slid back into the Bilbo’s curls, eyes darkening at all the wicked things he could do to his hobbit, all the pleasure-soaked sounds he could rip from the modest creature, and all the teasing he could do to pull out that mischievous shine that he loved so much. By the stars, the possibilities were endless.

"Preferably," Bilbo began, stealing a quick kiss before he pulled away, making Thorin chase after him and causing that Tookish glint to shine in his hazel eyes.

"In a way that makes me forget my own name," Bilbo prompted with a quirked eyebrow, hoping it would convey his wild desires for the rest of their evening. As it had been decided they would be spending at least this night with the shape shifter, he decided he would rather spend it like their last than quietly in bed. He wanted to feel the king in him for days after this night was through, regardless of the discomfort it was sure to bring.

He reached down now, finding Thorin’s filling member and stroking it to stiffness, finding that spot he had been aching to mark all night once more and grazing it teasingly with his teeth.

Thorin groaned at Bilbo’s sure touch, shuddering at the teasing pressure of teeth against the flesh of his neck.

There was the Bilbo he so enjoyed, the one that wasn’t locked down by insecurity and possibly years of his elders talking down to him. The side of Bilbo that had the hobbit tearing out of his home, and leaping into battle against foes much larger than him, and falling into bed with a dwarven king. This confident, sure side of his hobbit was something Thorin wished to see more often and was determined to have that dream realized by the end of this quest.

He slid his free hand down the line of his lover’s back, his fingers slipping into the crease of Bilbo’s arse until his middle finger pressed against the hobbit’s puckered entrance. Even after their shared bath, Bilbo’s hole was still a bit slick with lotion and the remainder of Thorin’s cum that had yet to leak out. Pressing his fingertip in, the dwarf growled at the way his lover shuddered at the teasing intrusion, the loosened hole fluttering.

“I will have you screaming my name loud enough for the others to hear through these walls before we are done here,” he growled lowly, his mouth watering as he ached to taste himself at Bilbo’s most intimate place, his finger slipping in just a little bit deeper to tease around his lover’s prostate but still avoiding the bundle of nerves.

Bilbo had already melted back into Thorin, his hips bucking whenever the king grazed around his sweet spot. It was tortuous and had already reduced the hobbit to a mewling, panting mess. The hobbit was still teasing the dwarf's pulse point, lathing the jumping skin with his tongue before he traveled downward and traced along Thorin's collar bone. He paid the scars extra attention this time, the small jagged white worms of flesh and reminders of battles long past, following the ridges with his tongue as if would sooth the old and long forgotten injures.

Bilbo ran his hands carefully over his lover, finding his shoulders as Thorin continued his cruel and arousing onslaught, and with trembling hands began to rub out the tension there. They had been traveling for so long it was no wonder that the larger man was a mass of rock-hard stress induced tension.

He was having a much better time keeping his head on his shoulders, the occasional airy moan piercing the silence under the king’s skillful hands.

Though the mewling gasps that tumbled from his lover’s lips were arousing and the massage was more than appreciated, Thorin needed more. This quiet, lazy quality to their coupling brought up a determination in the dwarf, to speed this up and ravish his hobbit until the creature no longer had his voice.

“I require a strip of leather,” he growled into the warm air of their chambers, groaning at the teasing touches against his sensitive scars. He needed his hobbit incoherent. The dwarf angled his finger suddenly; dragging the tip across Bilbo’s prostate and mercilessly pressed against it for a few long moments before completely removing the digit from his lover’s hole.

"Leather? But what fo--" Bilbo's words died on his kiss swollen lips, a broken and garbled moan escaping him as Thorin blinded him with pleasure. He was incredibly sensitive because of their first coupling. Each muscle tensed and he arched his back, his hips rising back into the pressure. When Thorin's digit slid from his body he was left whimpering for more, one hand clawing after the dwarf as he rose and made for his pack. The pleasure that had been sent through him had been blinding and he was laying limp on their bed.

"What in the world could you possibly need leather for?" the halfling asked breathlessly. He subconsciously reached for the king from where he lay on the bed that was monstrous and entirely too empty at the moment. The fleeting zing of pleasure Thorin had sent through him now left him feeling empty and craving the slide of skin against skin.

Thorin licked his lips, pausing as he straightened with a long strip of leather in his hands, taking in the sight of his lover so taken by his pleasure. He was quivering on their giant bed, hand reaching blindly toward him, and by the stars, if he was this shattered already, then the dwarf’s idea was a very good one just for practicality’s sake.

Climbing back on the bed, he coaxed the panting halfling onto his knees, reaching around to teasingly stroke Bilbo’s co*ck once before removing his touch once again. The whimpers this pulled from his small lover went straight to Thorin’s own prick, and for a moment he considered his own tie.

“To ensure that our fun is not ended too soon,” he answered Bilbo’s earlier question, coming around his lover’s body to capture his mouth in a quick kiss. He brought the leather tie and wrapped it snugly around the base of Bilbo’s co*ck and balls, tying it off while the halfling was distracted by this kiss, and went back to stroking the flushed and engorged flesh slowly.

“I will remove it now if it makes you uncomfortable,” Thorin reassured as his hobbit made a surprised sound when he realized what the dwarf had done.

The hobbit's cheeks were dusted prettily as he noticed what Thorin had accomplished, his brow furrowing and his eyes darting away.

He had been petitioned to do such things in the past, yet it was still thoroughly embarrassing to the timid man to be tied off in such a way. It was just another kink on the long list of things that were not viewed as acceptable in the Shire. Denial in any form was purely against a hobbit's nature, and therefore to be restrained in the slightest was incredibly taboo for his kind. He took a calming breath and recalled his bed partner.

This was Thorin. He cared deeply for the king and knew the feeling was mutual, and although things had been rough lately he always had faith that Thorin would never do anything to harm him or upset him. He trusted the dwarf implicitly.

"I-It's fine," Bilbo stuttered as he met Thorin's eyes. He distracted himself from his modesty further by pushing forward for a kiss, his tongue luring Thorin's and pulling them back into a fiery kiss. It left him breathless and sooner than expected he forgot all about that pesky, withdrawn nature he was so accustomed to.

The hobbit’s trust in him warmed Thorin as he accepted the passionate kiss, delving his tongue deep into Bilbo’s mouth. He pulled away slightly, lips a breath away from his lover’s, and he let out a groan. The need to move things along warred with Thorin’s concern for his lover’s wellbeing and acceptance of his advance. The last thing he wanted was to coerce his hobbit into bedsport he was not yet comfortable with.

“If you are ever made uncomfortable, do not hesitate to tell me,” Thorin ground out, shivering with restraint. With that said, the dwarf didn’t hesitate to pull Bilbo up into a hard kiss, tongue sliding between swollen and raw lips to war with the hobbit’s until his lover was whimpering against him.

Bilbo held fast to his lover through the fiery kiss, but as Thorin pulled back the emptiness in his mouth left him wanting. He didn't hesitate as he pushed Thorin back against the pillows, sliding down that perfect and muscular body until he was nuzzling Thorin's weeping erection lovingly. He placed a teasing, chaste kiss on the head before lathing it hungrily with his tongue. Bilbo took Thorin into his mouth, if only for a few incredibly wet bobs of his head, slicking the king's co*ck before he trailed down the main vein with that devilish tongue. He laid flat, pinning his tied member beneath his belly and the soft duvet, his hips rising slowly and rhythmically to rut his engorged and sensitive shaft against the bed. He was entirely wanton in his movements, writing against the comforter as he began to lick and suck on the dwarf's heavy sac.

He pumped Thorin's shaft with his free hand, the other splayed across the king's thigh and leaving half-moons with his blunt nails. The wet, obscene noises that were drifting up as Bilbo licked and sucked made him heady with pleasure. He was sure to grab Thorin's attention with a twist of his hand as he stroked the sensitive glans, being sure that their eyes were set on each other, before he took one heavy ball into his mouth and then the other to join it. His mouth stretched wide, threads of saliva dripping out as he gasped against the king, hand still busy stroking and his talented tongue swirling about each nut blissfully.

Thorin had almost forgotten what a clever mouth his lover had, pleasure and need punching through his gut as the hobbit suckled his balls. By the stars, it was perfect, and for several moments Thorin could only arch his back sharply at the sudden onslaught of bliss. Eventually, he was able to relax back into the bed and prop himself on his elbows to watch Bilbo work.

Hazel eyes stared up at him through thick eyelashes and sweat-damp bangs, the view only interrupted by Thorin’s engorged shaft being stroked with sure pressure. There was that confident gleam again, pulling a snarl from the dwarf. Bilbo knew just how talented he was at this, and even as his hazy mind pieced that observation together, the hobbit’s eyes seemed to smirk at him.

Something snapped in the king and he was sitting up and yanking Bilbo off of his testicl*s with a sound that was positively animal. As he hoisted himself back up onto his knees, he fairly threw his lover belly-down onto the bed. Before Bilbo could properly recover from the sudden change in positions, Thorin was between his legs and hauling the halfling’s hips up off the bed.

He shifted his grip on his hobbit’s pelvis so that his hands held onto the globes of Bilbo’s rump, thumbs levering the cheeks apart so he could see the pink hole he had already f*cked so thoroughly not even a full hour ago. With another deep, rumbling growl, Thorin leaned in and pressed the flat of his tongue against the puckered entrance, lapping at it mercilessly before shoving the tip in. With his lips pressed firmly around the rim, he f*cked his tongue deep into Bilbo, tasting the bitterness of his earlier release. It yanked a heavy moan from the dwarf’s throat and he pulled Bilbo’s arse back against his, trying to get deeper into the hobbit’s intoxicating flavor and heat.

This was certainly unexpected. Bilbo hadn't protested when Thorin had begun moving him and bending him to his will, on his hands and knees with his arse in the air. When Thorin had descended however on his entrance with his tongue, lathing the tight ring of muscle before thrusting inward with the slick muscle, Bilbo yelped and froze.

It was incredibly filthy, another of the long list he had been petitioned to carry out on others in his youth, but not an act he had ever really engaged in. It left him fiery red and burying his face in the duvet. The growls and snarls from behind him however, coupled with the sensation that was so outlandishly delicious, soon had the halfling moaning lewdly into the bedding. He scooted his rump further back, a shudder going through him as another feral and pleased growl slipped from his lover.

He could already feel an org*sm cresting, and as he reached the peak he tumbled back down unfulfilled with a ragged cry. He rutted desperately, sneaking a hand under himself to grip his over-sensitive and swollen shaft, thrusting into the ring of his hand desperately and back onto Thorin's questing tongue fervently, whor*ish moans escaping him as he completely gave into the mindless pleasure.

Thorin was beside himself with arousal as he wriggled his tongue in and out of his lover’s entrance, each sound the hobbit made going straight to his weeping co*ck. When Bilbo began thrusting back onto his tongue though, the dwarf let out a long growl before retracting his tongue, scraping his teeth along the rim as he mouthed downward to suck at the hobbits bound sac. His jaw ached deliciously, and he groaned at the hope that the soreness would last as a reminder of their night together.

He returned to Bilbo’s entrance, his beard rubbing the hobbit’s cheeks raw as he resumed f*cking him open with his slick tongue. Thorin let go of one soft mound to stretch his arm up toward his lover’s mouth, slipping three fingers into the gaping orifice as Bilbo cried out his pleasure prettily. Sliding his other hand inward, he began massaging the hobbit’s perineum with his thumb, stimulating the underside of the writhing creature’s prostate without mercy.

Thorin had meant it when he said he would have Bilbo screaming loud enough for the others to hear, even through the thick walls. His lover would barely have a voice before he was through with the halfling.

Bilbo was rendered helpless once more as Thorin filled his achingly empty mouth, eagerly taking the digits and sucking and licking and moaning around them. He craved more for his desperate cavern, wanted so dearly to fill his mouth once more and have his face f*cked, but it was apparent his king was going to remain at his backside to continue his filthy assault on his hole.

Bilbo was begging now, the words entirely unintelligible with his mouth so full. He let out another ragged moan as a second org*sm crested and sent him tumbling down, the fire licking along each nerve ending causing him to thrust wildly into his grip. He could feel tears on his cheeks and saliva running down his chin. He was sure he looked like a properly debauched whor* at the moment; it was a thought that only made him moan all the louder. He wanted to be filled, from every place possibly, wanted to be left dirty and used and begging for more, and if Bilbo wasn't mistaken Thorin wanted something quite similar.

"f*ck me," were the only intelligible words the hobbit could form amongst his babbled pleas and raspy moans. The sounds echoed throughout the room, Bilbo's volume escalating as Thorin continued his wickedly pleasurable ministrations.

The king allowed himself to grin against his lover’s clenching hole at the hobbit’s mumbled pleas. For a few moments, he teasingly slid his fingers in and out of the hobbit’s mouth. He fought the shivers that the halfling’s tongue against the pads of his fingers caused, groaning filthily as he f*cked his hobbit lazily from both ends with tongue and fingers.

Thorin removed his digits from the hobbit’s mouth, bringing his slicked hand to Bilbo’s entrance as he pulled back a few inches. Taking in the sight of his hobbit for the first time since they began, he felt a renewed spike of painful arousal. The hobbit was shaking badly, sweat pooling in the dimples of his lower back and the valley between his shoulder blades, his curls soaked and hanging limply around his face. The flesh of Bilbo’s arse was rubbed raw and angry from the dwarf’s beard, and he knew the halfling would be feeling the sting of it for days. Thorin bit back a groan as he realized the hobbit was desperately f*cking into his own hand, despite the fact that his release would be choked off.

Bilbo continued to plead for the king’s co*ck, hips canting back for Thorin’s tongue or fingers or something to fill him once again.

“Not just yet, my treasure,” he ground out as he slipped two fingers into his hobbit easily, eyes wide as he watched them disappear into the reddened entrance. His mouth went dry as the halfling cried out and his entrance clenched, as if trying to pull his fingers even deeper. He upped the force of his thrusting fingers until his movements were very nearly brutal, pegging the hobbit’s prostate on every other thrust.

As new mewls filled the bedchamber, Thorin slowed his fingers and leaned forward, tongue flicking against the rim of Bilbo’s entrance, tasting the salt of his fingers where it met the musk of his hobbit. With a growl, he pushed his tongue in alongside his fingers, wriggling the thick muscle around as he continued to assault Bilbo’s prostate.

Bilbo was nearly beside himself now, his thrusts into the tight circle of his hand erratic and aborted, stopping short only to tease the glans. He would do anything, anything he possibly could right at this moment if it meant being filled by Thorin Oakenshield.

He muffled his cries in the duvet once more, feeling frustrated tears falling down his cheeks as another org*sm quickly reared its head and then vanished, bringing the hobbit tumbling back down to earth again with a shouted profanity.

He tried to sit up further, only to be forced down to balancing on his shoulders by the possessive king. He was entirely in control and hungry for Bilbo. He felt very much like a wild animal’s prey in that moment. Oddly enough it only served to arouse the hobbit further.

With one arm straining back, the other still hard at work at his aching prick, Bilbo reached behind himself to spread his arse bare. It alleviated the sting of Thorin's beard and left him feeling terribly exposed, which at the moment, only brought him closer to yet another abandoned org*sm.

Thorin growled as Bilbo exposed himself further and pulled himself back, inserting a third finger. He sat back and watched the hobbit roll back onto his fingers, the king’s eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown. While his eyes feasted on the sight before him, he brought his free hand to his own co*ck, stroking it lazily as the halfling shuddered through yet another aborted org*sm.

“I will need something to slick myself with,” Thorin rumbled, hips jerking up against his fist as his lover’s cries grew in volume and pitch when his questing fingers dug sharply into his prostate and held the pressure.

"My mouth," Bilbo gasped out, his throat starting to sting from the noises that had been torn from him thus far. He could feel each muscle in his body beginning to shudder with effort.

The bliss that was coursing through him was entirely intoxicating, more than he could handle, but he would not ask for the strap to be removed. He wanted to forget the world and everything else outside of this bedchamber tonight. He had been left wanting for far too long, and now that they were indulging their carnal desires with the time allotted he was going to take full advantage.

"Use my mouth darling," he muttered out, trying his best to keep his tone even and his words intelligible through his moans and whimpers.

“Continue to prepare yourself. I want you gaping and ready for me,” Thorin growled as he removed his fingers without hesitation. He didn’t even pause to see if Bilbo would do as he was ordered as he crawled around to his lover’s head.

Hands in thick, sweaty curls, the king pulled Bilbo up so he was forced to leave off the desperate strokes on his flushed length in order to hold himself steady. Thorin slipped his thumb into his lover’s mouth, sliding the wide pad of it across the halfling’s teeth. He stared at the hobbit, eyes drinking in the gorgeous blush that fanned across sweaty and tear-streaked cheeks as hazel eyes, hazy with arousal stared right back up at him. The pupils were blown impossibly wide, and Thorin couldn’t help but groan.

Removing his thumb from his hobbit’s mouth, Thorin fisted his hands in those tawny locks he loved so much and pulled Bilbo forward, forcing that gasping mouth onto his co*ck. He began to thrust shallowly into the moist heat, head falling back as he began to lose himself to sensation.

With one arm supporting himself Bilbo reached back, attempting to comply with his lover’s order. He could only insert a finger or two with his strained muscles, the depth shallow, but he pumped in and out with as much force as he could muster with the awkward angle. To be honest, the hobbit was more interested in the co*ck in his mouth and baiting Thorin into losing complete control. Occasionally he would twirl his tongue around the head, or slip the devilish muscle under the foreskin to swipe at the over sensitive glans. He wanted Thorin reeling and desperate to f*ck his face.

He encouraged the dwarf with little nods and affirmations, taking the king deep as he began to thrust harder, suppressing his gag reflex when Thorin hit the back of his throat. It was still far to controlled for his liking however, and as Thorin thrust in again Bilbo swallowed around his thick member, the sensation odd and making him gag, but the response from his lover was glorious.

Thorin outright moaned at the constricting around the head of his co*ck, hands twisting tighter in Bilbo’s hair as he snapped his hips forward with abandon. The hobbit was far from complaining as each deep thrust into his mouth pulled a high whine from him, the vibrations shooting through the dwarf and scattering his concentration. Tilting his head forward, he looked down at his lover to find the halfling gazing up at him through his long lashes, more tears collecting at the corners of his eyes as he moaned and whimpered around Thorin’s girth.

The king gasped out a low sound as his eyes followed the line of Bilbo’s back to where his fingers were thrusting desperately and shallowly into himself. Bending over his hobbit’s head, and straining slightly so as not to gag Bilbo, Thorin slid his hand back to his lover’s entrance and reinserted his three fingers alongside Bilbo’s own. He set up a slow pace, hips thrusting against the halfling’s moaning mouth and fingers f*cking his hole.

Mahal, the noises the hobbit made around his length, tongue teasing along his vein and teeth scraping lightly, but maddeningly along the shaft. With a groan, he slowly pushed forward, eyes locked on Bilbo’s as he sunk deeper and deeper into the smaller man’s willing mouth. He groaned as he bottomed out, co*ck surrounded by Bilbo’s constricting throat, the hobbit’s nose pressed into the king’s pubes. Pulling back as his lover’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, Thorin removed himself completely from the smaller creature’s mouth. He almost came right then as Bilbo chased after his retreating length with a shattered sound.

“I am slick enough now, thank you,” he ground out, returning to his spot behind Bilbo and removing both of their hands from the hobbit’s abused entrance. Without much more warning than that, Thorin slid inside, sinking deep into his lover’s core with a ragged moan.

"Oh gods yes, that's what I need," Bilbo ground out, throwing his head back as his body went rigid. He wasted no time in bouncing back onto Thorin's shaft, his teeth sinking hard enough into the tender flesh of his lower lip it broke the skin, the result being a ruby pebble that was coppery to taste. When Thorin began to thrust in return Bilbo's mouth fell open again, a long line of saliva beginning to drip from the corner of his mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head as he moaned outright.

He made no attempts to silence himself. In fact he hoped the company could hear. He hoped the obscene noises he was making would make them all just as hungry as Thorin was at the moment. Something about his ability to arouse these dwarves had changed that aspect of him. Before, timidity was something that came as naturally as breathing, something that was simply part of his nature. But Thorin Oakenshield had pulled this wanton and wanting side of him out of the hobbit's depths, and as a particularly lewd groan slipped from his lips, Bilbo swore to himself he would thank him properly for that one day.

"That's right, right there, f*ck me just like that, come on--" he rambled on and on as he fell again to rest on his shoulders, his hand stroking his denied and swollen co*ck.

Thorin wasn’t in much better of a state as his thrusts grew to a punishing force against his lover’s reddened arse, gasps and hisses of pleasure whistling past his lips as he gritted his teeth. Each time he threw his hips forward, Bilbo slid a few inches up the bed, the slap of their pelvises meeting louder than everything else. If the company was deaf to the hobbit’s cries, they would definitely hear the brutal connection of their bodies.

His fingers ached to dig into that gorgeous halo of honey-brown curls, and with a groan he obliged them. Leaning forward to tangle his hands in Bilbo’s hair and rub at his scalp made the angle difficult, his thrusts hindered slightly to just rocking against his hobbit’s arse. It seemed, however that this position had him pressed continuously against the halfling’s prostate, each roll of his hips pushing into the bundle of nerves before receding.

The hobbit clenched around him, needy cries spilling from his gaping mouth and Thorin couldn’t keep to this rocking motion. He sat up, hauling the hobbit up by his curls and, using Bilbo’s hair for leverage, continued his brutal claiming of the hobbit. The king was numb to any pain in his body at this point, f*cking into his lover the only thing his mind was able to even remotely comprehend.

Bilbo's tongue was dangling from his mouth as though he were unable to keep it shut any more. With cheeks painted red, sheen of sweat glistening across his flesh, and eyes rolled in the back of his head, he must have been quite a sight as he was f*cked senseless by Thorin.

It got to the point where he couldn't stand it any longer, using both arms to support himself as wave of org*sm after org*sm fell away like dust in the wind. He craved it so badly, but was unable to form a coherent sentence, so that need would remain unfulfilled until Thorin saw fit. He simply hung on for his life's sake, his sanity slipping away into the oblivion as he gave in completely to the pleasure that was coursing through his body. He would become a slave to this insatiable lust.

Thorin noticed through his haze of lust and desire Bilbo’s need, the way his body tensed and shuddered over and over as he was denied his released. He couldn’t hold his lover off any longer, wanting to watch his pretty face as he tipped over the edge. This was a need greater than his wish to drag this out for longer.

Pulling out of his lover, he almost whined with Bilbo at the loss of stimulation, though it wasn’t for very long. He rolled Bilbo onto his back and reentered his fluttering hole before the halfling could regain his senses long enough to complain. In this familiar position, bringing Thorin back to the very first time they coupled under the stars, he plowed into his lover’s willing body, watching his hobbit’s gorgeous face as the pleasure washed over him.

Reaching down between them, Thorin loosened the tie on Bilbo’s co*ck and began to stroke it with the same vigor with which he f*cked the hobbit.

“Come for me, my treasure,” he moaned as the clenching of the body around him grew almost unbearable with its grip.

The king would not have to wait long for his command to be carried out. Bilbo was babbling, endearments and pleas and profanities all falling from his slicked and swollen pink lips, his focus never wavering from Thorin's intense gaze as he was used. It was perfect. He felt the org*sm crest and he was vaguely aware of his own voice as his ears rang, nearly screaming "Oh gods Thorin--!" as he toppled over the edge.

The ferocity of the org*sm sent him reeling as it tore through his body, ragged screams being torn from his lips as he spent himself, painting hot stripes across his stomach and chest, a few pearly droplets of his seed landing on his chin and lips provocatively. He shuddered violently, his fingers digging into the sheets and knuckles white with his grip, each muscle locking up as the org*sm began to fade and bring him crashing back down to earth. He could barely keep his eyes open, could barely make a sound his voice was so ruined from his cries of ecstasy, before he went completely limp under Thorin.

The world was shifting in ways it shouldn't as the dwarf continued to plow into him through his org*sm and the aftershocks. There was no chance for the hobbit to have a coherent thought. He had been reduced to his most primal state this coupling and as Thorin pulled out of his body, he found himself opening his mouth, his tongue falling out suggestively, to beg for Thorin's seed.

The dwarf was beside himself with his need to come, the hobbit in the throes of org*sm too much for him to handle. He was crawling up his lover’s body, fingers pinching off his co*ck as his org*sm approached overwhelmingly quick. When he paused, sitting astride Bilbo’s chest, he began to pump himself vigorously, watching as Bilbo struggled to stay conscious.

Thorin gave a ragged shout as his release snapped through him, a whimpered “Bilbo” leaving his lips as his release streaked across the hobbit’s chin and mouth. Cum pooled in the halfling’s mouth and the creature gagged slightly as he swallowed it down, a soft sound of contentment leaving him. The king shuddered above his lover, falling forward and bracing himself on the headboard with his free hand, he milked the last of his release out, a few last spurts of spunk landing on Bilbo’s cheeks and forehead.

Moaning through the aftershocks of his release, Thorin turned his head to rest his sweaty face against his arm, panting as the world resituated itself in his hazy mind. For a minute or so, he stayed like that before venturing a glance down at his hobbit, a grin splitting his face. To his surprise, he found Bilbo sound asleep beneath him, face utterly relaxed and content, even splattered with thick ropes of cum.

The king smiled softly, lifting himself off of the hobbit and grabbing a corner of the quilt to use in cleaning the halfling’s chest and neck. When it came to the mess on Bilbo’s soft, flushed face, Thorin leaned down and lapped at the bitter stuff, collecting it on his tongue and savoring their combined flavors. When he was done, he pressed a tender kiss to the halfling’s slackened mouth and reached down to fully remove the leather strap from Bilbo’s co*ck.

He looked at the strip, blinking away exhaustion as he thought on the braid in his hair that Bilbo had put there. It brought another smile to his lips and a ridiculously warm feeling swelled inside his chest. He turned to look down at his lover and with a resolute nod, he weaved a small plait into Bilbo’s curls, right along the side of the hobbit’s face. Tying it off with the leather strip in his hands, Thorin found himself feeling incredibly pleased.

The hobbit had chosen him, and in effect chosen Erebor and everything that came with it. They had claimed each other, and though there was sure to be much to talk about come morning, everything in this very moment was perfect. His hobbit wore his braid and the marks of their lovemaking riddled the small creature’s milky skin.

As Thorin slid in next to Bilbo, for the first time in years he was content and relaxed. He cradled the smaller man against his side possessively as he pulled the duvet over them. He lost himself almost instantly to a deep, dreamless sleep with his hobbit curled up against his side, little breaths puffing damply against the dwarf’s flesh.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Bilbo awoke slowly, the warm rays of the sun that filtered in through the warped glass panes rousing him from his slumber. The room was lit with a warm, orange glow. He shifted momentarily, his body stilling as the arm that was wrapped around him gave a small tug.

Bilbo turned to the source, greeted with Thorin peacefully sleeping beside him, and he couldn't stop the grin that split his face. As it had after the very first night they shared, in the cold night air under the stars, Thorin wore the most peacefully rested expression the hobbit had ever seen. He placed a gentle kiss on the king's slack lips, deepening it slowly as his lover was quite pliant in his sleep, before pulling back with a contented sigh.

He made another move to rise from the bed, this time however it was his own body that stopped him. Nearly all at once everything ached and stung, as the final covers of sleep seemed to be wrenched away from him. He gave a low groan as he sank back down into the mattress, willing his muscles to relax as they all clenched simultaneously. Thorin pressed closer and he bit back the hiss as the dwarf's pelvis came flush with his thoroughly bruised hip. He would remain as quiet and still for as long as he could if it meant his lover could find a few more moments of rest.

Despite the hobbit’s efforts, Thorin opened his eyes reluctantly, blinking away the sleepiness in them as the memories of last night came back to him. For a few sad seconds, he actually thought them to be the remnants of a dream he had had, but then he took notice of the warm body he held in his arms. The king stared down at the hobbit, taking in the tangled curls, the braid he had put there, the chapped lips and bitten throat, and the dark bruises on his hobbit’s hips and waist.

Durin’s beard, it had been real. He had his hobbit back, and in his arms, and they wore each other’s braids. By the stars, Bilbo was his for as long as he wore that braid in his hair. As soon as Bilbo made his own braid in Thorin’s mane of hair, it would be official by dwarven standards. But for now, in the privacy of their own chambers, for all intents and purposes, they were engaged to be married.

Something seemed to take flight in the dwarf’s chest, fluttering lightly as he smiled lazily down at his lover pulling Bilbo in closer. He dipped his head and pressed a tender kiss to the halfling’s curls.

“Good morning, my treasure,” he murmured, stretching his aching body. They had been quite adventurous the night before, and his healing body was definitely going to feel it for the rest of the day.

"Good morning, darling,” Bilbo replied happily, his voice soft and still heavy with sleep. It hurt as well to speak, the usually solid tones jagged and gritty from how he ruined his voice the night before. He wore a smile all the same, regardless of the insistent burn in his throat.

He rolled slowly, opting to give his backside a reprieve as he laid on his stomach and sprawled lazily across Thorin's chest, his arms folded and locking his fingers under his chin where he rested his head.

With half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile, the scene was perfect.

He scooted closer to press a tame kiss to Thorin's chin, muttering into his beard, "Sleep well?"

Thorin allowed himself a grin as he lifted an arm to fold under his head while the other hand went to fiddle with Bilbo’s braid. Truthfully, the dwarf could barely remember the last time he had slept so long and so deep, and he was certain that had been in the days he lived in Erebor, before his grandfather had fallen ill with goldlust.

He mentally shook himself of such maudlin thoughts, not wishing to dwell on memories of a day long since passed while in bed with his intended. Another flutter in his chest, and he began to fear he might actually be a terrible romantic at heart.

“I haven’t slept better in many years,” Thorin answered honestly, tilting his head to press a chaste, but lingering kiss to his hobbit’s lips. “And you, my treasure?”

"Mm," The hobbit hummed, accepting the languid kiss with a gentle pressure of his own, the warmth in his gentle smile spreading up into his hazel orbs. In the morning light they caught the rays of the sun and shined brilliantly, reflecting green and brown and flecks of gold. "Like a babe."

He watched Thorin as the king's fingers toyed with the braid that now ran down the side of his face. It was small and tied off with a familiar strand of leather chord, the memories it invoked bringing a heat to curl in Bilbo's gut and a light flush to his cheeks.

"So, the feeling is mutual then?" he asked softly in reference to the small braid, that beautiful smile never leaving his face.

“Of course,” Thorin responded, voice matter-of-fact and fierce as his eyes met the hobbit’s. His expression serious for a few moments until he realized his lover had asked it lightly and did not appear to have any real doubts of his affections.

Relaxing against the pillows once more, he slid his hand back into Bilbo’s hair, leaving off the braid for now. This was utterly perfect, lazing in bed with his lover on his chest, the early morning light filling the room. Lying naked beneath the covers with his hobbit in the still, morning quiet was something he could easily get used to.

“Though you will need to give me a new braid, separate from the ones I have, to make the proposal official,” he continued slowly, and he held the hobbit down as the creature moved to sit up.

“Before you do, however, there are things we must discuss,” Thorin explained softly, keeping a small smile on his lips to help Bilbo stay at ease. “Last night was…beyond words, but there are matters we have yet to properly talk about.”

Bilbo's brow furrowed for a moment, the annoyingly reasonable Baggins voice beginning to nag at him once more.

"Of course," he replied, scooting a little farther up the dwarf's chest to look at him properly. While he feared these serious conversations, as they seemed to dig up old insecurities, he knew that it was the lack of these talks that had caused all of the fuss and confusion over the past few weeks.

Bilbo was already arguing with himself mentally, trying to force that familiar voice in the back of mind to keep it down, his eyes darting back and forth momentarily with the internal struggle. He shook his head abruptly, his features pinching, before he forced his gaze back to Thorin's with an unconvincing smile.

"Of course, yes," he reaffirmed, mostly for his own sake.

Thorin watched as his fiery lover retreated behind his insecurities once again, his eyes leaving his for a few moments. When Bilbo’s eyes did find the dwarf’s once again, it was strained and wavering, and Thorin wouldn’t have that.

“Bilbo,” he sighed and pulled the halfling in for a passionate kiss, tongue slipping between his lover’s abused lips momentarily before he pulled back.

“Do not fear talking to me,” he said firmly, searching Bilbo’s eyes before he sat up against the headboard. Holding the hobbit against his side (and taking on most of his weight so the position was as comfortable as possible for his lover), he pressed another kiss to his hair. “There is nothing we cannot say to each other.”

Bilbo nodded, his heart fluttering from the passionate kiss. He melted into Thorin's sure and steady grip, the chest he laid against was riddled with scars and a mat of thick, raven hair, incredibly warm and strong. The dwarf's words put him at ease and with a sigh he nodded his understanding.

"Alright." He looked up to Thorin, eyes still full of many conflicting emotions, but the smile there was genuine.

"I just worry. Last time I spoke my mind, well," he paused, pursing his lips in thought before he looked sheepishly back up to the king. "It didn't turn out so well."

Thorin shut his eyes at the reminder, shame filling him once again. How he would take back everything he said that day and spare Bilbo the pain of the past few weeks. It was truly baffling to the king that Bilbo was even here in his bed once again, and fearing that Thorin would up and leave him.

“Nothing I can say will make what I had done and said right,” he began slowly, opening his eyes to look down at his lover. “It would seem some of my culture has been explained to you, though it does little to justify my petulance.”

Thorin pulled the hobbit away from himself a bit to meet his eyes, putting all of his regret and anguish and desperate apology into his eyes, hoping to convey at least some of it. He had come to learn that words tended to fail him when he needed them most.

“I found my emotions and feelings for you quite intense after our first night together,” Thorin said, his eyes never leaving the halfling’s. “Dwarves, we only love once, and I knew you were mine the night I took you. Though you had made a cultural blunder, I was more indignant to have my feelings for you likened to that of a teen’s.

“I thought the attachment between us to be grossly one-sided and with your understandable ignorance to our culture,” he paused for a few moments, hesitating over his next words, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I was hurt, but I should not have scorned you so. It was completely childish.”

Bilbo's chest tightened painfully at Thorin's admission, bordering on the edge of making him uncomfortable. Shire folk never spoke of their emotions. It was something to be kept to one's self. It was no one else’s business, as any private affair, and one was no more than a child if they were to push those feelings onto anyone else. It was considered improper and distasteful to say the least.

But here, in the privacy of their chamber, with heat of his lover soaking into his skin, Bilbo felt a fierce and protective fondness bubble up in his chest. He reached up to Thorin, cupping his cheek in his hand, his thumb gently stroking his defined cheek bone as he gave him a reassuring smile. "We both were. There's no need to dwell on it. It's been set right."

With that firmly said Bilbo leaned in for a chaste kiss, stealing it quickly and feather-light. He pulled back, only an inch, and pressed his brow to Thorin's. If it did not soothe the dwarf it was only for Bilbo's peace of mind, the physical contact almost like a life-line after so many weeks apart. "No more of that," he murmured gently, his hand now stroking over Thorin's mess of raven hair, the silver streaks catching the light.

"Surely this was not what you had in mind to discuss," the hobbit teased, a deep and weary chuckle escaping him.

“No, that certainly wasn’t,” Thorin replied with a deep, rumbling chuckle as he dipped to seal their lips together once again shortly. He was forgiven, and he wouldn’t argue or complain about it any further. To do so would only aggravate his lover and even disrespect him and his decisions.

Bilbo chose to forgive and have him back, and the king would give himself.

“It just needed to be said,” the dwarf murmured as he straightened up. “What I wanted to discuss was, among other things, your relationship with my nephews.”

"Ah," Bilbo replied curtly, having the decency to look away as a telling blush spread across his cheeks. He had appreciated the boys, had even formed a strong bond with them over the past trying weeks, something that he was incredibly grateful for regardless of the circ*mstances.

"I realize it was incredibly foolish me now," he began, clearing his throat as a lump formed there. This was not something he had anticipated discussing, though he knew the topic would eventually arise.

"I'm sorry. I have no excuse. I was simply lonely, and in moments of weakness they were there," he trailed off then, still feeling quite ashamed of his actions.

“Bilbo, it was not my intention to shame your decision,” Thorin said firmly, despising the guilt that rose in his lover’s expression. “We were unattached, and you had every right to take them as lovers. Even through my jealousy, I acknowledged that truth.”

He paused for a moment as he thought about his next words. “I bring it up now because there is a matter of dwarven courting practices. Because of our tendencies toward public displays, it is not unheard of for couples to come together,” he continued, eyes watching Bilbo carefully as the words left his mouth.

The hobbit couldn't hide his surprise, eyes going wide as he met Thorin's gaze once more. The blush that painted his cheeks spread rapidly, to the tips of his ears, even down his neck and dusting his shoulders. This was a whole new world of completely unexplored and even (by hobbit standards) unfathomable proportions.

"Oh," was the only reply he could muster, his voice having fled his body apparently. There were images swirling in his mind, of being taken by the three Durin's from all sides. The images made his mouth water and could feel his blood rushing south.

"Is that so?" he managed shakily, his groin become increasingly sensitive as his arousal grew.

“It is,” Thorin replied through a smirk, noting the blush the spread across his hobbit’s pretty face. He heard the way Bilbo’s voice changed, becoming slightly ragged and losing its strength.

“If that is agreeable to all of the participants, that is,” he added seriously. “Everyone involved is to be completely honest about their reservations and desires.”

"I see," Bilbo gulped, trying his best to keep a level head. He reached up, rustling his curls to distract himself, rubbing out some of the tension in his neck, trying to find the right words to say. He supposed then that, as Thorin had stated all participants were to be honest and open with everything, there was no point in feigning his understanding.

"Actually I don't really. Is this a suggestion, or a statement?" he prompted, brow furrowing for a moment. Yes, it was a blunt way to go about it, but subtlety always seemed to fail him when he spoke with the dwarf.

Thorin huffed out a laugh at that and scrubbed a hand over his face. It would seem that he was being a bit too delicate with his words for his hobbit. Mahal help him, he was truly this stunted at communicating.

“In a way, both,” he said around a sigh before turning a smile down at his blushing lover. “But it is mostly a suggestion. You seemed attached, and I am not opposed to sharing our bed with them.”

"Oh my," the hobbit squeaked, his hand jumping to cover his mouth at the outright suggestion. Forget respectable, he had lost that title when he ran out his door to chase the adventure, but this...this was something entirely different.

Different and enticing. Bilbo's co*ck gave an interested twitch, making him buck slightly into Thorin's side and bite off a soft whimper. He closed his eyes, willing his erection away, the blush that painted his cheeks never faltering.

"I would like that," he admitted slowly, voice low as though it were some dirty little secret, only meeting Thorin's gaze when he could remember to breathe.

They sat like that, the heat rising between their flush bodies for many silent minutes, the impulse to close the gap between their lips maddening. Bilbo obeyed his body, leaning up to seal their lips in a kiss, trying his best to keep his passion bridled.

Thorin met the press of Bilbo’s lips with a groan, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth. The halfling’s physical reaction was enough of an agreement for the king, but his words confirmed it. He pushed the kiss deeper, licking into the hobbit’s mouth slowly, searchingly until his body began to stir as well.

The dwarf pulled away, knowing that any strenuous activity this morning would have them both regretting it, and leaned his forehead down against his lover’s. He was desperate to keep the close contact, to feel Bilbo’s breath puff across his lips damply.

“As for my braid,” the dwarf murmured huskily, resisting the urge to clear his throat. “There is much that goes into a dwarven wedding ceremony that you may be opposed to. I do not want you to go into this without knowing everything.”

Bilbo's muscles protested any little movement and when the kiss broke the hobbit was left trembling. He was grateful for the contact, stealing chaste kisses from the king.

"Yes, of course, go ahead," he prompted. He settled back in next to Thorin, wincing slightly as so many different scrapes and bruises made themselves known for a few agonizing seconds.

“Dwarves,” the king started, and decided to be blunt, since sugarcoating the topics only stretched this whole affair out much longer than it needed to be. “When we wed, we consummate the bond at the reception. For most dwarven kind, it is only close family and friends that come to bear witness to the combining of family lines.

“For myself, however,” Thorin said with a slightly nervous sigh. “Once I reclaim my throne as King Under the Mountain, any marriage I have will be in front of the entire court, the dwarves of Erebor, and any honored guests that I would be required to invite.”

Bilbo was sure he heard something in his brain snap as he could feel that hot blush now covering his entire body. His eyes shot up to Thorin's, the hazel orbs impossibly wide with pin-hole pupils, his mouth agape in shock. He spluttered, chocking back the sound of protest with a cough. Bilbo Baggins was scandalized.

"Well that's--I mean--I just--oh my heavens," he finally managed out as he buried his face in his lover’s chest with a nervous laugh. The thought of being watched, by so many, it left him tingling all over. It was unspeakable, entirely improper, but if it didn't set his blood aflame he would be lying.

Thorin felt his stomach drop a bit at the hobbit’s reaction, even as he laughed and lifted his hand to pet Bilbo’s hair fondly. He could feel the heat radiating off of the halfling’s face against his chest, saw the tips of pointed ears dark with a deep blush. The dwarf had known this would be thoroughly embarrassing for the gentle, modest creature. Despite Bilbo being willing to share their bed with another couple, it was completely a completely different thing to make love in front of a crowd of possibly thousands of dwarves, men, and elves.

“This of course means I will understand should you not wish to marry me,” Thorin said softly, a downward shift of his lips breaking the small smile he had had. “To put your braid in my hair, but refuse me in marriage would cause much confusion, and even resentment in my people.

“We are well within our rights to continue as lovers, however,” he added suddenly as he realized his words could be taken as coercive. “And you have time to think on this matter. I have given you my braid, it is your choice whether and when to accept it.”

Bilbo's eyes shot to his immediately, suddenly quite fierce and unwavering. So many voices were warring in his head, so many voices telling him what a mistake he would make if he ever agreed to such an insane undertaking. They were the same voices that had convinced him he wasn't the right hobbit for the job, the same voices that had told him to refuse Gandalf when he brought his offered adventure, and the same voices that had been so easily pushed to the side the next morning at the prospect of missing out on something truly amazing.

Yes, the prospect of this ritual was utterly terrifying, to be submitted to something that in his eyes would be incredibly humiliating, but the thought of only being the king's lover, nothing more, was not something he could abide by.

He tried to reassure himself as he had the night before, he kept clinging desperately to Fíli’s words in Rivendell; the more public the display, the prouder the lover. He had never viewed himself as a prize, far from it truth be told, but when he looked at it from that angle it left him aching to please his king.

"I would for you," Bilbo finally said, voice even and gaze unwavering. "I only ever would for you."

Thorin watched his hobbit’s face for a few moments, taking in the ferocity in those eyes and the pure honesty there. Slowly, he allowed a smile to split his face again and for a few moments, he wondered if he would ever stop being so painfully content with the heat of Bilbo against his side. With another short huff of laughter, he decided that he certainly hoped not.

Dipping his head for another deep, searching kiss, he pressed Bilbo back against the pillows and slotted himself between the hobbit’s legs. He kept the press of their lips chaste for the most part, his hands fisted in the duvet as he propped himself up over his lover with his elbows.

“That means more to me than you can possibly know, my treasure,” he said softly as he pulled away from the hobbit to press his lips wetly to Bilbo’s cheek. It was true, the hobbit sacrificing his modesty for him hitting the king like a punch to the chest.

The Baggins hobbit had jumped into the fray more than once to save the dwarf that had him lovingly pinned to the mattress. It would merely be a room full of people, watching as he was debauched. Nothing he couldn't handle, or at least that is what he kept reassuring himself.

He cleared his throat then, a grin cracking his face as an idea struck him. "I would ask though for similar treatment.

"We have vastly different traditions in the Shire when it comes to marriage," he explained vaguely, bringing his fingers up to tangle in the dwarf's raven tendrils, taking them through and massaging his scalp. He had learned the night before just how much his king like this; it was something he was going to spoil him with from now on.

"They're not nearly as grand as any dwarven custom I'm sure, but you know," he trailed off with a light shrug and gentle smile. "A little bit of home and all that."

Thorin actually moaned at the hobbit’s ministrations, his head dropping to rest next to Bilbo’s as he fought the urge to go completely limp. It was a losing battle, but he would die before he would ask his lover to stop.

“You know you can ask anything of me,” he groaned out, angling his head into the small fingers kneading his scalp and tugging lightly at his hair. And it was true, especially if the hobbit planned to continue doing this to him. It was almost embarrassing to realize how easy it would be for the burglar to manipulate him.

Bilbo hummed happily, the sound slowly bubbling into a giggle as the strong, stern dwarven warrior melted against him and into his touches. He turned his head, ignoring his protesting muscles, to place a gentle kiss against Thorin's ear.

"You might not want to agree once you know our rituals," the hobbit teased, giggling again as his ministrations were rewarded with a groan.

"We have a similar ritual to your braiding of hair, except it involves flowers," Bilbo began to explain, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular on the ceiling. "You weave flowers into your intended’s hair, and then your intended returns the gesture. Generally it's proceeded with love-making."

He sighed wistfully, a smile tugging his lips further up into splitting his face. "The wedding is much of those as the weddings of men, really. The reception however, they are like all parties in the Shire. Long and rowdy, full of good food and ale, singing and dancing."

Another fond sigh escaped him as he thought back to the many beloved parties he attended since his teen-hood. How they always came with promises of a one-night stand, full of good drink and song.

Thorin smiled against Bilbo’s chest as he listened to his words, his heart clenching at the way his lover talked of his home. It was another reason he was so intensely grateful, that the hobbit was giving up his Shire and that cozy hobbit hole and everyone he knew for him. Because of that, the dwarf would do anything, even if it meant wearing flowers in his hair.

“I don’t find anything disagreeable with your traditions,” he said as seriously as he could with the teasing touches in his hair. He bit back a moan as his body began to stir, heat curling in his belly.

Bilbo increased the pressure, pleased with the reaction he got from the dwarf. He pressed another kiss to his ear, taking a brief moment to flick his tongue across the shell teasingly. "Thank you."

If he were to be honest he sometimes found their rituals for courtship and marriage a little tedious, if not childish in some aspects, however they were still a little piece of home.

"Now about this braid," he began, pulling his fingers through the dwarf’s hair. The hobbit pushed back from Thorin, sitting up and taking one of the long plaits that framed the king’s face and twiddled it between his forefinger and thumb. "Where would you like it?"

Thorin sighed as his head ended up cradled in his lover’s lap, rolling over as Bilbo began to play with one of his braids. He smiled lazily up at the hobbit, reaching up and cupping one of the cheeks from where he lay. The morning light that streamed in lit the halfling’s hair, turning it to a golden halo around his soft, round face. There was a playfulness in Bilbo’s eyes that tugged a wider smile from the dwarf, and inwardly Thorin had to groan at how ridiculously sappy he was getting.

“Anywhere you would like, my treasure,” he replied, his chest puffing as it dawned on him that Bilbo was accepting him, that once the braid was in his hair, it was official and real. The hobbit was his, as much as he was the hobbit’s. “It is your braid to place.”

Bilbo nodded confidently, then turning his attention to the cap at the end of the heavy plait. "And what should I tie it off with?" He fingered his own braid gingerly, catching the end of the leather strap carefully.

"You wouldn't happen to have any more of this?" he asked curiously. He wondered briefly a how the small plait would be received, and if he would grow into it eventually. It was quite odd in hobbit culture, even amongst ladies, to dress their hair in such a fussy matter.

“I should have some more,” Thorin murmured as he sat up, stretching as he slid off the massive bed. Moving across the room a bit gingerly, he was pleased to note the lack of pain he actually had and made a note to question Gandalf on the nature of the spell used to heal him. Pausing in the middle of the room, he stretched properly, groaning slightly as a few joints popped pleasantly.

Glancing back at his lover, he smirked at the slightly dazed look on the hobbit’s face before dropping into a crouch by their discarded clothing and packs. When his hand closed around another strip of leather, he stood quickly and stalked back to the bed, smirk still in place as he climbed back onto it and crawled over to his lover.

“Here you are,” he murmured, leaning close to Bilbo’s lips as he held the piece of leather out to his lover.

The hobbit beamed as Thorin passed the thin strip of brown leather to Bilbo, a smile that spoke volumes as he shifted to Thorin's right side. There was a wide gap, completely void of any decoration. He took a section of Thorin's hair, segmenting the raven tendrils into three sections, before he took the strap between his teeth. Then, very slowly and purposely, the hobbit began to weave the sections together.

The pace was not only to ensure perfection, but also to savor the incredibly intimate and life-changing moment. This was as private as their union would ever be, and Bilbo wasn't going to take that for granted, the room was only filled with their measured and even breathing, and the occasional hum from the halfling.

Once he had the plait set he pinched the ends carefully, taking the strap from his teeth and then quickly winding it at the end of the braid. He managed to get it tied off with a half-loop knot, his fingers lingering on the meaningful braid for many moments before he gave a small nod.

"Is it alright?" Bilbo asked meekly, eyes darting to Thorin's, his smile nervous yet alight with happiness.

The king had held his breath for most of the time Bilbo had worked at his new braid, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead. The significance of this moment washed over him, and for a few seconds he actually allowed himself to feel afraid. Now that he had admitted his affections for Bilbo and chosen to broadcast their union by way of engagement, the dwarf felt a keener sense of concern for his lover’s life. If he were to lose Bilbo after this, the king was fairly positive it would destroy him.

At Bilbo’s question though, he turned a small smile toward his lover and leaned in for a sweet, chaste kiss. “It’s perfect,” he murmured against Bilbo’s lips, leaning in for another slow slide of lips, and maybe more, when the quiet of the room was interrupted by the growling of their stomachs.

“It appears it may be time to seek out breakfast,” Thorin said through a huff of laughter, his smile broadening as he pulled back to meet Bilbo’s eyes.

Bilbo conceded, giving Thorin an enthusiastic nod as they both rolled out of the bed. Bilbo's muscles were still entirely enraged at their actions, yet he tugged on all of his clothes with Thorin's help, and returned the favor lovingly.

Once they were satisfied they were presentable, each giving the other's courting braid a fond stroke and stealing kisses, they made their way to the dining hall to the not-nearly so surprised gazes of their fellow company members to sit and enjoy their morning meal.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

It was a few hours before mid-day, and the general air of excitement (with a few disapproving looks that were pointedly ignored) was still silently buzzing through the company. Their king had chosen to take a consort. It came with many promises of happiness for when a king was happy, so were his subjects.

Bilbo was taking a late second breakfast before lunch would be served, a quick snack of whipped honey on a substantial herbed scone. Fíli and Kíli had joined him, their grins incredibly wide since the burglar and their uncle had walked out this morning wearing each other's braids.

They had held their praise at bay if only for their dear hobbit's modesty. Now however, they were quite alone with Bilbo and refused to stop their onslaught of questions. They had just gotten to the subject of a reception and were subjecting Bilbo to a barrage of inquires about hobbit culture on the matter.

"Well, to be honest, hobbits do have the best parties. Sometimes a wedding reception can span many days and nights, full of food and drink, and the dancing.” He sighed wistfully before he bit into his treat. It was with a small shake of his head that Bilbo continued mostly to himself. "It's almost a shame really. Missed quite the party by going on this trip."

Fíli quirked an eyebrow at the hobbit, taking a deep drag off of his pipe as he waited for the man to elaborate. After a quick glance at his brother, it was apparent he wasn’t the only one curious about what the halfling meant.

“Was there to be a wedding you were invited to?” the blond asked as he blew a perfect smoke ring. He watched it float away, a pleased smirk on his face before turning back to Bilbo. Kíli was just about vibrating with excitement, had been all day so far, but now he looked about to burst with it.

“Or a birthday?” Fíli added with forced calm, his own excitement tempered only by the control instilled in him as heir apparent. If anything, he was thrumming with just as much happy energy as his younger brother.

Bilbo kept his expression measured as he continued to munch on his scone. He was happy to leave them guessing, but as Fíli hit the bulls-eye he conceded the truth.

"Yes. Would've been quite a party to.", he sighed again, a fond smile quirking his smile upward.

Kíli, clearly frustrated, reached out to Bilbo and gave him a companionable shove, a bright laugh lighting his features. "Come now, Mr. Boggins, ye' tell us more! Who's party? A relative, perhaps?"

Bilbo gave a small nod, that mischievous Tookish glint lighting his eye. "You could say that."

It was with another shove from Kíli that he folded. "Alright, alright! My birthday was last week," he gave up with a slight shrug, thoroughly amused by the shocked faces he was greeted with. "To be fair it was spent in a city of elves, and by shire-folk standard's that's rather grand. And I had wonderful company."

He gave them both a bright wink with that.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Fíli asked, his shock turning to mild sadness. He and his brother loved birthdays and coming up with surprises and gifts for people. To find out after the fact that they had missed the hobbit’s birthday, and that the man had been heartbroken as well, put a frown on the blonde’s brow.

“We could have done something for you, or had a gift put together,” he added, looking over at his brother who had a similar look of dismay on his face. The only other person they knew that was adamant about his birthday going unmarked was Thorin, and it was obvious by the way Bilbo talked of his kind’s wonderful parties that he probably hadn’t been particularly miserable the day of his birthday (not that the hobbit had shown his extra sadness one bit).

Bilbo shook his head adamantly, unwilling to let the boys know that he had indeed despaired over it. It had been the day he had spent in the library, wrapped up in books, only to be railed at later that night by Thorin and attempt to give of himself so freely to the brothers. The fact that his birthday had gone unmarked, a true scandal for a hobbit, had only pushed him further into the arms of the brother's and had given voice to his hallow desires for a true coupling. He thanked his stars now for Fíli and Kíli, how they had taken such good care of him when in the depths of his despair.

"You two gave me a great gift," he reassured gentle, looking between the two. "You took such great care with me; you even stopped me from doing anything foolish that night. You affections were a gift that I'm certain a hobbit like myself isn't worthy of from royalty."

With that he finished his scone with a resolute nod, taking Fíli’s example and fishing out his pipe in return. He was finishing the last of his leaf before he set into the shape-shifters stores, glad to see that Gandalf had set aside for him a barrel each of long-bottom leaf and old-toby. A little taste of home since his life had been at such great a risk lately, he had been told by the grey wizard, and he was glad for it.

Fíli’s lips pressed into a thin line at that. Finding out that awful day and night was also Bilbo’s birthday somehow made it worse. He honestly hadn’t thought that was possible, yet here they were. With a glance at Kíli, he could see his brother was struggling with the same information. Yes, that terribleness was well in the past, and the halfling was happily smoking his pipe and playing with his braid, but the swordsman couldn’t forget the way Bilbo had cried himself to sleep that night, and he could not ignore that it had been the hobbit’s birthday.

The fact that Fíli had kept a level enough head to deny Bilbo’s advances and keep him from hating himself the next morning was a small consolation to the young dwarf. In that moment, he decided that somehow they would make it up to Bilbo, whether the halfling thought it was necessary or not.

From across the room, Thorin had been idly watching the trio as he sat with Dwalin and Balin, paying half-attention to their conversation over the best route through Mirkwood. At first, as the king watched, he had been happy, watching his nephews bounce excitedly around Bilbo and chat with the hobbit. Many times, he had seen the halfling reach up and stroke his braid, and each time Thorin felt his stomach twist and his heart clench.

But then their faces turned to frowns, at least his kin’s did. Bilbo merely seemed flustered by what appeared to be concern. Before he could really think to stop himself, he was excusing himself from his oldest friends’ company and making his way across the great hall to sit heavily next to his hobbit.

“I hope my kin isn’t being bothersome, my treasure,” he said gruffly, leaning close to brush his lips across Bilbo’s sensitive ear. Pulling away, he gave his nephews a brief look of question as the hobbit hurried to reassure him of Fíli and Kíli’s welcome company.

Bilbo's cheeks were dusted pink, still growing accustomed to such open displays of affection, but he met Thorin with a smile all the same. He was about to steer the conversation elsewhere when Kíli sprang up. All eyes were on the archer, each looking bewildered in their turn, as Kíli’s eyes darted to and fro before his face lit with a merry glow.

"Uncle! I, uh, I just remembered! I had something urgent to discuss with you, it, uhm," he fished around his thoughts, looking all about the room as if the answers were scrawled on the walls. Then he came up with his diversion. "Oh! Yes, it was about mother! You know, with the braids and all, and it's dreadfully important!"

With his final exclamation he gave Fíli a sharp elbow to the side, locking the blonde in one of those looks that spoke volumes. The heir-apparent seemed to catch on quickly enough and nodded his agreement. Kíli took hold of his uncle's arm and with hurried excuses dragged the older dwarf off and out of sight, leaving the hobbit alone and quite confused.

---------------------------

It had been a good many hours of contented relaxation in the shape-shifters sitting room, his pipe lit and puffing away on Old Toby. The heady leaf made him pleasantly groggy, and the old wandering wizard had taken to smoking with him. They shared stories of the shire while puffing away, Bilbo putting out perfect rings and the conjurer constantly impressing him with elaborate ghost ships and creatures that seemed to move as if they were real.

Kíli wandered into the room, looking incredibly pleased with himself and tapped the hobbit on the shoulder. "I require your assistance master hobbit," he stated, holding out his hand.

Bilbo looked on curiously but obliged the archer, rising to his feet from the oversized arm chair. He tapped out his pipe onto the hearth and bid Gandalf a brief farewell, to which the wizard responded in kind.

Bilbo followed Kíli easily enough, but as they approached the massive door to Thorin's private quarters the hobbit felt his stomach tug. He knew he had discussed going to bed with all three Durins, was even excited at the prospect, but surely Thorin did not think he could handle such escapades for a second night in a row?

"Anything you feel like telling me?" he asked hopefully. Kíli turned on him with a sly grin and lust darkened eyes. That was all the confirmation Bilbo needed.

"Oh my," Bilbo rattled out, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the thought. Kíli led him into the room gently, but it was not a sight the burglar had expected.

Thorin lounged on the bed, in all of his natural glory, his brow furrowed in thought as guilt overwhelmed him once again. It had been brought to his attention that the night he had been the cruelest to his hobbit, and then hid like a coward in his chambers, had been the man’s birthday. Though this had at first seemed a minor thing, his nephews impressed upon him the importance shirefolk put on birthdays.

Shame slammed through him, and once again Thorin was left feeling unworthy. The king wouldn’t put a voice to such thoughts, knowing it would only fluster his lover and possibly anger him. Also, Thorin was selfish and feared that if he continued to voice his shame and guilt, one day Bilbo might actually take it to heart and choose to leave.

Hands were on his shoulders suddenly, startling him out of his dark thoughts, and thumbs began to knead into the tense muscles of his shoulders. Thorin groaned and let his head loll back, eyes half-lidded as they looked up at Fíli. The blond was smiling reassuringly as he massaged the knots from his uncle’s shoulders, and soon the king found himself relaxing completely, eyes drifting shut.

“None of us knew it was his birthday,” the young dwarf said, as if sensing the train of Thorin’s swirling thoughts. “It’s alright; he isn’t even—ah, Master Baggins!”

Thorin lifted his head slowly, eyes opening as Kíli was shutting the door behind him and Bilbo. The hobbit was blushing, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide.

The older dwarf kept his eyes on Bilbo as he sat up.

Bilbo had been pushed through the portal by the brunette, who soundly shut and locked the door behind him. Kíli stood now, hands brazenly on the gentle curve of Bilbo's hips, as the hobbit was met with the gorgeous sight of his lover. "What's all this?" he asked, confusion tingeing his airy voice.

Kíli grinned and pressed a kiss into his mop of honey curls. "Well, it'd be a shame to waste a night in a perfectly good bed, mister Boggins." The archer led the burglar to the bed, hands never leaving those hips, and before they made their way onto the bed Kíli made up his mind to give his uncle and brother a little show of his own.

Without feeling the need to ask permission his fingers set to work, pulling the clothes that hid Bilbo's supple body from their eyes, peeling each layer away tantalizingly slow. While Fíli had indeed been right to pull the archer from the bed, that night when Bilbo was a shattered man, he still could not get the image of that sea of milky skin to leave his mind. How he had longed to touch the hobbit's body again. And as they all seemed to be in some sort of silent understanding (though he noticed the rather dangerous glint in his Uncles eyes) he was going to take the opportunity to steal some pleasure for himself.

As he unhooked the last button from the halfling's shirt, divesting him of the cotton garment and tossing it onto the bed post, he snaked his arms around the hobbit and teased his skin with calloused finger tips. He hungered for a taste, and dipped low to run his tongue up along Bilbo's neck until he took the hobbit's ear-lobe between his teeth. Bilbo mewled beautifully and he felt a hot surge of arousal course through him, surging straight to his groin.

He took the hobbit's trousers and small clothes next, dropping down to sit on his haunches as he liberated Bilbo of the pesky garments. He trailed kisses up the pert swell of the burglar's arse and then his spine to his shoulders, taking those supple hips in his hands once more. It was only after this agonizing tease for the pair on the bed that Bilbo and Kíli joined them.

Kíli’s thumbs rubbed slow, soothing circles into the hobbit's flesh as he finally gave him a real explanation. "Uncle here expressed a rather specific desire for how he would like you this evening," he prompted, looking now to Fíli to fill in the gaps. He bit back a groan at the heavy lidded and thoroughly aroused gaze he was met with.

Fíli couldn’t even begin to explain how watching his brother undress the hobbit was so arousing, and how seeing Bilbo naked and growing hard now had him panting. The halfling had always been attractive to the blond, and their time in Rivendell together had been pleasant, but now Bilbo’s eyes had a brightness to them, and the way he stared at only Thorin the entire time he had been stripped and teased…it had the young dwarf salivating.

And the sight of his brother and the hobbit together would certainly never get old.

The prince smirked at his brother’s words, pinning the brunette with a hungry stare as he nodded. “Uncle would like to have you, little one,” Fíli said evenly, attempting to keep the imaginings at bay. They were overwhelmingly arousing, and did little to help his concentration.

As the hobbit’s mask of dazed need was broken by worried embarrassment, the blond shook his head and added, “Fret not, Bilbo, he remembers that you are sore.”

“I wish for you to take me,” Thorin elaborated, impatient with the pace. His hobbit was so close and naked, and he no longer wished to talk. He wanted his lover on the bed, against him and kissing him, and moving inside him. The physical need for it was quickly outweighing any unease he had about the idea.

Bilbo felt a shudder go through him at Thorin's words. He was to bed a king. He felt a twinge of self-doubt, that he would ever be able to please a lover in such a way, but Kíli goaded him forward. The archer had seemed to shed his clothes with ease as they had been abandoned to the floor. It left the hobbit wondering for a brief second where he had learned such swiftness, but as he saw Fíli shed his layers of clothing as well he simply concluded it was from years of practice.

Kíli locked eyes with his brother, each communicating in that special and silent way that only they seemed capable of. In an instant they had switched positions. Kíli now sat behind his uncle, legs spread and erection pressing between Thorin's shoulder blades, the king still somewhat tense in his grip. He took over Fíli’s motions of massaging Thorin's shoulders.

Bilbo felt as Fíli pressed to his side, skin hot as he pressed close. He helped situate Bilbo, having the hobbit kneel with Thorin's legs spread wide over his thighs. The position for the king was so very open and vulnerable, legs splayed, abdomen flexing with his steady breathing, and arms relaxed at his sides. The sight was so tantalizing, it had him salivating within seconds. His mind was muddled with his lust and his apprehensions. With his brow furrowed in worry as he slicked his fingers in his mouth the hobbit was vaguely aware of the blonde's lips trailing gently over his shoulders and neck, whispering endearments and encouragements as he went.

The burglar at least knew what must come first with what experience he had gained with his regal lover. While he could not reach Thorin's lips from his position, he could at least lean down to licking teasingly at the king's shaft, running his tongue agonizingly slowly over the glans and down the main vein before returning to the head. All the while his spit-slicked digits slipped into the cleft of Thorin's arse, locating his tight entrance, and pushing in gently. The muscles protested but slowly and with a little bit of force he eased the first finger in. It was tight like a vice, tight enough to make him wonder how in the world he would ever fit, but he kept these worries to himself as he focused on attending to his lover.

Thorin thumped his head against Kíli’s chest as he bit back a sound of discomfort. How long had it been since he allowed someone to bed him? Surely it was years, as he had rarely liked his past lovers enough to allow them this. With his status, to submit to someone was something to be done with care and thought.

But when it came to Bilbo, he hadn’t needed even half a minute to consider the idea. It would be simple for the king to give control to his hobbit, and with Fíli and Kíli’s help, the halfling was sure to take it.

So pushing aside his nerves, he relaxed around the invading digit, sighing as Bilbo’s slow rhythm eased the slight burn. Shifting his hips slightly, he released a low groan as the questing finger ghosted over his prostate. The teasing licks and sucks on his co*ck went a long way to helping him relax.

“You hear that, Bilbo?” Fíli murmured as he leaned down to speak into the hobbit’s pointed ear, voice husky with arousal. His gaze had been enraptured with the sight of Bilbo’s finger disappearing into the eldest dwarf’s core, pupils blowing wide at the way Thorin’s entrance clenched around the digit. “You’re almost hitting his sweet spot. Angle your finger just a little bit more.”

Bilbo couldn't suppress the blush that began invading his cheeks and spreading unbidden to the tips of his ears. He had never really been so in control of a coupling. At the very least, when he was in control, he was not in charge. He would do as he was told to help his partner reach fruition how they pleased, and if he was lucky he would find his own completion shortly after. This was not that situation however.

He gulped hard at Fíli’s words, muttering "I-I am?" meekly as he crooked his finger just so. It felt like no more than a pebble from a stream, but the reaction he received put his mind at ease about his performance thus far. He marveled at the way Thorin shuddered. Splayed out as he was, the hobbit could see each muscle tense at the pleasurable waves that were slowly rocking through his lover’s body. And the noises had his co*ck dripping in anticipation.

Kíli’s hands had wandered down his uncle’s front, massaging the solid muscles of his chest and occasionally teasing a dusky nipple until it budded under his fingertips. He caught Fíli’s eye every now and again, the archers gaze equally dark with blown pupils and arousal. He wondered then how long his resolve would hold.

Bilbo teased more and more, massaging Thorin's prostate gently with the occasional jab to send spike of pleasure through the eldest dwarf. Once he was confident enough with his ministrations he placed a loving kiss on the head of Thorin's bobbing co*ck, sitting up fully to be teased and encouraged further by Fíli and watching his lover with hungry eyes.

Thorin could not bite back the sounds of his pleasure as Bilbo hesitantly assaulted his prostate. They were teasing jabs, just enough to send spikes of pleasure up the dwarf’s spine, and by the stars he wanted more. He rocked down onto the questing finger, eyes rolling back as the motion had the digit pegging his sweet spot with more pressure. A loud moan fell from his lips as he started a slow, rolling movement to meet the little thrusts of Bilbo’s finger.

Adding to his arousal was the hard length digging into his back between his shoulder blades, precome wetting his flesh as Kíli leaked with his arousal. With a shuddering moan as Bilbo’s ministrations became firmer and more sure of themselves, Thorin reached up to grip the back of his youngest nephew’s neck, tangling his fingers in unruly brown tresses in an attempt to ground himself. Mahal, this felt almost too good.

Fíli groaned as he pressed his body flush against the hobbit’s side, rutting lazily against Bilbo’s hip. Pressing his lips firmly against the halfling’s sensitive ear, he nibbled the lobe before whispering huskily, “he’s ready for another finger.” He paused with a smirk, licking the shell of Bilbo’s ear and relishing the shuddering sigh it pulled from the small creature. “But only if you think he deserves it.”

Bilbo let his own whimper escaping him, his instincts taking over as Fíli’s tongue explored his flesh. He tilted his head to the side to allow better access, his eyes still exploring Thorin's body shamelessly. Fíli was thoroughly distracting him however with each lazy little thrust, the slick of the swordsman precome on his hip incredibly distracting.

He tortured Thorin for only a few moments longer, his second digit sliding into the tight canal to join the first. He did not tease or test his lover now that he knew where that glorious button was inside of his rock-hard body. Bilbo sped his pace by double, small fingers thrusting in deep to stretch the opening and mercilessly pegging the king's prostate. He didn't wait for Fíli to prompt him for the third finger, knowing that once Thorin began to bounce against his questing fingers that he craved more.

Now with three fingers in his king, Bilbo felt far too aroused for his own good. His skin burned as if it were on fire, his lust now coursing through him in his veins. Small groans of satisfaction would slip from his lips as Thorin's face would twist in pleasure, or a desperate growl would be released from his tempting lips.

“Aulë,” Thorin moaned as he arched, fingers clenching in Kíli’s hair as pleasure overwhelmed him. He was panting by now, shifting his hips down onto his lover’s fingers and letting loose low sounds of need. When he was able to open his eyes, he would meet Bilbo’s, connecting with the fiery hazel depths that were darkened with arousal. His face was so determined, and that glint was in his eyes.

The dwarf’s eyes rolled back at that and a let out a soft sound, wrenching at his nephew’s hair as he resisted the urge to stroke himself. When he was ready to look again, he took in the sight of his heir, pressed against his hobbit's side and whispering in Bilbo’s ear, a smirk on his bearded lips. As if hearing his name, Fíli’s blue eyes flashed to his and his smirk deepened.

“He’s about to beg for your co*ck, little one,” the blond whispered smugly, low enough so only Bilbo could hear his words. “Do you want to make him beg for it as I’m sure he’s done to you?”

Bilbo whimpered desperately. The idea of Thorin begging for him, begging to be taken, it was so thoroughly arousing that Bilbo thought he might come from the suggestion alone. He managed a stuttered and equally quiet "yes" to Fíli’s question, his free hand on his own co*ck and gripping the base. If Thorin's little exercise with the leather strap had taught him anything it was that denying ones-self would only enhance his experience.

The burglar continued to nudge his lover’s prostate, lightening his touches and drawing his fingers away slowly to pull the desired reaction from the king. He wondered how it felt to be on the other end, to feel the satisfaction of fulfilling someone's pleas for release. His voice had abandoned him for the moment however, and it took him many moments of silence and eyes shut tight against his dizzying pleasure to find it again.

"Darling." His voice was soothing and low, but laced with dark promises and desire for his lover. It was something sultry, still lacking the full confidence of what one would expect from a dwarf, but also volumes more seductive. "Tell me what you want," he prompted shakily, that sultry edge still bleeding into his usually gentle and matter-of-fact tone of voice.

Thorin was writhing on his lover’s fingers, the muscles of his thighs quivering at each strike against his prostate, light exploding behind his eyelids at each teasing drag against the bundle of nerves. Gods, it felt so good, too good. His free hand finding Bilbo’s knee, he dug his blunt nails into the pale flesh and let out a brittle sound as his lover’s voice washed over him.

He leaned heavily against Kíli, trying to gain more leverage in his thrusts against the halfling’s hand. Biting the inside of his cheek, he let out a broken sound as Bilbo’s fingers nailed his prostate and stayed still before rubbing back and forth. It had him shuddering violently and letting out a desperate whine, eyes slamming shut.

“I need you, my treasure,” he gasped out, eyes rolled back at the relentless pressure against his sweet spot. “Oh, gods, st—stop! I won’t last!”

Fíli’s hips stuttered against Bilbo’s flank at his uncle’s begging, eyes finding his brother’s and he had to bite back a moan. Kíli looked beside himself with need, eyes half-lidded and mouth resting against Thorin’s shoulder. His dark eyes were watching everything, pupils blown wide and a beautiful blush on his cheeks. Mahal, the Fíli needed him, but right now this was about Thorin and Bilbo.

Pulling away slightly, the blond grabbed a vial of oil that was some distance away on the gigantic bed and placed it next to the hobbit’s knee. He returned to his place against Bilbo and asked quietly, “do you think he deserves it, little one?”

Bilbo pulled the torture of his lover out as long as physically possibly before his own need grew too firesome to ignore. He took the vial of oil, presumably from Beorn's bath as it smelled distinctively herby as all things in the shape shifter’s home did, and pulled the cork with an audible pop. He coated himself thoroughly, knowing first hand that there could never be enough lubrication for this act.

It was only once he was satisfied with his slickness that he scooted forward with Fíli’s goading hands at his shoulders. Very slowly and only after Thorin whined in his desperation, did the hobbit press himself to the tight entrance. It was still for many moments, heavy breathing and heartbeats filling the space with sound, and with enough pressure the head of Bilbo's co*ck slipped into Thorin.

The pressure was incredible. An exquisite tightness and heat enveloped him like he had never known before, and gasped as the sensation of penetrating another washed over him. But then he saw the look on Thorin's face. He was in discomfort. Bilbo knew the expression instantly as it was one that he had worn himself, and instantly his confidence fizzled, his eyes growing wide as his brow knit with worry.

Thorin grimaced at the slow penetration, the sensation of being filled almost completely foreign to him. There was minimal pain, as the hobbit had been thorough with his preparation as well as using plenty of oil to make the slide easy. It was merely his lack of practice at taking another’s co*ck into his body. Letting out a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes to look at his lover.

Though the small creature was obviously pleasured by the action, he looked fearful, uncertain, and Thorin regretted letting his mask fall. Rubbing soothing circles on Bilbo’s knee, he rocked against the hobbit and sucked in a breath at the twinge of slight pain that was edged with dull pleasure. He let his mouth fall open as the halfling made an involuntary thrust to meet the dwarf’s short movements, a moan falling from his lips as Bilbo nudged against his prostate.

Fíli rubbed calming circles on the hobbit’s back as he caught the man’s hesitance. He leaned down to try and meet Bilbo’s eyes. “You’re doing real good, little burglar,” he said soothingly, turning his eyes to Thorin’s face and almost groaning at the sight. This was the softest he’d ever seen his uncle, with his mouth slack and eyes relaxed with pleasure.

“Look at him, little one,” the blond sighed, turning back to Bilbo’s ear to press a lingering kiss against the shell of it. “He can take whatever you want to give him.”

The world around Bilbo began to fade away, narrowing down to Fíli’s dulcet tones, the tightness of Thorin's core, and those burning eyes. He could not tare his gaze from the king's even if he had wanted to as he slowly eased in. The heat that surrounded him so completely and squeezed him tight was dizzying, small appreciative groans escaping his slack lips.

By the time he was buried to the hilt in the older dwarf he was shaking with effort to contain his release and fine sheen of sweat glistened across his soft skin. He tried to speak, the words dying on his lips as a broken moan replaced them. He held fast to Thorin's muscular thighs, fingers trembling, as if the contact would keep him grounded.

Kíli had held his breath as the burglar slid into his uncle. The sound's escaping the king in his lap had his hips jerking against his will, craving the delicious contact. "Oh Aulë, Bilbo," the archer groaned, committing the expression the hobbit wore to his memory.

What he wouldn't do to be buried deep in the burglar's tight little body or to feel that devilish tongue once more on his co*ck. He held onto the last few threads of his restraint, focusing on his brothers from and how he coached the hobbit. To his dismay it was an equally stimulating sight.

Thorin shivered as his hobbit finally bottomed out inside of him, that man’s pelvis connect flush against his arse. He was sweating and very nearly shaking, his entrance clenching around the length in his core. It felt so good, but he needed Bilbo to move, to do something more than sit still. Licking his lips, he arched slightly, the muscles in his torso flexing and moving in a way he knew ignited his lover. The king had seen the way the little hobbit would admire his hard body as he stretched and lounged. The movement caused Bilbo’s co*ck to slide even deeper and nudged firmly against his sweet spot again, wrenching a small sound from Thorin, and he gasped out, “Move, my treasure. Please.”

Fíli moaned at the wrecked quality of his uncle’s voice and his eyes found his brother’s. He found them staring hungrily at him, the brunette’s face dark with need and arousal as he shifted against Thorin’s back. The blond stared openly at Kíli, keeping eye contact as he pulled away from the hobbit slightly, just enough to reach down and palm at his co*ck. He released a shuddering sigh at the delicious pleasure that went zinging through his body.

Bilbo did not need to be told twice. As he restraint crumbled around him he let out a desperate groan, something feral and animalistic as he began to pump into his lover. The friction and heat were incredible and he was already sliding into the depths of his passion addled mind.

The world was melting away, narrowing now only to Thorin and he on the bed and the incredible sensations that were coursing through his body. It was like a fire in his blood, something intoxicating and heady, and turned his face upward with his eyes screwed shut as he held his release at bay. It would be far to embarrassing to finish so soon, not to mention wholly unsatisfying for his lover as he had just began assaulting his prostate with his erratic thrusts. His breath ragged, his bangs slicked against his forehead from perspiration, he once again tried to find his voice.

"Oh my--Oh, love, I--you're perfect--" Each word tumbled from his lips broken and split with a groan. He could hear Thorin moaning for him and that's what brought his attention back, his eyes locking on Thorin's, entirely undone and wrecked.

Kíli groaned outright as he watched his brother palming his erection. With the rhythm of the lovers between them finally settling in Thorin was being rocked back into him, and the dragging sensation of skin against the underside of his swollen co*ck was delicious. When they weren't busy staring at the coupling between them the brother's would lock eyes, tongue's running along lips enticingly as they read each other’s gazes.

Thorin moved down against his lover, fist tightening in his nephew’s hair as he groaned in pleasure, eyes rolling at each stab against his prostate. With effort, he kept his eyes relatively open, trying to watch Bilbo as the hobbit came undone with each thrust into him. The creature was absolutely perfect, his movements hesitant but firm, the rhythm erratic with inexperience, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to help Thorin to his own completion. The dwarf did not mind though as pleasure soaked through him, and the blissed-out expression on Bilbo’s blushing face was enough to make him shiver with want.

With a gasping moan, Thorin reached up and cupped Bilbo’s cheek as the halfling leaned forward. “Don’t hold yourself back, my treasure,” he said softly, arching at a particularly hard thrust against his sweet spot. Mahal, he was looking forward to practicing this with his hobbit, teaching the smaller creature the best ways to pleasure a lover in this way.

Fíli had moved around behind the hobbit, hands on Bilbo’s soft waist and leaking co*ck rutting against the hobbit’s tail bone. He brought his lips down to kiss and suck and bite at the halfling’s shoulder, all the while staring at his brother. His mind had grown hazy with arousal, needing some relief. Aulë, he wanted so desperately for physical contact, for more than this unfulfilling rutting.

The last threads of Bilbo's restraint dissolved and he slammed his hips forward. The sensation sent him reeling, his mouth falling open and desperately needing to be filled. His pace quickened, he thrusts more solid and demanding, and soon the pleasure that was tingling under his skin began to pool in his gut. He would not be able to lengthen this process for much longer, would not be able to hold the inevitably mind-blowing org*sm at bay.

"I can't," he started, voice crackling with a helpless whimper. "I can't last," he ground out, one hand idly reaching between them to search out his lovers neglected member. He could not keep pace with himself, his hand and hips completely out of sync.

Kíli wished he could follow his brother’s example, wished he could just pull away and take matters into his own hands. But being pinned, regardless of the wonderful pleasure the rocking of Thorin's strong body was giving him, he could not do much to aid in his own relief. It was frustrating to no end. Now he watched with growing frustration and less clarity as his brother was fulfilling some of his own desires by tasting the hobbit, and rutting needily against him. It sent the fiercest desire spiraling through him to claim the little burglar's hole when all of this was finished.

Thorin let out a surprised sound at the sudden force with which his hobbit f*cked in to him. The angle was nearly perfect, and with an arch of his back, Bilbo was slamming home against his prostate. A sharp cry left the dwarf’s throat, and his shivering thighs clamped around his lover’s hips at each thrust. As the halfling tried to stroke him to completion, Thorin shook his head as his mouth went slack with pleasure and he slid his large thumb into Bilbo’s waiting mouth. He slid the wide pad of it across the hobbit’s tongue and released a filthy moan as the small man closed his lips around the invading appendage and suckled lightly.

“Do not hold yourself back,” Thorin gasped out, shuddering at the clever tongue working at his thumb. “You’re fine, I’ve—ah!—I’ve got you, my love.”

Bilbo whimpered around the appendage around this digit in his mouth. He swore to himself he would be swallowing his lovers seed once he had found his own release. The Baggins hobbit had every intention of destroying the king’s composure with his practiced tongue when he was through. He moaned desperately as he plowed into Thorin’s tight canal, his pleasure finally cresting.

Suddenly he felt the muscles in his back lock, his thighs following suit, and his hips became a piston as his org*sm tore through him. He threw his head back, gasping at the incredible sensation of spilling deep in the king's tight core, before Thorin's name was wrenched from his lips with a helpless cry. Every muscle became hard as stone, taut and tense and refusing to move for the few blissful second that the aftershocks rocked through his small frame before his face crumpled into one of absolute rapture.

He fell forward onto Thorin with a whimper before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up; expecting Fíli’s smiling face, but it was his opposite bearing down on him.

Kíli had not missed a beat as the hobbit found his completion, pulling himself from under his uncle as all rational thought and control left him. He barreled forward with an animalistic growl, pushing the hobbit off his uncle and onto his back, paying his uncle and brother no mind as he found the vial of oil once more. He slicked himself quickly, fingers sliding into Bilbo's entrance that had relaxed with all of the others and made him so very pliant and ready. Without warning he positioned himself between the hobbit's legs, spreading his thighs further roughly as he sank into the furnace of Bilbo's heat.

The hobbit let out a cry, but to Kíli’s lost and lust addled brain he could not tell if it were from pain or pleasure. However, a slave to his need at the moment, he began pumping into the burglar with abandon, grunting and groaning like some beast.

"Feels so f*cking good!" he exclaimed through his slurred and lewd sounds.

Bilbo tried his best to relax, tears stinging his eyes as his abused hole was used once more, thankful for every brush against his prostate that had him seeing stars and blending with the searing pain.

Fíli was at Bilbo’s mouth instantly, his lips sealed on the hobbit’s as he soothed the halfling through the initial burn. He had expected the archer to pounce on someone, but for him to take Bilbo so suddenly came as a surprise. Soon the halfling was moaning and grabbing at the brothers’ hair, little mewls spilling from his lips as pleasure muted the pain.

The eldest dwarf however sat on the bed behind them, heart still pounding from the first shout he heard come from his lover’s lips. Now he watched the three writhing together on the bed, Kíli cursing and spouting filthy things as he thrust wildly into the halfling, his voice sharp with need and want. His heir, with his hand on the hobbit’s soft tummy and co*ck humping against his hip, delved his thick tongue into Bilbo’s mouth, the appendage following the same pace as his brother’s desperate thrusts.

For a few short moments, Thorin was blinded by jealousy, the poisonous emotion warring violently with his arousal. They dared to take his hobbit? He looked on the scene with fiery eyes, gaze falling on Fíli’s arse, his tight, pink hole perfect and untouched. Memories of the way the swordsman absolutely gagged for his arse to be filled swam into the forefront of Thorin’s mind and he lifted himself onto his haunches. If Kíli would take his lover, then Thorin would repay the imp in kind.

His spit-slick thumb found the blonde’s entrance and slid inside despite the resistance, pulling a choked sound from the young dwarf. Without mercy, Thorin moved the thick, short digit as he poured an excessive amount of oil over his co*ck, pulling shocked little noise from Fíli that spilled into Bilbo’s mouth.

Soon the young prince found himself staring up at Thorin, his back on the bed and his hole clenching at its sudden emptiness. Eyes wide and panting, the blond wailed as he was breached by his uncle’s co*ck, his head slamming back against the bed at the burning pleasure. Durin’s beard, he had never felt so full.

“Thorin!” he cried, one hand flying up to grab at the eldest dwarf’s hair and the other grabbing his own co*ck. He turned his head to Bilbo, his mouth slack and eyes rolling as Thorin set a punishing pace against his arse. “Mahal, he’s—ahn!”

Bilbo's mind was regaining clarity, the pleasure and pain numbing to the mere slide of Kíli into his tight hole, and he sought Fíli with his hands and mouth. Thorin seemed crazed with his lust, thrusting into the blond wildly and leaving the heir with mouth agape and choking on his moans.

Kíli was trying to tug him back fully under him, but the archer seemed to notice the burglar moving for his brother and his lust consumed mind demanded that the image of the blondes’ lips locked together. He fisted one hand in Bilbo's tawny locks, pushing him forward to meet his brother’s lips. He let go of an appreciative groan as the pair being f*cked set to work with sliding lips and dueling tongues.

Out of the four, Bilbo was the most coherent and for once he was grateful. While the two dark haired dwarves seemed to have lost their minds and were f*cking crazily into the two of them on the mattress, and Fíli writhing and moaning helplessly next to him as the king sought his release, Bilbo had the forethought to soothe whatever pain the swordsman might be experiencing. He batted the prince’s hand away and took over pumping his co*ck, humming into his mouth as the blond continued to seek his tongue.

Fíli twisted his body as much as he could toward the hobbit, whining into the man’s mouth as the touch on his co*ck sent an inferno ripping through his gut. Thorin was relentless with his pace, vicious with each snap of his hips, and he was by far the largest co*ck he had ever taken. It was impossible for the blond to keep his eyes open for long and he pulled away from Bilbo’s lips with a high-pitched keening cry.

“I can’t—” the young prince whimpered as he f*cked down against his uncle’s pistoning hips. He reached up and grabbed a thick lock of his brother’s hair. Pulling the brunette’s attention to himself as the halfling’s hand worked his leaking co*ck and Thorin f*cked him wide open, he sobbed his pleasure.

“Kíli,” Fíli choked out, eyes rolling back as Thorin paused against his prostate, rolling his hips in place and wringing a terribly needy sound from his throat. “I—f*ck!”

Thorin was silent, mouth agape as he watched the sight below him, his hobbit tugging the young dwarf off and pressing kisses to Fíli’s shoulders as he was taken brutally by Kíli. It was sinful how perfect the blonds looked with their mouths moving together desperately. But the way his heir sought out Kíli, even as he was taken by another, as if it were the archer that pleasured him so thoroughly.

It was arousing beyond belief, the way Fíli whined for his brother and pulled the unruly brown hair of the younger prince as he was rocked by intense pleasure. At that, Thorin looked to his own lover and let out a moan as he saw Bilbo watching him, even while he pleasured the blond youth skewered on his co*ck.

Thorin could feel Bilbo’s release dribbling down the inside of his thigh as his pace sped up, the tickle of it making the dwarf shudder. The filthiness of it all overwhelmed him, aroused him further than he thought possible and he was doing everything he could not to come right then and there.

Bilbo's made little whimpering moans as he watched his lover’s face. He made a mental note of the effects that sexual restraint took on dwarves, how it would drive them mad with lust, and filed that away to be remembered forever. They did not suffer temptation well.

He was still managing to jerk-*ff the blond prince as Fíli and Kíli now kissed passionately. The angle was awkward, but Bilbo moved to accommodate the brunette, whimpering at the change in position and how it seemed to pull the archer in deeper.

Kíli had noticed as well, and buried so deep in this tempting, tight little body that he had been desiring for weeks he could feel his completion approaching. In his need he forgot himself and his hips were slamming forward with desperation. He could feel it coming now, could feel the inevitable fall into bliss, his hand joined Bilbo's around Fíli’s co*ck and pumped him in earnest.

"I won't leave you behind," he ground out as he felt his release claim him, his mind blanking as he spilled his seed deep in Bilbo's core.

Fíli cried out as his brother moaned his release into his mouth, his hips f*cking up into the hands on his co*ck and rolling back onto the rod in his arse. The dual sensation of Bilbo’s soft fingers and Kíli’s calloused grip had him spilling over in two more pumps, a shattered scream pouring out of him and into the brunette’s mouth. The blond shuddered through his release, the aftershocks wracking his body as Thorin continued plowing into his body.

The eldest dwarf growled as the heat around his co*ck constricted around him like a vice, creating delicious friction as he sped up his thrusts. He was getting close, and he found Bilbo’s eyes again. With a hiss, he grabbed Fíli’s legs and shoved them up so his knees were pressed to his chest. Thorin lifted up onto his knees and bore down on the blond with brutal force, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s, absently noting the way the halfling winced as Kíli pulled out.

“Thorin!” Fíli sobbed as his prostate was nailed again and again, over-stimulation rocketing through his body and his co*ck twitched with interest. Each slam against that bundle of nerve sent ragged, splintered pleasure up his spine, pulling a pleasure-pained cry from his throat. At every thrust, he tried to get out of his grasp, shaking his head as tears collected at the corners of his eyes against his will. “I can’t take anymore!”

The king groaned, slowing his movements with a frustrated grimace. He was so close, but he couldn’t continue with Fíli shaking like a leaf beneath him with a pained furrow to his brow.

Bilbo did indeed wince as Kíli pulled out, rolling to his side to promptly black out from his org*sm-induced coma. Bilbo shifted on the bed, gritting his teeth against the sting as he pulled at his lover, stilling his hips with his hands and pulling him off the blonde. He heard Fíli let out a sigh of relief, and Bilbo found the prince’s glassy eyes for a moment to flash him an apologetic smile before he returned his attention to Thorin.

He looked positively wrecked with wild eyes and mussed hair, and then he was already moving to mount the blond again when Bilbo put himself between the king and his heir. He didn't stop to think, what with how crazed as his lover looked and the way Fíli was still whimpering behind him from the over-stimulation, he acted on impulse.

He mounted his hungry lover’s massive thighs, hesitating for an instant to hold his breath as he forced himself down onto his co*ck. Blunt finger nails dug into the king’s weathered flesh, and Bilbo bit back a pained groan as the burning sting caught his attention again. He had started the movement, his hips rolling downward and little gasps escaping him from his effort.

Thorin came back to himself as a familiar body slid against his, arms lifting to wrap tightly around his hobbit as he thrust up into the tight heat he was so used to. He found Bilbo’s lips and slotted his mouth against them, panting as he started up a slow, but firm pace. Though he was almost delirious with his need to come, he was still somewhat conscious to the pain his lover would be feeling.

“Bilbo,” he groaned, eyes rolling back in his head as his hips stuttered with his approaching release. Mouthing along Bilbo’s cheek to the halfling’s ear, he nibbled at the shell of it and sighed at the shudder the stimulation sent through his hobbit.

“You can’t be enjoying this,” he whispered, reaching down between them to find Bilbo’s co*ck, half-hard as it was. He felt the urge to apologize, knowing that the halfling was far from accustomed to the carnal nature of dwarves, or the endurance for that matter. This coupling hadn’t even been meant to go beyond Bilbo taking the king for the first time.

Not for the first time, Thorin felt shame for his desires, even as he picked up the pace of his thrusts into Bilbo’s loosened and slick channel. His hand moved quickly and firmly on Bilbo’s filling erection as he angled his hips to nudge at the halfling’s sweet spot. He kept the movements light, trying to save the hobbit any more unnecessary pain.

Bilbo could feel the pleasure beginning anew, setting a pleasant buzzing energy all through his body. He wondered then if it was simply the different body that had made him so indifferent when Kíli had pounced on him. Soft mewls and moans were escaping him as he clung to Thorin desperately, giving him a weak smile as he replied, "I thought Fíli was dying." It was a poor excuse, made mostly in jest, but he still could not abide his lover bringing the youth to tears. The pleasure had morphed to pain for the blond, and that simply would not do.

He was rolling himself down onto Thorin, moving in tandem with his short and stuttered thrusts, and he impatiently searched out Thorin's lips with his own. He nipped and teased those lips he loved so, luring Thorin's tongue out with his own to play between them, something slow and sensual. It was familiar and comfortable, riddled with passion yet not desperate like it was with the two younger dwarves that had essentially passed out behind them on the bed.

"I think we might've broken them," he teases weakly between their kisses, another moan being pulled from his as the king persisted in tugging at his co*ck.

As Bilbo reacted with real pleasure to his ministrations, Thorin relaxed into his pleasure, his release boiling back up beneath the surface. He allowed himself a chuckle, the sound edged with desperation, and he kissed the hobbit soundly before saying, “I fear you might be right.”

With a wide smirk he rolled up into Bilbo, the expression faltering as his org*sm rushed forward, a moan bursting from his throat. He knew wouldn’t last until the halfling came again at this rate.

“I can’t—” he began, but he came before he could finish his warning, groaning deeply as he pulsed is release deep into his hobbit, cum slicking the inner walls once again and mingling with Kíli’s seed. As his hips shuddered to a stop, he panted into Bilbo’s mouth for a few short moments, swallowing thickly as he rode out the aftershocks.

Once he recovered his breath, the dwarf lifted his small lover off of his co*ck and coaxed him to stand on the bed, hairy feet on either side of Thorin’s knees. Without further warning, he engulfed his lover with one quick bob of his head, the head of Bilbo’s co*ck nudging the back of his throat as he suckled at him and swallowed around him. Pulling back, he swirled his tongue along the vein, moaning thickly as he hollowed his cheeks. With his hands, he encouraged his lover to thrust into his mouth, relaxing his throat to take Bilbo in completely.

Bilbo barely had time to react as Thorin swallowed him whole, the hobbit's knees instantly buckling and his hands flying into Thorin's mane. He gave the locks a sharp tug as the king urged his hips forward. A broken moan left the hobbit as he snapped his hips against Thorin’s mouth, pulling nearly all the way out of his lover’s moist cave to put the focus where he needed it most. Short, shallow, quick strokes that ran the dwarf's lips, tongue and teeth over his sensitive glans had him keening and ready to burst.

He barely gave his lover a warning, trying to pull him off of his co*ck, but the most delicious pressure engulfed him once more and he was lost. He was keening his release, his teeth grit against the pleasure, and the load much less substantial than his first. When he felt the last wave shaking through him he promptly removed himself from the king's mouth, a long trail of saliva and ejacul*te following before snapping between them, and collapsed once more into Thorin's lap with a huff

The king swallowed quickly as he pulled the hobbit close, eyes fluttering tiredly as he sought Bilbo’s lips for a tired kiss. They moved slowly against one another, the embrace passionate but sensual. The halfling was tired and sated, a pleased smile on his lips when Thorin pulled away from the kiss. He returned the expression, glad that perhaps he and his nephew’s hadn’t messed this up too badly.

“This was meant to be about you, my treasure,” he murmured, eyes flickering to the youths that seemed to be regaining consciousness behind Bilbo. “It seems we got a bit carried away.”

For a few moments, Thorin felt a sense of insecurity, still getting into the rhythm of his relationship with Bilbo. With a dwarven lover, he would have no doubts about whether his advances, or the adventurous nature of his sexual tendencies were welcome or enjoyed. With Bilbo however, he feared the hobbit may have just allowed his body to be used out of obligation rather than any real passion after his first org*sm.

He pushed forward for another slow kiss, his tongue slipping between the hobbit’s lips with soft pressure, silencing his thoughts and putting his fears to rest, or at least trying to.

Bilbo returned the kiss lazily. Now he knew he was going to feel it all for days, there was no question of that. He might even decide to take dinner in bed tonight.

He regarded his lover with a gentle smile, taking to his now favorite part of their couplings. With deft fingers he unclasped Thorin's braids and unwound them, dragging his fingers through the thick locks. He held the silver clasps between his teeth and began to reset the first plait, hazel eyes keeping track with his quick fingers and darting back and forth.

"Why are you apologizing darling?" he asked, his words whistling between the two braid caps. "I enjoyed it," he said brightly as he plucked the first cap from his lips and secured the heavy braid.

While it was not true for the entirety, it was true for the majority, and Bilbo would die before telling Thorin otherwise. He set to work with the second braid, testing his speed as he wound the thick strands of hair together before capping it as well.

Thorin sighed, content as he was with Bilbo fixing his braids. It was an interesting routine, to say the least, but it caused a pleasant curl of heat to coil in his gut. It was a different heat than arousal, one he hadn’t felt before he met his hobbit.

And he knew that the halfling was being less than completely honest with him, but he let the topic drop. He would have words with his nephews (chiefly Kíli), that if they wished to continue coupling with them, ideas must be voiced and agreed upon before anyone pounces on unsuspecting hobbits.

With another quiet huff of breath, his eyes shutting slowly, he wrapped his arms tightly around Bilbo’s waist and said, “Happy belated birthday, my treasure.”

Bilbo's eyes went wide as the words left his lover’s lips. "Belated bir..." A hand flew to his mouth in astonishment, a sudden flush of color rising to his cheeks. So that was what this had all been about! Telling those two imps this morning that his birthday had gone unmarked in Rivendell had apparently caused them to create this impromptu gift.

Bilbo could only laugh and shake his head, his hands now rising to gently frame his king's face. "Oh confound you dwarves," he teased as he pressed their lips together in thanks, the smile on his lips never leaving. It was in this way that Bilbo Baggins celebrated his (belated) birthday.

Bilbo spent the rest of the day in bed, having slid under the duvet with as much grace as he could muster. As he did not know when they would be returning to their journey, and now that he had subjected his body to more stress than intended by anyone involved, he was glad to be lazy and remain in bed.

It was a couple hours later when Thorin returned to his and Bilbo’s shared chambers. He carried with him a half-pint of ale and two plates of the dinner Beorn’s animal servants had laid out for them. It was hearty, and smelled divine. When he pushed open the door to the bedroom he was sharing with his hobbit, he smiled fondly at the sight the greeted him.

Bilbo was dozing, his face completely relaxed and peaceful. He seemed to have been in the middle of sewing buttons back onto his waistcoat (the new ones were wooden and probably provided by Beorn’s servants) when he dozed off. Curled around his side was Fíli, who had failed to regain enough consciousness to remove himself from the bed. The blond had taken to muttering to Kíli as the brunette tried to rouse him (something along the lines of, “told’ya it’d kill me”) so Thorin had just slid the young dwarf up to join Bilbo at the pillows and ushered his youngest nephew from the room.

To his annoyance, the impish youth disappeared for the rest of the afternoon, avoiding Thorin completely.

Thorin placed his dinner down on the table and strode across the room, grabbing his hobbit’s shoulder and gently shaking him. “Dinner time, my hobbit,” he said softly, his expression brightening as Bilbo’s hazel eyes blinked open and a tired smile beamed up at him.

Bilbo had roused from his sleep groggily to the loving gaze of his king. The room was filled with the most delicious scent Bilbo could ever recall having savored, and he was wiping the sleep from his eyes. It was slow going but soon enough he was able to accept his plate. Fíli shifted at his side and Bilbo stilled himself, being very careful of the sleeping blond. He knew better than most the discomfort he was experiencing right now and it was best to let him sleep.

Kíli had spent his day hiding from his uncle. He always managed to stay two steps ahead of that murderous gaze, but as the evening meal approached and there was still no sign of Fíli he conceded defeat. He wouldn't let his brother go without a meal because he couldn't get out of bed.

He had collected another two plates and mugs of ale, a portion for himself and for Fíli, and he had made his way back to Thorin's chambers. He hesitated at the door, but didn't hear any voices beyond the portal, so he pushed in. When he was greeted with Thorin's gaze however he faltered.

"I, uh," he stuttered licking his lips absently. Thorin did not seem entirely too pleased to see him. He had the gall to wonder why. "I brought supper for Fíli."

Thorin nodded silently to the young dwarf before bending to press a tender kiss to the corner of Bilbo’s mouth. When he straightened, he walked over to the table and sat down, digging into his meal with the ferocity of a starved man. He watched Kíli cross to the bed with an annoyed glare.

Fíli had begun to wake at the first smell of dinner, his tummy making an awful gurgling sound as he opened his eyes. To his delight, he could see Kíli coming forward with his meal, and a beamed up at the archer as he slowly moved to recline against the headboard. “Mm, thank you, Kíli,” the blond said around a huge yawn, accepting the offered plate. “You are truly an angel.”

Bilbo chuckled lightly at Fíli’s words, his eyes meeting Kíli’s who had the decency to look apologetic. Bilbo just grinned and gave the brunette a wink. He had learned from his stay in Rivendell with the boys that dwarves were rather insatiable, and in the case of one as impulsive as the archer, he wasn't surprised in retrospect that he had been jumped. Kíli was reckless in nearly all he did, and Bilbo loved the boys far too dearly to hold a grudge.

He would have his words with Kíli, probably once they returned to the road during one of their aimless chats bringing up the caboose of the party, but not now. Now they all simply sat and enjoyed the exquisite dinner and drank deep of their ale, as they would not find such comforts once they returned to their journey.

Kíli had perched himself on the edge of the bed opposite Fíli to sup. He was glad to see the burglar giving him little smiles and knowing winks. Though he was generally quite dense he got the feeling that hobbit had forgiven his earlier misgivings of pouncing on him to seek his own completion. He felt sorry for it now. He had to keep reminding himself that hobbit's and dwarves were vastly different creatures. If it had been a coupling with any of their own kind his advances would have been expected and reciprocated, but he felt that he had committed some great offense against the tiny creature. And while Bilbo seemed to have easily forgiven him Thorin's scowl suggested his uncle was not so keen.

Thorin had watched the trio on the bed, his scowl growing as he watched Bilbo smile and joke with the impulsive youth. It grated on him that his hobbit was so quick to forgive, that he wasn’t at least going to discuss how unappreciated the archer’s advances were. Of course, the hobbit had denied any transgressions against him having been made earlier, but the king knew his hobbit, and he knew when Bilbo was just saying something so he wouldn’t hurt feelings. Even at the expense of his own, and the eldest dwarf knew then that something had to be said.

He was not about to let the hobbit accept their advances, unwelcome as some of them may be, just for the sake of keeping them happy. Boundaries had to be set, starting with disciplining the brunette.

“Kíli,” he said gruffly, thumping his mug of ale down onto the wood table to call the youth’s attention to him more fully. When the young dwarf half-turned to look at him, the king leaned forward, his face a mask of disapproval. “What you did earlier was unacceptable, and I will not tolerate it being repeated if you have any hope of lying with us again. Bilbo does not seem inclined to tell you as much, but we know him to be the sort who would suffer if only to please others.”

Bilbo straightened himself against the headboard, his brow creasing with worry as he held up a hand defensively. He looked between the two dwarves, forcing a smile onto his face if only to convince himself that having this conversation right now wasn’t going to make him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Now let's not worry about that right now, alright? Everything's fine, really." But he felt the warm pressure of Fíli’s hand on his thigh beneath duvet and he caught the heir's look of warning.

Kíli felt a nervous energy bubble up in him and he covered it up as best he could the way he knew how. "Oh come now uncle, it was just some fun. Not like I haven't almost taken our fair Master Boggins for a tumble before," he snarked with a nervous grin, chocolate eyes finding it hard to hold his uncle’s gaze. Being a smart-ass was his automatic defense mechanism, but inwardly he recoiled at his own words.

Thorin’s eyes flashed and Fíli groaned, raising a hand to cover his face. If there was one thing Kíli did well, it was digging his own grave. The hand he had on Bilbo’s thigh tightened, and he sent another look of warning to the hobbit, silently urging him to stay put.

A low rage burned in the eldest dwarf’s gut as he watched his nephew fidget. Most of it was a sickening sense of jealousy, knowing the archer’s words to be quite true. But also, he felt a frustrated annoyance at his lover’s desire to not speak of what happened earlier.

Letting out a low growl, he slapped his open palm down on the table, his plate and mug jumping with the force.

“This is not a matter to make jests about, or to brush aside,” Thorin said darkly, voice rumbling across the room. “You did not even pause to ask for permission, you did not prepare him. You did not even think to warn him. I have half a mind to punish you here and now!”

Bilbo flinched at the tone in Thorin's voice and his eyes immediately focused on his plate. Something about the dwarf, being so angry and nearly violent, could always send Bilbo shaking. His hand found Fíli’s under their comforter and with fingers trembling he slipped it into the swordsman's grip. He kept his hazel eyes trained on his half-eaten dinner and did not dare to look up.

Thorin's tone had also sent fear coiling in Kíli’s gut. He was actually quite used to Thorin railing against him, as he often did foolish things and Thorin was always the one to set him straight, but there was something in the dwarf's tone to give him pause this time.

However, ever the foolish and impulsive youth, Kíli let out a small laugh. "Come now! You'd think he didn't enjoy it! It was our present to him, and he could've told me to stop—” As soon as the words left his mouth Kíli was wishing himself dead, wishing he could retract his statement, but the look from his brother warned him that now would be the best time to keep his mouth shut.

Fíli squeezed the hobbit’s hand as a sudden icy stillness engulfed the room, Thorin going silent at the archer’s words. The king looked murderous, mouth set in a thin line and nostrils flaring. For several agonizing minutes, they sat in silence, the blond stroking Bilbo’s hand with his thumb to soothe the man, and Kíli beginning to quake where he perched on the bed.

“Yes, he could have. But be that as it may,” the king said slowly, voice calm now that he worked through his initial urges to strangle the brunette. It was hard as iron now, and if the brunette knew what was good for him, he would listen well to it. “Your behavior was inexcusable, as well as your petulance.”

Taking a long, slow drink of ale (only to watch Kíli squirm there on the bed), he slammed the empty mug back down and turned his pale eyes on the archer once again. “Come here, boy.”

Kíli hesitated, his eyes going wide. This seemed very familiar. He could recall those exact words from many years ago, from all the times he had been thrown over Thorin's knee...

"You wouldn't," the archer breathed as he was hit with the realization of what was in store, a sudden blush covering his cheeks. But the stillness in his uncle indicated that the king was indeed quite serious. With a gulp he stood and slowly made his way over, trying his best to stand just as tall as he could, so as to not look intimidated by what he was about to face.

Thorin bit back a smug smirk at the break in Kíli’s arrogant façade and said, “Oh, but I would.” As the youth made his way slowly over, he spared a glance to the two men still on the bed. The blond looked just as stunned as his younger brother, and by now Bilbo was looking up, a confused furrow to his brow as he watched the archer’s progress.

When Kíli stood in front of the king, Thorin stared him down, waiting on him to continue. But as Kíli defiantly did nothing more, the elder dwarf looked down at Kíli’s trousers then back up at his eyes. “You know what to do,” he stated firmly, voice rough with his anger, but now he was amused. The look of utter disbelief that crossed the brunette’s face was priceless. “If you make this difficult, your punishment will be worse, nephew.”

Kíli tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He could feel his heart racing as he angrily began tugging at the bindings on the front of his trousers. He wore a scowl, though it seemed to have the adverse effect as Thorin's eyes glinted mischievously.

"Wh-What is he doing?" Bilbo stuttered as he watched on, quite clearly confused. He looked between the three dwarves, brow only knitting further in his confusion. As clearly Thorin and Kíli were engaged in some silent battle of wills, their eyes full of fire as they stared each other down, the hobbit turned to Fíli with his concern. "What in the world is going on?"

Kíli ignored the noises behind him. He would suffer his uncle's punishment with as much dignity as he could muster and be done with it. He had no intentions of testing his luck. He kicked off his boots and then his trousers, leaving his small clothes in place in one last brazen rebellion. "I'll not be thrown over ye like some babe," Kíli spat defiantly, but the blush covering his cheeks spoke to his embarrassment.

“He hasn’t done this to us in years,” Fíli breathed out, his cheeks heating as he felt a keen sense of second-hand humiliation for his brother. It felt like a fist was wrapped around his heart and lungs, and he desperately wanted out of the room before this went any further. His fatigue, and the halfling gripping his hand with deceptive strength, kept him stuck there though and he could only force himself to breathe through the waves of embarrassment.

Across the room, Thorin was glaring up at his nephew, annoyed by his continued petulance. Reaching forward, he wrenched the youth’s smallclothes down to uncover his arse. The king grabbed the back of Kíli’s neck and slung him face-down across his thighs, the pale mounds of the youth’s bottom exposed and positioned.

“I will stop treating you as a child as soon as you cease acting like one,” the king growled down at the youth in his lap. Then he turned his attention back to the bed. “How many do you think is fair, Fíli?” Thorin asked, eyes finding his heir’s. He noted the stunned look on his hobbit’s face, the blush that lit those cheeks so brilliantly.

“F-fifteen, sir,” the swordsman said as firmly as he could, but a stutter still worked its way into his voice. He had thought them to be old enough to be past this kind of disciplinary treatment, but then again, he thought them old enough to not speak so disrespectfully to their uncle. “For what he did earlier, and his defiance now.”

“Should I add five more for his cowardice all day?” Thorin smirked at the way Kíli shivered on his lap and shook his head. “No, Fíli is correct. Fifteen should get the message across.”

Lifting his hand, he pressed the other down between the brunette’s shoulder blades, keeping him pinned to his thighs. “Count,” he ordered as he delivered the first slap across Kíli’s right buttock.

Kíli bit back a yelp as Thorin’s hand, hard as stone, came into sharp contact with his backside. If it weren't for the hand keeping him so thoroughly pinned he would've already bolted. But as his uncle had given his order, he followed through between gnashing teeth. "O-One..."

Bilbo's eyes went wide and then he forced himself to look away, his face seemingly glowing with his fiery blush. He kept his mouth shut, and felt like sinking into the mattress and hiding under the duvet. He got the feeling that Fíli shared his sentiment.

The blond stared with wide, astonished eyes, wincing at each solid crack of Thorin’s palm against his brother’s rear. The brunette’s bottom was inflamed after only three hits, the crimson bruise that lit the skin calling Fíli’s attention to it. For a moment, the swordsman felt terrible for suggesting fifteen, but then as he watched, he found his mouth going dry. Red was a gorgeous colour on his brother’s soft flesh. Fíli’s fingers convulsed on Bilbo’s thigh, the movement involuntary.

After the seventh smack he laid against his nephew’s arse, Thorin paused to stretch his fingers, shaking the sting out of his palm. He glanced up at the bed, eyes widening minutely at the decidedly hungry look on his heir’s face. When he looked down, it was with a different eye. He was no longer the disciplining adult as he looked down at the reddened globes of his nephew’s rump now, and Mahal, he sent a silent and heartfelt apology to Dís as he felt his co*ck begin to harden.

Bilbo still didn't have the heart to watch, but he dared to peek when Fíli’s fingers twitched against his thigh. With cheeks still scarlet his hazel orbs found Fíli, and he was astonished by the now desperately hungry look on the blondes face. Something had him going, and Bilbo dared to steal a glance. Kíli was still sprawled across the king’s knee, but a deep flush had sent into his cheeks and the globes of his arse, and his eyes were rolling back into his head. The smile that tugged his lips was absolutely wanton, and as Thorin's hand resumed its attacks his tongue would loll out of his mouth hungrily with each swat.

"T-Ten!" the archer stuttered, the words slurred and thick in his mouth as the strike sent the most twisted pleasure through him. His co*ck had filled out nicely and with each strike in was nudging him down to grind deliciously against Thorin's firm thighs. It was a wicked pleasure, but with circ*mstances as they were he was thankful for every zing of pleasure that was sent through him.

Thorin could feel Kíli’s hot length rocking against his thigh, and the king had to hold back a groan at the thought of his nephew actually getting off to this. He angled his next slap lower, catching the young dwarf’s thigh more than his buttock, branding new flesh with his wide hand. His own co*ck ached with need, the girth of it tenting his trousers and bobbing with each downward swing of his palm against youth’s arse.

“You’re enjoying this?” he grit out through his teeth as he delivered the thirteenth blow. He paused again, gripping one bruised globe punishingly while he awaited his answer. “Does spanking you like this have you thirsty for my co*ck?”

Fíli shuddered at the sight, his other hand sneaking under the duvet to grab at his co*ck, stroking himself slowly, wishing desperately that this wasn’t so arousing. He and Kíli had never experimented with hitting each other like this, never even thought to try. Of course he knew that some found it pleasurable, but he had never considered they would. Or at least, Fíli never considered it and Kíli never asked for it.

This would have to change, and immediately, the blond decided with a little moan, one hand still holding Bilbo’s thigh hard enough to cause purple bruises to well up.

Kíli nodded and was already sliding off of Thorin's lap, between his spread thighs and helping pull the king from his trousers. He did not bother pulling the garments off. As soon Kíli undid the lacings Thorin's co*ck sprang out to meet him and without hesitation Kíli took the swollen member in his waiting mouth and swallowed it down.

Bilbo winced slightly at the pain as Fíli drew his attention once more. With a little squeak he noticed the duvet bobbing, and he realized with a little surge of arousal the Fíli was pleasuring himself. As those wide fingers squeezed his thigh tighter yet, ensuring the presence of visible bruises later, Bilbo leaned over and took over Fíli’s work. He was pleased with the little airy moan he was rewarded with, and when he caught Fíli’s eyes the burglar wore a knowing smirk.

Thorin groaned, not even particularly caring that the punishment wasn’t over, and maneuvered his nephew so that he was kneeling fully between his legs. With a firm grip on with both hands on the young dwarf’s head, he f*cked into the willing mouth, growling and grunting with each thrust. Kíli was wicked with his tongue, the clever appendage pulling the king deeper into his need.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” Thorin growled as he saw the youth’s hand sneaking into his own lap. “Or I’ll have you tied to the bed and left unfulfilled all night.”

The image pulled a shiver from him and he pressed a thumb to the corner of Kíli’s stretched lips. “I could tie you off, and we could take turns f*cking your pretty little mouth,” he ground out as he buried himself deep into Kíli’s mouth and held himself there, choking the youth. Thorin pulled back slightly, just enough for the young dwarf to breathe again, but still thoroughly occupying his mouth, hands keeping the brunette from moving at all. “Have you begging like a whor* for your release. You would like that, wouldn’t you, Kíli?”

The blond was shivering as Bilbo touched him, their actions on the bed together blocking out what was happening across the room for the moment. Fíli leaned forward, wanting to kiss the hobbit, but paused. Bumping foreheads with Bilbo, he waited for permission while he slid his hand up the halfling’s thigh. The swordsman was dangerously close, embarrassingly so even, and wanted nothing more than pull the hobbit over the edge with him.

Tears gathered at the corners of Kíli’s eyes, the orbs rolling in his head as Thorin stretched his lips and appeased his appetite. Oh, the wicked things that Thorin spoke of had him thrusting into the air, his hands itching to please, but the warning tone in Thorin's voice had him denying himself.

He knew without a doubt, after having been subjected to such humiliation already, that Thorin would make good his promise. While the offer was tempting and he was painfully hard, he did not think he could bear a night tied down with no relief in sight. Instead he focused on the member filling his mouth, his tongue writhing about the fleshy underside, his suction increasing on each draw back.

Bilbo could feel the tremors running through the blonde’s frame, and he strived to focus solely on the prince. The lewd noises and Thorin's deep rumbling voice kept grabbing his attention, but he ignored his compulsion to look. Instead he set to brushing his lips against Fíli’s teasing and feather-light, until the groans of satisfaction from the blond prince emboldened him and the slide of lips became more intense. He was stroking the dwarf in earnest, and as he heard a gargled moan be forced from the archer off to the side he felt the desire to fill his mouth as well.

He broke the kiss, tongue's lingering to slide against each other between them, before muttering, "May I taste you?"

Fíli’s eyes were screwed shut, from the pleasure of Bilbo’s hand on his co*ck and the kiss they shared. With a desperate nod, the beads on his mustache thumping against his chin, he brought a hand up to cup the back of Bilbo’s head. With an embarrassing keening sound, he urged the hobbit down to where he needed him most, though he caught himself mid-push and released the halfling with a huff. “If you want to, yes, please,” he gasped out, hands finding the sheets on either side of himself as he turned away from Bilbo, eyes opening to watch his uncle and Kíli once again.

Thorin was groaning, loud and rumbling as he pistoned his hips against Kíli’s face, mouth lolling open as his release barreled toward him. With a hiss, he slid his hand forward and slipped two fingers alongside his co*ck inside his nephew’s mouth. The archer released a filthy sound and Thorin bucked erratically for a few breathless moments.

“Aulë, you’re just gagging to be filled right up,” he grunted, pushing a third finger into the brunette’s wet cavern. “Your greedy mouth, taking my co*ck and my fingers. I wonder if—ah!—your hole would be so hungry, so absolutely wanton.”

The king looked up at the bed again, and as he watched Bilbo disappear beneath the duvet and Fíli’s head tip back with a moan, he felt his org*sm cresting. His co*ck pulsed, a long hard throb, and he pulled Kíli off of him, thick stripes of cum splashing across the young dwarf’s lips, cheeks, and chin. Thorin moaned, watching as thick globs of his release dribbled down Kíli’s neck and the way the youth licked his lips with a desperate whine.

“Touch yourself,” Thorin ordered, his voice rough and eyes heavy-lidded, hands still holding the dwarf’s head just above his softening co*ck.

Bilbo didn't hesitate as he took Fíli into his mouth with and embarrassing amount of satisfaction. He didn't seek out his own release, simply enjoyed the feeling of his mouth being full and letting that wash over him. Fíli seemed quite satisfied with his efforts as he felt wide fingers curling in his mop of honey-curls, and swallowed the swordsman down with ease. The duvet bobbed obscenely from Bilbo's work, his tongue teasing the prince's sensitive glans with each up sweep. He could feel the blond tensing and sensed the impending finish so he suppressed his gag reflex and took the dwarf to the hilt, his nose buried in the golden curls that trailed up Fíli’s stomach, and swallowed around his length.

Kíli was working himself desperately, his tongue darting out to catchy the bitter seed and pull it into his mouth. The heady taste was intoxicating and pulled embarrassing mewls from the archer. Those mewls gave way to moans as he heard Fíli enjoying himself behind him, and he could feel it now, the tingle of release, he was so deliciously close. "Oh Aulë, f*ck me...” he groaned out as the first waves of his org*sm began to lap at his nerves.

The swordsman sucked in a harsh breath as he saw Kíli tensing with his impending release, his own flying forward and punching through his gut with enough force to pull a high cry from him. He tried to pull Bilbo off, not wanting to choke the hobbit, but the creature held fast, swallowing each and every pump of cum Fíli fed down his perfect throat. “Oh, gods, Bilbo,” he moaned, letting his head fall back against the headboard as he quivered through the aftershocks of his org*sm. “So good, perfect, ah!”

Thorin stared down at the nephew held between his knees, face covered in spunk and mouth panting obscenely above his co*ck. He watched with feral intensity as the youth tugged himself off, Kíli mewling and whining as he came ever closer to his release, hips moving in aborted half-thrusts into the tight circle of his hand. A wide smirk split his face as he watched his youngest nephew stroke himself, beg to be f*cked, and by the gods, if the sounds of Fíli’s release on the bed didn’t have Thorin’s co*ck twitching in interest.

“It is like you were made for this,” the eldest dwarf said, voice hoarse and cracking as Kíli’s chocolate eyes opened to meet his, the perfect pinkness of his mouth open and gasping. “Made to have your mouth and your arse stuffed and filled to bursting, made to be f*cked raw and senseless. I would wish to see you stretched around mine and Fíli’s girth, see if you could take it. You would scream for it, no doubt. You’d gag for it as we f*ck you wide and gaping.”

Thorin leaned down, his mouth an inch away from Kíli’s as he growled out, “want that, Kíli?”

"Oh Mahal--" And then he fell over the edge into bliss, moaning outright as he spilled over his hand. Desperate shudder gasps, the "yes" falling from his lips repeatedly at Thorin's suggestion and fell forward, a hand flying up to grip at Thorin's knee for a support. The aftershocks were glorious, his body thrumming with energy and the last bursts of pleasure at the mental image his uncle supplied, before he fell to the side with a light thud against the hardwood floors. The world was tilting on its axis. The archer was panting, rough and ragged, as he tried to regain some of his composure.

Bilbo let out a muffled moan as Fíli spilled his seed, the hobbit desperately drinking down each drop if only not to choke of the sticky load. Only once he was satisfied and the swordsman's grip loosened in his hair did he slowly pull off of Fíli’s co*ck. He licked his lips and remained where he laid against the prince’s stomach, gasping lightly for air that Fíli’s co*ck had been denying him.

He pulled the comforter back, just enough to look up and see the sated prince, spent and smiling, with his head resting against the headboard. He wouldn't resurface any further for fear of what other embarrassing and arousing sights he would be greeted with, and settled with a small huff against Fíli’s side.

As the noises from across the room quieted down, Fíli let out a huffed laugh, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend what just happened. When his mind came up short with an explanation, he just shook his head harder. “I fear I might actually have died,” he said, looking down at the hobbit, a smirk on his lips.

Across the room, Thorin had already straightened himself up and was helping a rather boneless Kíli back into his smallclothes and trousers, coaxing the young dwarf to stand up eventually. Now that his arousal had been taken care of, and the king was able to think properly again, he scrubbed a hand over his face.

“We need to establish boundaries when it comes to Bilbo,” the dwarf said, looking over to the hobbit in question and couldn’t help but smile at the way his lover and his heir cuddled together on the bed. Suddenly wanting the halfling’s heat against him, Thorin stripped down to his smallclothes and moved toward the bed. He was still intent on finishing this conversation, but in the comforting embrace of his lover.

Bilbo curled up against Thorin in turn, nuzzling his face gently against the dwarf's chest. The halfling let Thorin's warmth seep into his skin and let the dwarf wrap his arm tightly around Bilbo's shoulders and pull him close. Kíli had also wandered up to the bed, immediately finding the comfort of Fíli and following Bilbo's example.

"Of course," the archer sighed, sated and content with the world.

Thorin held his lover tightly against his side, tracing nonsensical symbols into the flesh of Bilbo’s hip while he thought on his words. Though embarrassing the hobbit was the last thing he wanted to do, he knew that these things had to be set straight before they could go any further. Assuming common sense would win out had been a mistake, as their first foray into group sex together had shown, so now they were left with the uncomfortable business of talking about it.

“Had Bilbo been a dwarf, none of Kíli’s behavior earlier would be an issue to discuss. But he is a hobbit, and though he has been quite spectacular in indulging my appetite, he has limits given our size and endurance,” Thorin began, his mouth quirking slightly as he felt Bilbo’s face heat up against his chest. He would never get over how his gorgeous face would flood with crimson at the slightest push. “From now on, we ask permission before we do anything to Bilbo.”

As the hobbit spluttered against Thorin’s chest, Fíli reached over and put a calming hand on Bilbo’s back.

“Uncle, that might be excessive, and could very well annoy your burglar,” the blond said with a raised eyebrow. “Perhaps a safe word? We go about what we’re doing, and Bilbo can use the word and all actions cease, without question.”

"Aye," Kíli groaned mournfully from Fíli’s side, very much wanting to allow sleep to claim him but kept himself grounded for fear of what would happen should Thorin find him dozing. The archer did not think he could suffer another of Thorin's "punishments". Just the thought had the brunette's co*ck twitching with interest. He willed the images out of his mind, grumbling in Khuzdul before he interjected again. "So then, little master, what's the word to heed?"

Bilbo was indeed thoroughly embarrassed by such conversations. He wondered briefly if that feeling would ever subside, but at the present he doubted it. He was a hobbit after all; this timidity was in his nature. When Kíli prompted him once more he made a small humming noise, buying himself time as if they would forget the conversation all together. It was unlikely. So Bilbo fished for a word, for a word so obtuse during their most intimate moments it would bring everything to a screeching halt. Every possibility that flitted through his mind, foods and flowers and other hobbity things, sounded absolutely ridiculous and he could not bring himself to utter them aloud. After a few more moments of contemplation, brow furrowed and mouth twitching in a tight, thoughtful line, a word finally caught his fancy.

"Stars," Bilbo said with a little nod and then let the conversation lie. He merely hid himself against Thorin once more. The word had deep meaning for them both, or at least to the hobbit, as it had been under a blanket of stars in the inky black of night that they had first bonded in this way. He was dreadfully sentimental; somewhat unbecoming of a hobbit his age, but he liked it none the less.

Thorin couldn’t quite fight the smile that split his face as he dipped his head to press a kiss into the hobbit’s curls. “Perfect,” he said, his voice even while warmth exploded in his chest at the memories of that night. “We hear that word, we stop immediately. If any of us continues beyond that, this shared bed sport ends completely.”

He pulled his hobbit away to make eye contact, his face serious as he said firmly, “if I learn that you were made uncomfortable or upset by any advance and you did not say anything, let alone the safe word, this intimacy ends. I will not have you sacrificing your happiness or virtues for mine or anyone else’s. Do you understand?”

Bilbo felt a tremor run through him, the words Thorin spoke resonating deep in him. It had also been second nature to forsake his own pleasure (one more form of being a gracious host the hobbit had always reasoned). Even this night, he had ignored his own pleasure while pursuing Fíli’s completion. It left him vastly satisfied regardless of his neglected needs. Thorin however seemed incredibly serious about this matter in particular, so he conceded with a nod.

The king searched his lover’s face for a moment before nodding. With a glance at Fíli and Kíli, he was somewhat rankled at seeing the two of them passed out cold on the other side of his hobbit. He couldn’t begrudge their desire for sleep, however, so he settled down underneath the duvet, pulling Bilbo with him.

“Come now, my treasure,” he murmured as he pressed his lips into the honey curls he loved so much, pulling in a deep breath through his nose to ground himself. “It is time to rest. We unfortunately have a long day of hard travel ahead of us.”

"Indeed," the hobbit replied with a huff. He relaxed fully into Thorin’s grip, and between the gentle snores of their bedmates and Thorin's strong and steady heartbeat, Bilbo drifted off into a peaceful, deep sleep.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Thorin had been correct when he said they had a long, hard day of travel ahead of them. In fact, the pace was pushed even harder than he had expected by the wizard and they hadn’t been given much of a chance to rest for another two nights. They traveled hard all day, not even pausing to eat their meals, even skipping lunch, and even continued into the night. When they did pause to make camp, they didn’t even bother with a fire and instead fell into a snoring heap, everyone close to maintain heat. On the third day of travel, they came to the fringes of Mirkwood, the tree line imposing and dark. Gandalf suggested they pause for the night, having gained quite a bit of distance, and it would be wise to start their trek into the sinister wood with a full night’s rest and at the break of dawn.

Light was hard to come by in there, and they didn’t want to be caught off guard by the pitch blackness of night.

They set up a full camp, a fire roaring and the ponies lent to them by Beorn ranging nearby. The clever beasts didn’t even need to be tied down, just asked not to wander too far off. They were skittish though, this close to Mirkwood, and kept the company of dwarves between them and the wood. Thorin set up his and Bilbo’s bedroll on the edge of camp, near the ponies as he was sure his hobbit would prefer being far away from the eerily silent woods several yards away.

He supped with Dwalin near the fire, Bilbo sitting quietly next to him and munching at the bread given to them by Beorn before they left. The heat of his lover along his side was somewhat distracting, the need it incited overwhelming despite the inappropriateness of the time and place. The past two nights they had been far too exhausted by the time they tumbled into bed to even share a wank or even a heated kiss. The night before, even, Bilbo was asleep as soon as Thorin grabbed his shoulders to direct him to the bedroll in the dark.

Now, as they were eating a proper dinner and regaining some much-needed energy, the king’s body began to awaken, co*ck filling slowly as his interest in the body next to him grew. He leaned into Bilbo slightly, dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to his hobbits cheek, his heated breath puffing across the halfling’s pale, soft flesh. At that, he ordered the company to an early bedtime and stood up, motioning Bilbo over to their bedroll silently.

Bilbo had just finished his meager meal, the now bread tough and hard to chew, and was left contentedly listening to the few conversations he could catch. Everyone spoke in rather hushed tones, not one particular member of their party with much strength or care to be rowdy this night. He was lost in his thoughts about the grueling last two days, how this third had been trying for each dwarf his eyes skimmed across, when he was startled from his thoughts by the kiss planted on his cheek. It was a very open display of affection that pulled a tiny squeak from the hobbit, but he resisted his urge to pull away. He had just begun sifting through the pockets lining his maroon velvet coat to fish out his pipe from a smoke when Thorin ordered them all to bed.

Upon reaching their bed roll, and seeing many members following his example, he fished out a match and his leaf. He had split the pipe-weed gifted to him by the wizard throughout the members of their company ("It is far too much for me alone, and it would be a shame to waste it"), to which they had all merrily thanked the hobbit and contented themselves with on the road. As he settled himself on the ground he had the match sparking to life and lighting the heady pipe-weed. The bowl was filled with the bright orange and red cherry ball of ember and flame, purple and gray smoke curling into the night as he settled in next to Thorin and the king pulled their fur over them.

Bilbo was silent, as all were in their humble camp, gazing up at the stars as he so often did. The wind was frigid tonight, and as it came upon them he found himself shrinking in against Thorin's warmth with a little whimper, his pipe clamped firmly between his teeth. He felt Thorin's strong arm pull him closer, and in the darkness with only the light of the moon and stars he gazed into the face of his lover. Bilbo thought he spied a longing there, a hunger in those captivating eyes that constantly reminded him of stormy seas and skies on rainy days. The burglar rose up on an elbow, hovering over Thorin with his pale silhouette framed against the full moon, and took a particularly long drag from his pipe. The smoke burned his lungs in that familiar way that reminded him of home and his garden bench. Bilbo closed the space between himself and the king, and after brushing his lips gently against Thorin's he was pleased that they parted enough for Bilbo's gift. He exhaled the smoke, heady and thick, into the dwarf's mouth, grey wisps like ghosts spilling between them and spiraling into the night.

Thorin groaned before slowly inhaling the sweet smoke, eyes falling shut at the pleasant lightheadedness it brought him. The king didn’t hold it for long, letting it go with a sigh, the smoke spilling out of his mouth in a pale vapor, barely visible in the night. Lifting up onto his elbows, he pressed their mouths together with firmer pressure, his need tenting his trousers. Slipping his tongue into Bilbo’s smoky mouth, he reached over and took the pipe gently.

Pulling back just enough to take a deep drag of his own, thick curls of smoke filled his mouth and lungs, the delicious burn sending pleasant goosepimples down the side of his neck. The soothing effects of the leaf offset his desire for the moment, taking the desperate edge off of his need.

Removing the pipe from his mouth, he pressed up against Bilbo again, tongue slipping between the hobbit’s parted lips and exhaled slowly, moaning lowly at the new wave of lightheadedness that came over him. Now that his lips were against his lover’s, tongues teasing each other between their parted lips, want slammed into his gut and he shook with the effort it took not to throw the pipe aside and ravish his hobbit in the middle of camp.

A light chuckle escaped the hobbit, the desperate sound of Thorin's need sending a throb of heat to his loins. He encouraged the dwarf to continue his ministrations, happy to receive the smoke second-hand with the promise of their tongues meeting again to play and tease, and the burglar dragged his fingers slowly down the sharp angles of Thorin's face, trailing down his neck and fully clothed chest and abdomen before he found the object of his desire.

Gentle fingers that trembled slightly with the cold ghosted over the thick bulge in the king’s trousers. He hesitated, fingers hovering to pull a desperate groan from the mighty warrior beneath him against his lips, smoke pouring out between them, before he let his hand rest fully on Thorin's aching member.

At the desperate groans and growls that were muffled by Thorin in the night, the only light the ember burning in the bowl of his pipe that Thorin was lazily dragging on, he felt emboldened. He would have a taste of his lover before he found rest this night.

Thorin shifted his hips up into the light pressure on his co*ck, taking another deep drag of the sweet leaf and allowing a grin overtake his face as his mind went fuzzy. Lifting himself up onto an elbow, he coaxed his hobbit into a scorching kiss, swirls of smoke spilling between their entangled mouths as they moaned against each other.

“We must be quiet, my treasure,” he laughed, bringing the pipe back to his lips, a challenging glint in his eyes. As he took another lungful of smoke, the cherry flared and lit Bilbo’s face in a dim orange glow. The hobbit’s eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils blown with arousal or the smoke or both, he couldn’t tell.

“I would have you beneath the stars again,” he said, the grin still splitting his face, curls of purplish smoke filling the air between them as it spilled from his mouth while he spoke.

Thorin would have expected his hobbit to splutter and blush like a virgin at his words, but be it the smoke that made him foggy or the dwarf's easy grin, Bilbo Baggins was returning the look whole heartedly. He caught the glint in the dwarf's eyes, the silent challenge, and Bilbo leaned forward and parted his lips expectantly. His hazel orbs never left Thorin's, even in the low light of the moon, and was pleased when the king had caught his silent request and slipped the stem of the pipe between Bilbo's lips. The hobbit made a show of flicking his tongue over the chewed end, that sweeping motion then being applied to his lips before the soft pink petals closed around the pipe. He inhaled long and deep and let the smoke fill his lungs and leave him all the hazier, watching Thorin's face as the ember crackled and brightened between them.

Bilbo leaned forward, once again sharing his smoke, his tongue now eagerly dipping into the sweet temptation of his lover’s mouth. He pulled back before the curls of smoke had left him, a few drifting from his lips as he replied, "I think that can be arranged darling."

Thorin’s co*ck throbbed at the sight of that pink tongue teasing the pipe, his hazy mind sluggish with want. Or perhaps it was the leaf. With a low chuckle he accepted the puff of smoke, lifting a hand to slide into the hair at the back of Bilbo’s neck and held him for a passionate kiss. The smoke lingered between them, for a moment before Thorin breathed it in and held it as their mouths moved together. Moaning deeply, he blew it out through his nose, bathing their faces in sweet, white vapor.

He pulled away with a groan, eyes wild as the cherry flared between them, Bilbo sucking at the bit with a cheeky smirk. “That clever tongue is a temptation, my treasure,” he said thickly, words slurring slightly as he lifted Bilbo and encouraged him to sit astride his pelvis. “But to put out this precious leaf before the bowl is finished would be a shame.”

"Then I recommend you keep at it, my king.", the burglar whispered silkily, his tongue running slowly across his lower lip suggestively as he ground down onto the bulge in his lover’s pants. Groggily he reached down with one hand and tugged gently at the braid he had weaved into Thorin's hair fondly. He was content to let the king have his fill of the leaf as he was positively floating and at just the stage he could thoroughly enjoy the effects of Old-Toby.

The burglar scooted back an inch at a time, with one hand balancing himself astride the king, the other pawing at the heavy fur that would protect them from the icy wind. With heavy fingers he tugged the lacings of Thorin's trousers, doing little but pull the dwarf's full member from between the gaps in his clothing. With another slight scoot back he dipped down and took Thorin into his mouth without warning, intending to leave the king thoroughly slick and ready to fill him.

The king groaned as wet heat engulfed his co*ck, lathing it with slickness and suckling with gentle pressure. His free hand found Bilbo’s hair, simply holding the soft curls as he let the hobbit have his wicked way with him. Thorin felt as though he were floating, his body not even feeling the hard ground at his back or the chill in the air as he sunk into the moist cavern of his lover’s mouth. With a guttural moan, he came crashing back as he felt the accidental scrape of teeth against the underside of his prick. It was a dark pleasure, the sharpness of teeth on the most sensitive and arguably most delicate part of his body.

Thorin took another deep drag of his hobbit’s pipe, a tingling racing down his spine as his lungs were filled. The burn in his throat grounded him, pulled him back from the brink and he let the smoke out slowly, measuredly. Lifting himself up further onto his one elbow, he looked down his body at Bilbo, purple-gray smoke rising from his lips and being torn away by the wind.

Bilbo stared at the silhouette of his lover, the purple wisps of smoke being pulled away in the moon light, with hazy eyes through thick lashes. He slathered his lover’s member thoroughly, ensuring it was well lubricated for the act they had planned, before he pulled off of Thorin with an obscene pop and gentle moan. It was a sound full of temptation and dark promises.

He kept the fur secured around his shoulders as he stood long enough to slip one leg out of his small clothes and trousers, giggling momentarily when he lost his balance and stumbled to the side. He allowed the garments to cling to one leg haphazardly as he crouched back down to straddle his dwarf's lap.

He lined Thorin's thick erection up with his entrance, the muscles relaxed and loose from the pipe-weed that had intoxicated him. "Give us a puff then," he mused, tone lilting as he took the stem into his mouth. "Maybe I'll even get to tie the race this time 'round," the hobbit whispered around the stem and mouthfuls of smoke that spilled from his lips.

Thorin made a noise in the back of his throat, a thick groan that he tried to hold back. His lover, so confident and airy, poised above a throbbing co*ck and puffing away at his pipe. This was the most nonchalant he had ever seen the creature and it was decidedly the most attractive thing he'd ever witnessed.

"Race?" He eventually questioned, though he wanted nothing more than for Bilbo to sink down onto him and end this torture.

Bilbo grinned wider, another thick and lazy chuckle bubbling from his chest. He rocked back against the thick rod pressed so tightly to his most intimate of places. This little game was turning out to be quite fun. He pondered briefly what Thorin would be like with enough drink in him; a promising prospect. Clumsy with laughter and lusty would fit his dwarf quite nicely in the burglar's fuzzy mind.

"Oh you know, the great race. Where I'm always a turtle, and even the slowest are hares. I told you this before, have I not?" he teased cryptically.

Thorin furrowed his brow in confusion, the words his hobbit uttered niggling at the back of his mind. But the leaf and the heady pleasure of Bilbo's hole rocking against the head of his co*ck fairly scattered his thought process completely. He let his head loll back as he fought the urge to force the halfling down over his length, eyes rolling with the effort.

Bilbo rocked back once more, holding his breath as he forced Thorin into his tight hole. His muscles that had been so relaxed protested the initial intrusion. A small whimper was the only indication from the hobbit, something he kept muffled behind tightly sealed lips, and then he began to arduous process of easing himself down onto the rest of Thorin's substantial length. He kept his mouth resolutely shut, muffling any noises, until he was vaguely aware of the swell of his ass coming flush with Thorin's rock hard thighs.

The king was not so successful in stopping his quiet sounds of shock and need. Low moans escaped his throat on Bilbo's entire descent, a growl building in his chest and rumbling forward as he was settled balls deep inside his tight hobbit. Absently, he realized he was shivering, though it wasn't from the cold.

Composing himself, he reached up and plucked the pipe from Bilbo's slack fingers and brought it to his own lips for a shaky drag. With lungs full of the intoxicating smoke, Thorin propped himself up further and offered his mouth to the hobbit, slowly letting the thick wisps trickle from his mouth.

Bilbo slowly accepted the smoke, pulling the silver threads deep into his lungs and letting them linger there until his mind swam deliciously and the burn of being filled melted away. He experimentally rolled his hips downward with his vapory exhale, his mouth falling open and an obscene whimper escaping him softly. If he leaned forward, nearly bringing their fronts flush against one another, the head of Thorin's co*ck would brush nicely across that deep and secret spot that had his vision whiting at the edges and pleas for more falling from his lips.

Thorin shifted his hips upward in aborted half-thrusts, not afforded much leverage with their position, but the friction was perfect. His co*ck was hitting the hobbit's prostate on each rock into his tight body, pulling obscene little noises from him. Thorin responded, his deep groans flowing out of him, even as he sucked back more smoke and pressed his lips harshly against Bilbo's.

He was dizzy, felt like he was spinning through the air as his lover f*cked himself back onto the king's co*ck. Aulë, this was too perfect, and he felt completely and utterly isolated with his lover. This space surrounded by furs and leaf-smoke was all that mattered in the world to the king under the hobbit. At that thought, he actually chuckled, meeting Bilbo's pliant lips and breathing more of the sweet smoke into his willing mouth.

Thorin's excess movements, all short and aborted as they were, were making the burglar delirious in his passion. He accepted the smoky kiss, nearly forgetting to breathe deep of the gift the king was giving him. He continued his bouncing, oblivious to prying eyes and ears, mewls and breathy gasps escaping him. "Does it please you, my king?” he asked boldly, his voice soft and secretive and clearly wearing a smirk.

“Oh, it certainly pleases me,” he growled, placing the stem of the pipe between his lips and teeth to free his hands. They gripped Bilbo’s hips, blunt nails digging into the pale flesh as he began to urge the hobbit to move faster against him, harder. All the while, he puffed at the pipe, his mind going hazy and weightless in thick, heavy waves as he was taken by his lover. “This leaf does marvelous things for you,” he moaned out, smoke floating from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke.

Little fluttering moans left Bilbo's lips, tiny smiles quirking them up with each sound that was just a little too loud leaving his lover. He shushed the king in a fit of stifled giggles. "We'll get caught if you keep that up," the burglar teased, his hands now fumbling with the heavy belt around Thorin’s middle. Bilbo loosened the thick strap and heavy embellished buckle just enough to snake one hand up Thorin's side, desperate for the skin to skin contact.

"And here you were telling me to keep quiet," he poked, an airy gasp hitching in his throat as Thorin had him seeing stars for a moment.

Bilbo’s small hand on the flesh of his torso had Thorin groaning much louder than he had intended. His mind swam at the pleasure of those soft fingers brushing up his side, his half-thrusts up into his lover turning erratic and needy. When he recovered some semblance of control over himself, Thorin afforded the halfling with a chuckle of his own, lifting a hand to pluck the pipe from between his teeth.

“You know my views on being heard, my treasure,” he said, mischief and challenge flashing through his low voice. Thorin offered his lover the pipe with a wolfish grin, his thoughts and boundaries weighed down by sweet smoke and thick pleasure.

Bilbo hummed, sounding his understanding as the rich tone rumbled through his chest, and took the stem of the pipe between his teeth as prompted by Thorin. The sweet smoke filled him once more as he pushed whatever inhibitions he could have had out of his mind. He had caught the challenge there, and ever the Took when he tumbled to bed with his dwarf, he let out a particularly arousing moan. Something deliberate and filthy about the sound, something that the burglar could feel had Thorin tensing beneath him.

"Then this," he paused long enough to let another tempting little mewl escape him, "pleases you as well, my king?"

“Yes,” Thorin breathed, eyes wide at the filthy sounds that began to tumble from his sweet lover’s lips. The hobbit bounced above him, mewling away without a care in the world, a slack smile splitting his face. The company would hear them, no doubt had begun listening especially now, and the halfling didn’t even care. The king growled and thrust his hips up more earnestly, muscles protesting with the lack of leverage, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“When I reclaim my throne, I will send for this leaf by the barrel,” he moaned out, eyes rolling back as he imagined his lover intoxicated and cheeky, opening himself for Thorin’s co*ck in the middle of a hall or taking the king into his mouth at dinner in the middle of the grand dining hall. The thoughts sent a shudder through him, and he took the pipe back. Breathing in the soothing smoke, his heated thoughts grew muddled, though his passion remained the same.

Bilbo felt his skin beginning to prickle with the waves of pleasure that were assaulting his dull senses. He couldn't suppress the grin that split his face and with reactions he pulled from the king pinned beneath him. Little gasps and moans escaped him as he increased the tempo, his free hand wandering back to sit on top of Thorin's and direct him. His fingers felt oddly heavy against the king's, but he laced them all the same and assisted Thorin in the bouncing of his hips. It was just the right speed, just the right amount of force, and soon enough the king had Bilbo seeing stars from the relentless assault on his prostate.

As his hobbit’s cries grew louder, Thorin’s release surged forward and pulled a thick sound from his throat, his entire body quaking with the effort not to come. His grip on the halfling’s hip turned bruising for a moment until he slid it around to pump Bilbo’s co*ck. It was perfect and pink with its need, the purple head peeking from the foreskin on every down stroke of the king’s hand. Thorin licked his lips as he watched his hand work, bringing the pipe back to his lips for another drag, hoping the smoke would help in staving off his release. It had the opposite effect, as it relaxed his body to the point that he couldn’t fight off the intense urge to spend himself.

“I can’t—” he grit out, smoke whooshing out of his mouth as he shook as his org*sm boiled just beneath the surface, only moments away.

Bilbo was bucking into the tight ring of Thorin's hand, the friction delicious, and then skewering himself back down onto Thorin's twitching member. The burglar could feel his release barreling towards him, the sweet promise of falling into oblivion in the arms of blissful ecstasy far too great a temptation, so he became punishing in his movements to drag his lover along with him. Bilbo removed his hand from Thorin's, it bouncing with each thrust as he reached out to curl his fingers in the thick locks at the nape of Thorin's neck.

"Then don't," he breathed out, biting his bottom lip hard to contain himself for just a few moments longer. "C-Come with me," Bilbo stuttered out as he felt his org*sm reach its peak.

Thorin gasped out his lover’s name, lifting his hand off of the hobbit’s co*ck to wrap around the back of Bilbo’s head and pull him into a scorching kiss. He nearly shouted his release into the moist cavern of Bilbo’s pliant mouth as he f*cked his seed deep into the halfling’s clenching hole. “Mahal, help me,” he moaned aloud, screwing his eyes shut at the painful intensity of his release as his hips stuttered against Bilbo’s arse. The aftershocks seemed never-ending, the pleasure going on for what felt like ages, and he almost sobbed with the near-agony of it.

Bilbo followed shortly after Thorin had began, throwing his head back with a short cry of "Eru, yes!" before he was painting thick, hot stripes against Thorin's clothes. The aftershocks rocked though him, his smile lazy and eyes blinking slowly open with soft, trembling gasps and little giggles as he fell against Thorin's chest to cling to the dwarf while they both floated.

The hobbit had completely forgotten their lack of privacy, but the uncomfortable shuffles and awkward coughs and gritty sounds of throats being cleared brought a little of his Baggins sensibilities back. He felt warm all over, a light blush covering him from head to toe as he pulled off of the king slowly, biting his lip against the uncomfortable sensation of being left empty.

He returned to Thorin's side, instantly nuzzling close against the dwarf, his lips absently finding his lovers cheek and lips when he could catch them to distract himself from the noises throughout the camp.

Thorin was gasping for breath, returning the fleeting kisses Bilbo laid on his lips, his mind hazy with post-coital bliss and pipe-smoke. The sounds around the camp merely brought a wolfish grin to his lips, eyes blinking several times as sleep almost overtook him. He lifted the pipe to his lips to take a drag and winced at the harshness the smoke had taken on. With a light cough, he released the smoke and tapped the remainder of the cherry out on the ground next to their bedroll.

Eventually, Bilbo ceased his light touches, and when Thorin looked down at his lover, he saw that he was fast asleep. Pressing one last kiss to his slack lips, the king followed swiftly after him.

The next day, the camp was full of knowing smirks and a particularly intense blush on a young Ori’s face and neck. They packed up swiftly, Gandalf leaving their company in favor of his other obligations (and taking their steeds with him back to Beorn’s, no less), and they soon set out on their worrisome trek through Mirkwood.

Bilbo hung back, brilliant blush in place as his brazen exhibitionist side waned with the sobriety of sunrise, and he traveled at the back of the group with Fíli and Kíli flanking him. Thorin led the group, of course, and glanced back every now and again, pleased when Bilbo graced him with a smile every time.

Soon the king was aware of being flanked on his left, and he was greeted with his oldest friend. Dwalin grinned at him like a man who knew his deepest secrets. With his voice gruff and knuckle dusters flashing in the light he leaned close.

"Have a good night then?" the tattooed warrior chuckled and pressed on, his words now in hushed Khuzdul. "Our burglar makes such pretty noises for you, my king."

Thorin allowed a smug grin to split his lips, and before long he was sharing a boisterous laugh with his companion. Their laughter was out of place in the dreary woods, but it seemed to brighten the swiftly falling moods of the others.

“Aye, that he does,” Thorin respond, looking back at his little lover and flashing him a wolfish smile when hazel eyes met his. He was pleased by the pretty blush the flashed down Bilbo’s neck, but felt a tug in his gut at the shine of mischief still in those eyes. With a nod, he turned his attention back to the path ahead of them and pushed on with renewed determination to get through to the other side of these dreadful woods.

[There are no scenes in the forest, we just skip to Laketown I guess]

Bilbo Baggins, regardless of the fantastic meal and mead that had been laid out before him, the hobbit had no hopes of enjoying any of it. He was shaking from head to toe, a dripping mess and to be quite frank he felt entirely unpresentable.

He was relieved when one of the many tall folk told him that "Master Thorin" had already informed them of the sleeping situation, and where his room was located. He thanked the man before he wandered his way to their chamber, shivering and ready to fall onto the mattress and into sleep without a second thought. Then there was a tap on the heavy wooden door, and he startled when yet another human poked their head in.

It was a scullery maid, smiling gently as she inquired if Bilbo had yet had his fill of the feast. Bilbo shook his head, and the young woman gave him a concerned look. "Perhaps you would like to take your supper here in room, little master?"

Bilbo shook his head, raising his hands as if in defense. "Oh no, there's no need to go such trouble." But he received his own wave from the young woman, her smiling brightening as she slipped back out into the hall.

"It's no trouble at all," she finished as she excused herself.

Bilbo let go of a nervous sigh, stripping out of his sodden shirt and allowing the warmth of the room to seep in. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and the heat felt incredible.

Thorin was in no better shape. Having been trapped in a tight barrel in a frigid river for two days had put a chill in his flesh and his sodden clothes did nothing to help it. He made his way around the grand room, making small-talk with the tall folk he spied as important, and eventually could not stand his shivering any longer. Looking around the room, he searched for Bilbo, but in a sea of men, he didn’t have a hope of spotting the tiny creature.

As he moved through the crowd, concern flashing through him, a maid dipped in front of him, a bright smile on her face, “the little master has called for dinner in your chambers, Master Thorin.”

Thanking her, he pushed through the crowd, shivering so hard his teeth chattered and hurried down the hall to his and Bilbo’s shared chambers. As he stepped inside, his mouth went dry, eyes falling on his half-naked and stripping lover. The mute king shut the door, noting the deep pallor of the hobbit’s skin with concern. Then he noticed the violent shivers wracking Bilbo’s frame, and he began to peel his wet clothes off of his body as well. There was a towel next to the washbasin near the door, and he used it to dry his damp skin off.

“Come,” he said, passing the towel to his lover as Bilbo whipped around to look at him. Thorin made his way to the bed, completely naked and quivering with the chill in his skin. “We must share body heat if we have any hope of shaking this chill.”

Apparently a hobbit, sodden and frozen, had no use for any pesky feelings of embarrassment. The sight of his naked lover or the fact that Thorin had walked in and watched him stripping down without a sound didn't bother him at the moment. He followed the king's instructions, peeling off the clothes and tossing them away with little care as he scrambled up into the bed.

A strong tremor shook his entire frame as he slipped under the duvet and instantly plastered himself to Thorin's side. He was a tightly coiled ball at the king's side, his breath still shaky with each little shiver that ran through him. He could feel the king, with all his muscle and stoic expressions, still shiver against him as Bilbo did his best to wrap his arms around the dwarf. "W-Well...that certainly was...quite the little adventure," Bilbo stuttered out between chattering teeth with a weak smile.

Thorin snorted as he tightened his arms around Bilbo. “It was entirely reckless,” he huffed out, a shudder wracking his body as he vigorously rubbed his lover’s back. “We could have drowned. And we might still freeze to death,” the dwarf continued, though admittedly he was just complaining as he waited for his body to warm up. Pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s damp honey curls, soothing any guilt his grousing may have raised in the small creature. “Your plan worked brilliantly, however.”

"I was about to say," Bilbo grumbled in return, looking award to the pale and shiver. "I would think it beats the jail cells everyone was locked in."

He pressed kisses to Thorin's neck. Even with his lips still chilled from the journey in the barrels the kisses were still tiny rings of fire, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake when he would move his tender ministrations elsewhere.

"It's a good thing the wood elves like their wine," he muttered through his kisses, pleased to feel the warmth returning to the stretches of flesh he had already tended to. His palms moved in small circles on Thorin's chest, willing the warmth as well.

The dwarf hummed, sliding against Bilbo so he could capture his lover’s lips, delving his tongue into the warm depths of his mouth and groaned. Mirkwood had been complete and utter hell for the company, and it was a small miracle that all of them had made it out alive, let alone uninjured (though Bombur was quite vocal about being traumatized). This was the first moment they had been afforded to hold each other since the night they shared Bilbo’s pipe. Thorin deepened the kiss, relieved that his hobbit had made it through that ordeal unscathed, and full of pride that he had the quick-thinking to exploit the elves’ drunkenness.

He rolled so that he was slightly on top of Bilbo, the lengths of their bodies pressed together, mouths moving and sliding against one another in a hungry dance. Thorin pulled away slightly to move his lips down Bilbo’s cheek, nibbling the hobbit’s earlobe for a few moments. He shuddered at the chill that still lingered in his flesh, screwing his eyes shut as he shivered despite the heat building in his gut.

“Blast, this chill,” he complained against Bilbo’s throat, teeth nibbling at the hobbit’s flesh as he waited out the quaking of his body.

A weak laugh, gritty with deep set cold, cracked out the burglar, his hands finding their way up into Thorin's thick and unruly mane. He raked his fingers through the raven tendrils, trembling when they fell about the pair like an obsidian curtain. He found his braid and ran his fingers down the woven strands fondly before sinking his fingers back into the dense mane. He set his fingers to work against Thorin's scalp, pleased with every little reaction he pulled from his lover.

"Time for that later," he muttered as Thorin kept trying to steal hungry kisses.

"Now you need to rest darling," he soothed as the dwarf gave him a frown. Bilbo only returned the expression with a warm smile. "Just relax for now," he said with a little finality, increasing the pressure and knowing it would have the king melting against him.

And Thorin did just that. He let himself flop against his lover, a deep groan leaving his chest as the hobbit massaged his scalp. It felt sinfully good, and went a long way toward distracting him from the cold that had settled in his body. Despite his desires that were making themselves infuriatingly known, Thorin was absolutely exhausted. What with their escape in the late evening, and then the night trapped in the barrels, the dwarf had gotten all of three hours of sleep in the past three days.

Yet still, his body began to react to the closeness of his naked lover, and soon the calming ministrations in his hair gained an erotic edge. Not for the last time, he cursed his dwarven libido. He moaned into Bilbo’s shoulder as the hobbit massaged the base of his skull and moved his nimble fingers down his neck. They returned to the dwarf’s hair, pulling a halfway desperate sound from his throat. Against his will, his co*ck filled against his hobbit’s hip, the heat in his gut radiating outward and finally his skin began to warm.

“Later would be wonderful,” Thorin muttered, his voice annoyed. “Yet it would seem my body has other designs.”

Bilbo chuckled, a gritty and rough sound from the sore throat he had acquired from days spent in sopping clothes, but there was something thoroughly pleasing that he could get the dwarf so riled. Regardless of exhaustion or the chill that seemed to have soaked into their very bones, Thorin Oakenshield was still lusting after him. It did wonders for the usually insecure hobbit's confidence.

"What will I ever do with you and your insatiable appetite Thorin Oakenshield?", Bilbo teased as he pulled the dwarf down into a sensual kiss, a slow slide of lips that was no less passionate than any other fiery kiss they had shared. Bilbo licked the king’s mouth open, delving into him with practiced strokes.

There was a light knock at the door and instantly Bilbo's cheeks burned. He forgot all of dwarf customs or what was or was not acceptable and merely ducked under the duvet to hide himself completely. Once again he was a tight ball at the king's side. He heard his lover let go of an aggravated groan before he bid the stranger to enter. He could hear the familiar voice of the maid that had spoken with him earlier and the delicious scent of food permeated the room.

"My apologies master dwarf. But I thought the halfling was staying here, I must have the wrong room."

"You do not. He's...absent at the moment." Bilbo thanked Thorin silently for his understanding. The hobbit would be sure to repay the kindness once the maid took her leave.

"I see. Well I'll leave his meal on the bed side with the mead." Bilbo could hear the rustle of skirts against the floor boards, and the dull plink of cutlery and pottery on the bedside table.

"Oh! That's right, before I forget!" Bilbo could hear more shuffling, as if the wench were sifting through her skirts. "Your companion, the burly one, he bid me give you this. Said you might be needing it." And with that he heard the maid take her leave. Once he was sure the coast was clear, the impatient shifting of his lover against him, did he dare to resurface.

Bilbo sat up against the headboard, his smile broad and pale face beaming with the prospect of the meal. He dug right in without hesitation or remembering his manners, the meal far too tempting and delicious for his Baggins sensibilities to protest.

"What did she give you?" the halfling asked between swallowed mouthfuls of seasoned roasted potatoes and braised beef.

Thorin wanted to be annoyed that dinner had interrupted the sensual kiss, but then his stomach rumbled and reminded him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since the meager dinner he was fed the night they escaped. Digging in with just as few manners as the hobbit next to him, he completely ignored Bilbo’s question until he finished the last bite of his meal. Taking a deep drink of the mug of ale, he lifted the flask the maid had handed to him.

“Oil, I would assume,” Thorin responded, a chuckle leaving him. He would have to remember to thank Dwalin later for his thoughtfulness.

Bilbo finished his own plate of food, making a show to clean his fork with the flat of his tongue, before a sly grin cracked his face. "Oil? Whatever for?" He was, of course, playing coy, but he wanted to tempt his lover.

He careful set his clean plate on the bed side table before taking up his own mug of ale and drinking deep.

The dwarf watched him, watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed his ale, and quite suddenly Thorin felt too hot. Where he had once been frozen to his bones, he was about to break out into a sweat. With a thick sound in his throat, Thorin leaned over and pressed biting kisses to Bilbo’s throat and shoulder, sliding under the blankets until he was slotted between this hobbit’s legs and loomed over him. Taking the mug from his lover’s hands, he placed it on the bedside table before sealing their mouths together.

Bilbo returned the kiss with just as much fervor, his tongue pushing against the seam of Thorin's lips, licking the king’s mouth open. He didn't protest when the dwarf slid between his legs, but the burglar could feel the dwarf's muscles protesting. He broke the kiss if only for a moment, his hands gently framing the king's face. "Are you alright? You're shaking."

“I’m fine,” Thorin said, pressing forward for another kiss. His body and mind were just so exhausted, yet he needed his hobbit. Mouth moving against Bilbo’s, tongue spearing deep into the halfling’s mouth, the dwarf reached for the flask of oil he had deposited on the bed. Thorin edged Bilbo into a lying position beneath him, but the act of hold himself up about his lover proved to be too much for his drained muscles.

He fell against Bilbo with a frustrated groan, sliding off of the smaller man so he wasn’t crushing him. “I need you,” the king insisted, mouthing against Bilbo’s shoulder desperately, his erection hot and heavy against his lover’s hip. “I just don’t have the energy to pleasure you as well.”

The king’s ministrations left Bilbo panting, but as he felt the groan rumble through him, he sent his eyes skyward with a frustrated sigh of his own. Confound the stubbornness and libido of dwarves, they'd kill themselves for a tumble in the hay. Bilbo carefully slipped out from under the king and laid him gently back against the bed, the mattress dipping beneath their weight.

"How would you have me?" Bilbo asked, smiling down to his lover from where he was positioned between Thorin's spread legs. He lazily palmed Thorin's aching member before slowly beginning to tug.

"And I'll hear nothing of you working yourself to death. I've gotten much more rest than you these past few days, so you can keep your comments on this matter to yourself Thorin Oakenshield," the burglar chided when he thought the king was about to protest.

Bilbo’s touch on his co*ck sent white hot pleasure zinging up his spine, pulling a needy sound from his throat that he was far too tired to hold back. Thorin watched his lover, took in the sight of him kneeling between his spread legs and slowly pumping his length, an expression of tender concern on his lovely face. “I would have you take me,” he replied, memories of the first time Bilbo had taken control had Thorin shuddering.

That was exactly what he wanted in this private, quiet moment when he was to sluggish for his passion to overpower his gentle hobbit. This was one of the few opportunities his lover would have to truly set the pace to their lovemaking, to take complete control, and Thorin desperately wanted Bilbo to take it.

The blush that took over Bilbo's face was bright, and Thorin's words and sincerity had his eyes casting down to the expanse of the dwarf's chest. There was something about being told he would be in control that had him nervous and needy all at the same time. He certainly wouldn't deny his lover what he had requested though, and without another word (in case his Baggins side commandeered his mouth and made him sound like a blithering idiot), he pulled two of his tapered digits into his mouth.

The burglar made a big show of swirling his tongue around his fingertips and allowing the excess saliva to run down his palm and wrist for the dwarf see. He always loved the reactions his mouth would get from the dwarf. When he finally withdrew his fingers, a long trail of spit from his tongue to his delicate fingertips bowed before snapping and falling erotically down his chin. Bilbo swiped at the mess with his forearm, his tongue spreading what was on his lips all around so that they shined in the light.

"You are certain?" Bilbo asked as he positioned his fingers, slipping them into the cleft of Thorin's arse and gently teasing at his hole.

The king had been completely enraptured with the way Bilbo’s spit rolled down his arm, groaning at the mischievous glint in the hobbit’s eyes. At the teasing pressure of the halfling’s fingertips against his entrance, Thorin nodded. He reached between his legs to grab Bilbo’s wrist lightly, his grip loose, and he pulled the fingers in closer, the tips barely breaching him and pulling a strained sound from him. “I want you,” he replied, fixing his eyes on Bilbo’s, his face serious despite the panting quality of his breathing.

Bilbo felt a tremor rock his body, arousal so profound quaking him where he knelt between the kings legs. Thorin looked so desperate and needy, and Bilbo could not deny his urge to satisfy his lover.

He sunk into Thorin making the motion swift so the pain would not be drawn out. He slowly moved his finger, teasing and stretching and finding the dwarf's prostate. It wasn't until he was pulling the first few breathy moans from his lover the he slid in a second finger. He scissored his digits, spreading the king open, and was always sure to tease at that sweet spot with every thrust in.

His hand that was slowly pumping Thorin's throbbing co*ck abandoned it momentarily, reaching over on the bed to retrieve the small flask of oil. He opened it with his mouth, the cork clamped securely between his teeth, as he doused his length in a liberal amount of lubricant. Once he was satisfied he replaced the cork and deposited the flask back at his side.

"Tell me when you're ready," he breathed, his free hand stroking his length to spread the oil from tip to base.

Thorin was beside himself, too weak and drained to do much other than lay there and take whatever his hobbit gave him. Twitching his hips down onto Bilbo’s fingers, he gasped as the halfling pegged his prostate. Bilbo was a very quick learner, his rhythm now steady in pace and pressure. The small man had Thorin writhing against the sheets, gasping as each nudge against that bundle of nerves had light exploding behind his eyelids.

“Now,” he groaned, nodding somewhat desperately. “I’m ready.”

Bilbo grinned down at his eager lover as he vacated the dwarf's body, the little shudder he was rewarded with sending another pang of desire through him. He stroked himself a few more times, ensuring the slickness was still adequate before pressing tightly against Thorin's entrance. With his hand ensuring he was steady and the other busy distracting his lover from the possibly achy intrusion, Bilbo guided himself in slowly, his eyes closing against the delicious heat and friction that sent him reeling.

The feeling of sinking into Thorin's core would never be something he would adjust to. The pleasure was so raw and powerful, and the halfling was always going to find himself with eyes lolling and mouth agape.

Only once he was buried deep inside his lover, up to the hilt and pegging his dwarf's prostate, did Bilbo begin to move. His strokes were long and slow as he tried to adjust and let Thorin do the same.

The dwarf sucked in a breath at the slow intrusion, eyes shutting at the still unfamiliar feeling of being filled. When Bilbo bottomed out, a sigh gusted out of him, a groan following it as his prostate was nudged. When the halfling began to move, the pace leisurely and tender, Thorin let a soft sound fall from his lips.

His lover was a gorgeous sight, his curls a complete mess and his mouth dropping open as he moved, eyes heavy-lidded as they appraised the dwarf. Thorin looked down the line of Bilbo’s torso, shuddering at the way the hobbit’s soft tummy clenched every time he moved forward.

The king wanted more, just something more. “Take what you need,” he said instead, the words twisting around a moan as Bilbo hit his sweet spot with firmer pressure. “Take what you want, my treasure.”

A laugh gusted out of the hobbit, seemingly breathless while enraptured and deep within his lover. His eyes raked up Thorin's exquisite body, lingering each time he would catch a muscle twitch until he met his lover’s eyes. They were blown with arousal and on fire for Bilbo tonight.

‘Ever the impatient dwarf,’ thought the burglar to himself as he drew back to slam forward and wrench a cry from the king, ‘that he isn't just appeased with a leisurely f*ck.’

"I thought that's what I was doing," Bilbo replied as he drew back and slammed home again, a ragged groan slipping from his lips. He kept his pace slow for the moment and simply raised the intensity of his thrusts, rocking into Thorin's tight body with all the force he could muster. In doing so it was much easier to keep his hand in time as it tugged at the king's weeping erection.

"Not that I'm complaining," Bilbo slipped in between savage thrusts.

The strength his hobbit had was surprising, catching Thorin off guard as he was rocked by Bilbo’s thrusts. Each hard slide into his core sent sparks of pleasure bursting through the dwarf’s gut, pulling deep sounds of appreciation from his throat. The thought of his lover being able and willing to oblige his carnal nature had Thorin arching slightly, moving as best as he could to meet Bilbo’s thrusts. The hand on his co*ck scattered his mind, too. It pulled lewd sounds from the dwarf, noises he wasn’t positive he had ever made before with any other lover. Groaning loudly, he let his eyes roll back in his head as Bilbo started a focused assault on his prostate.

Bilbo was settling into working his hips and his hand in tandem, his free hand now resting on Thorin's thigh and tugging him downward. As he began to pick up the pace though his mind became wonderfully hazy with the waves of pleasure that were coursing through him. His hand eventually gave up its work and the temptation of his lover’s mouth, parted slightly and moaning wantonly for him, was far too great to resist.

It took a great deal of effort on his part, his hands forcing the dwarf's legs to spread further and closer to his sides. Thankfully, with muscles still exhausted from the trip down the river, Thorin was more malleable than he initially thought. He was able in this way to scoot up his lover’s body and claim his lips. The kiss was fiery, and with Thorin's moaning his lips were slack. Bilbo had no trouble invading the dwarf's mouth with his tongue, sweeping it in to taste the dwarf and set their tongues at odds.

Thorin returned the kiss as best he could, lifting his head with whatever remained of his strength to meet the hobbit’s mouth. Hands found their way into damp blond curls, holding his lover there as he spilled needy sounds into his willing lips. Their tongues slid against each other, warring though Thorin had no real desire to win this duel. With the rocking length deep in his core, and the soft belly rubbing against his co*ck, the king was in heaven, and perhaps he said as much out loud because his lover was chuckling against his lips.

“I won’t last—” he gave a sharp cry as Bilbo’s co*ck rocked against his prostate with unrelenting pressure, flooding his body with overwhelming pleasure. “I won’t last much longer—Aulë, Bilbo! Right there!”

Bilbo indeed could not suppress the low, rumbling chuckles that reverberated through his soft chest as he pumped into his lover. He had never seen the king come so undone, and with every plea and desperate whimpering moan that fell from the king's lips Bilbo could feel his own completion rushing up. One of Bilbo's hands stretched back to grip against Thorin's knee which was tucked against his side, the other reaching up to tangle in his still damp and thick raven locks, being sure that the braid he had placed that was all his own in the king’s mane was included in his cradled grasp.

"Let go darling," he breathed out, his heart racing as he felt Thorin twitching and clamping around him as the dwarf's org*sm came barreling down on him. He pegged Thorin's sweet spot mercilessly, wringing each and every last ounce of pleasure out of the dwarf that he possibly could. "I've got you."

Thorin pressed up for another scorching kiss, eyes screwing shut as the coil of heat in his gut snapped. He spilled between them, his molten sticky cum making the slide of their bodies slick and filthy, and he moaned into Bilbo’s mouth as his co*ck pulsed. The aftershocks were brilliant, each wave of them pulling shaky, desperate sounds from his lips as his hobbit continued to move against and inside him. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore, his org*sm taking whatever was left in him, so he flopped back and let Bilbo use his body, the overstimulation painful but still so good.

Thorin would not have to suffer long as the dwarf had clamped too tightly around the hobbit's length, he was tumbling over the edge to follow Thorin into bliss. Bilbo thrust himself into his clenching lover three more times before he was spilling deep inside him, his co*ck pulsing as he spent himself with a desperate ragged moan.

He collapsed on top of the dwarf, hips still twitching forward and the fringes of his mind tugging him towards sleep. They lay there, sticky with Thorin's seed between them, a panting heap of now thoroughly warmed bodies. The air in the room was thick with the scent of their sex, and only the sounds of their ragged breaths and the still crackling fire filled the space.

Bilbo slid out of his lover, moaning at the sensation of his seed spilling out as well, before he tumbled forward into Thorin's waiting arms. He settled in against the dwarf's side, sprawling himself across the wise expanse of his firm chest.

"I think we chased off the cold," Bilbo muttered sleepily as he gazed at his lover, fingers idly playing with one of the silver caps of Thorin's braids.

The dwarf hadn’t even the energy to chuckle, let alone formulate a reply as his eyes began to flutter against his will. All he was able to manage out was a low “mmm” before he was pulling Bilbo tighter into his side. Thorin was fighting unconsciousness, trying to reason with himself that cleaning himself up now would be far wiser than waiting until the morning. But soon he felt that heavy-headedness that came as sleep descended. Resigning himself to cleaning himself and Bilbo up the next morning, he let it take him, drifting off to a deep, restful sleep.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Bilbo Baggins had worn a fool’s grin all day. He had woken to the stunning sight of his beloved, holding him close and sleeping deep and peacefully. The burglar had managed to sneak out of their shared bed, and with a fresh basin of water, cleaned the mess from his front before dressing and requesting that he take their morning meal back to their room.

The humans were gracious to a fault, knowing who Thorin was, and soon Bilbo was returning to their shared quarters with twin plates piled high with eggs, bacon and roasted potatoes. The scent had roused his lover from his sleep, and for once Bilbo was happy to deliver the king his breakfast in bed.

They had spent the day apart. While Bilbo often caught sight of the dwarf speaking with the important menfolk that came to call on him, he also caught glimpses of the dwarf staring off into the distance through glass pane windows, to the solitary peak on the horizon. Once Bilbo had even gone so far as to draw up to Thorin's side, but his gaze was so distant and set so resolutely on the mountain that Bilbo let the leader of their company be with his thoughts.

However, by the time the night approached he was happy to find Thorin's attention had resettled wholly on him. Throughout dinner, while man and dwarf alike competed for the king's ear, Bilbo would look up from his place from the other end of the table to be met with Thorin's dark and hungry gaze.

The first few times it had caused a light blush to dust his fair cheeks and thankfully the dwarves flanking him (Bofur to his right and Ori to his left) didn't seem to notice. He became bolder with each stolen look, sipping his ale slowly and ensuring to sweep his tongue thoroughly across his lips to catch any of the precious drink that might have been missed, or cleaning his fork with that same devilish tongue. He even went so far when their desserts arrived, heavy sugared cream and fresh berries, to dip his finger into the thick, white confection and suck the digit into his mouth, all the while his hazel orbs locked with the king and glinting Tookishly. With everyone else so thoroughly caught up in conversation and merry-making they seemed not to notice (a particular pair of dwarven princes were pawing at each other under the table the hobbit had noticed), and this only emboldened the halfling.

When he was finished with his meal he pushed away from the table, saying his goodnights to Bofur and Ori, mentioning something along the lines of "I'm getting an early start tonight. Morning comes sooner than not." before he met Thorin's gaze again. His eyes spoke of his intentions, his tongue teasing his lips gently before it curled back behind a smirk, and he made his way out of the dining hall, hips swaying ever so slightly with each step.

Thorin followed after Bilbo, not even bothering to offer an explanation for his sudden departure. His relationship with the hobbit was hardly a secret, and to offer excuses would be lying. He would let these men think what they'd like, because as it stood, he had a playful halfling waiting for him.

When he opened the door to their chamber, he was immediately pulled into a desperate kiss, one that he returned with a hungry growl. Slamming the portal shut, the king scooped his lover into his arms, lips never leaving the hobbit's as he walked deeper into the room. Thorin dropped his lover on the bed, loosening the laces on Bilbo's breeches but leaving the garments in place.

"You've been quite the tease, my treasure," the king growled, eyes flashing as he grabbed the flask of oil from the bedside table and dousing his fingers liberally. Without much warning, Thorin slid his hand between Bilbo and the bed and snaked his way into the man's trousers. His slick fingertips found Bilbo's entrance and he teased the perfect pucker of it, groaning deep as he slid a thick digit into the tight cavern.

"I need you," he groaned out, half crawling onto the bed on top of his hobbit so that he could grind down against his lover's erection.

An airy gasp hitched in the hobbit's throat, his face flushing and eyes fluttering shut with the sudden intrusion that spoke to his lover’s desperation. Since that night, sharing his leaf and under the stars when his groggy mind had left him bold and rather embarrassingly vocal, Thorin had become much more forceful with his passion. Bilbo found himself enjoying it more than he would have ever imagined at any other point in his life, if only because he had been reassured by the king that it was indeed Bilbo that could get him into such a lusty mood.

Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck, tugging him down into another kiss that was more tongue than tenderness, the slick pink muscles working against each other desperately as if they were starved for water and the others mouth was mountain spring. The king could feel the smile tugging at his hobbit's lips, could feel and hear every little playful giggle that bubbled up from his chest to be broken by soft mewls.

The fingers buried deep inside of the burglar had him wriggling under their skilled touch, and giddy with excitement for what was in store. After the day spent most apart, Bilbo was ready to fall into bed with his lover and forget everything beyond the heavy wooden door. No men, no mountain, no quest except for their shared pleasure and satisfaction.

Bilbo was about to insist they were far too clothed, his fingers having slid down the dwarf's broad shoulders to the heavy buckle that held his belt in place, when there was a thunderous knock at the door. Bilbo stilled instantly, looking to the portal and the source of the disturbance, but Thorin seemed determined to ignore it. Bilbo resigned himself to the renewed kiss that Thorin placed on his lips, the dwarf catching his lower lip briefly between his teeth, when they were interrupted with the heavy knocking again and a familiar voice.

"Uncle! Come, let us in! The barkeep opened his stores of honey wine! Let us in so we can share!" It was the boisterous voice of a certain archer. Bilbo sighed, hearing a pair of deep laughs resounding with the brunettes, before he gently wriggled away from his lovers grasp.

"Might as well," Bilbo conceded with a gentle smile, hoping he did not look terribly disappointed. It was understandable that his people and kin were so keen to party, now that they were on the threshold of their goal.

Thorin gnashed his teeth in annoyance before removing his slick fingers from Bilbo’s hole and sliding off the bed. He would entertain his nephews for a couple hours, but before the night was through, he would have his hobbit squirming beneath him. With that thought swirling in his mind, already slightly hazy with the drink he consumed at dinner, he marched over to the door. He didn’t even bother to attempt to straighten out his hair, or adjust himself to hide his need. Thorin would have them know just how much they had inconvenienced him by knocking on his door.

‘It had better be some damn good wine,’ he thought bitterly as he threw open the door. His eyes fell on his youngest nephew first before he looked to Fíli, and behind them stood Dwalin, an exasperated smirk on his lips.

“We brought Mister Dwalin along,” Fíli said brightly, made cheerful by the ale that coursed through him. Looking his uncle up and down, he almost laughed aloud at the rumpled look to him. The blond was actually surprised that Thorin even answered their call at all, but he figured it was most likely at Bilbo’s insistence they pause for their guests.

A muscle in Thorin’s jaw twitched before he turned and walked back into the room, leaving the portal open for them. “If you have come for a drink, then let’s get on with it,” he said gruffly as he set up the table near the hearth for their small party, not even bothering to try to remember any of his manners.

Bilbo smiled meekly from his spot sitting at the edge of the bed. He had just barely managed to get his trousers up and secured around his waist before Thorin had let their guests in, and that wasn't even to mention the tent in the king's own trousers. He had expected Fíli and Kíli, but when Dwalin entered as well, heavy mug full of mead in hand and smirking like a devil, Bilbo could do little to suppress his embarrassment.

Kíli immediately made for the tiny hobbit, thrusting a mug of mead into the smaller man’s grip before throwing an arm around Bilbo's shoulders. The drink had already begun to set in and make him overly cheerful and ornerier than usual. "Didn't catch him in the middle'a ye' did we?" Kíli teased, his voice low and pressed close to the hobbit's ear while Dwalin and Fíli set at the table with their king.

Bilbo spluttered mid sip of his mead, a fiery blush over taking him and spreading to the tips of his ears. "K-Kíli!" he squeaked, giving the archer a playful shove while looking positively scandalized. "I'd have a mind to box your ears if you were any younger for such language!"

But the brunette only laughed, tugging the burglar from the bed to join them all at the table. Then began the next few hours where Bilbo Baggins would receive his education on drinking with dwarves.

They were loud and obnoxious and perfectly happy to be as indecent as they decided. No need for manners or decorum. The kindly maid who had waited on them the night before often made trips to and from the bar, taking away the empty mugs of mead and returning with new ones, ensuring that no one was left without the drink for too long. For the dwarves it was merely a waiting game as they all drank their fill, each following the other into intoxication with rounds of backslapping, loud storytelling and boisterous laughter.

Being a much smaller creature all around, it did not take long for the hobbit to drink his fill and then some (per the dwarves prompting of course) and get properly knackered. It was a pleasant sort of drunkenness, the kind where the world floated and tilted and left him grinning, where every little thing was funny, but not to where he could not stand on his own or feared his dinner would come back to haunt him.

It wasn't long into this foray that Bilbo and Thorin began pawing at each other. It was incredibly subtle and innocent at first. A brush of knees, taking the other’s hand under the table, but eventually those hands would find thighs and slide up to find each other swiftly filling and ready to go. Even once, when Kíli had foolish challenged Dwalin to an arm wrestle, did Thorin and Bilbo steal fiery kisses when they thought the lot was distracted. It was secret smiles and telling looks between the two through the whole event.

Eventually the maid didn't return, and being the youngest and most inclined to continue the party, Kíli was tugging at his brother’s arm and hauling him to the door, empty mugs in hand. "We'll go fill'em up," the archer called as the pair stumbled down the hallway, leaving the older dwarves and a hobbit to continue their stories and spontaneous laughter.

Thorin was pleased that as the hobbit grew more and more inebriated, the less secretive he would be with his affections, even allowing a brazen, intense slide of lips once. The king was hot with his need for the halfling, considering the ease in which he could coax the little man to sit in his lap. From there, it would be a simple thing to slip his co*ck out, expose Bilbo’s perfect rump, and just slide right into his slick and loosened hole. Thorin groaned against his hobbit’s sensitive ear at the thought of sinking the halfling onto his length and just sitting there in his heat.

When the boys got up to leave, Thorin followed them to the door, the world tipping slightly as he grabbed Fíli’s arm. “Here,” he said roughly, pushing a pouch of coins into the blonde’s hand. “We must be gracious guests.”

“Of course, Uncle,” Fíli laughed, nodding solemnly despite a bubble of giggles that was working its way up as Kíli continued down the hall, bursting into a riotous, out-of-tune song. Voices from the tavern joined the archer, and soon enough the brunette was occupied for a time with the menfolk and dwarves.

“We’ll be back,” the swordsman said with a nod, hurrying down the hall to join Kíli in the merrymaking he had incited.

Thorin felt a fond smile tug at his lips, despite his frustration and the heat in his belly, before he shut the door and turned back to rejoin his hobbit and Dwalin at the table.

Bilbo had been doing his very best to sit as straightly as his addled brain would allow him, his eyes brazenly focusing on Thorin's fantastic arse as he strode across the room. A grin tugged at his lips, his hazel eyes half-lidded and heavy as he shamelessly took in the sight of his magnificent lover.

He felt a shoulder bump his companionably, and he looked up to be met with a chuckling Dwalin. Generally the tattooed warrior frightened the hobbit, but he found the brute much more agreeable once he had a few in him.

"Now wha's a shy lil' thing like ye' starin' at my king's arse?" the warrior teased with a mighty laugh, giving Bilbo's shoulders a shake. It sent Bilbo into a fit of giggles, the hobbit doubling over in laughter with the warrior before he could meet his eyes again.

"I thought dwarves were all about open displays," the burglar teased in return. At this statement however Dwalin grinned wolfishly, flashing his teeth as his eyes narrowed on the hobbit.

"Ye' have no idea," he growled before pressing in close and sloppily sealing their lips together. Be it the drink or the surprise of the whole thing Bilbo only squeaked and spluttered and was sent into a dizzying fit of giggles once more. The burglar was absently aware of the difference in pressure, how the warrior’s lips were dry and surrounded by far too much facial hair.

For several moments, Thorin just stared and blinked, watching as his friend deepen the kiss with his giggling lover. He actually felt his mouth fall open as Bilbo didn’t seem to be making any move to push Dwalin away, or pull back, or do anything other than accept the kiss and giggle.

Blinding jealousy ripped through the king and sent him to the table where he pulled his hobbit up against his chest.

“He’s mine,” the king growled in Khuzdul, mouth finding Bilbo’s throat and biting a vibrant bruise into the flesh. Stepping back, he bent the halfling over the table and wrenched the small creature’s trousers and smallclothes down just enough to expose his arse to the air. Absently, the dwarven king registered the sounds of seams ripping, but he didn’t particularly care.

Sliding two fingers into Bilbo’s still slick and loose hole, he sought out the halfling’s prostate, looking up to meet Dwalin’s stunned gaze. “Mine,” the king growled again as he f*cked his lover with two of his fingers for a short time more as he worked with his other hand to free his own co*ck.

Bilbo gasped and nearly melted back into Thorin when the dwarf had wrenched him away from the warrior, still in a giggling fit of drunkenness. They're language, which he still had no way of truly following, sent a fierce desire spiraling through him and curling in his gut. Shortly after Bilbo was aware of teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck, causing his cheeks to burn and eyes to roll in his head, the most tempting little mewl escaping him. He caught sight of the tattooed warrior as Thorin bent him over the table and ripped at his clothes viciously, the look of shock and sudden heat in Dwalin's usually nondescript stare pulling another desperate mewl from him.

As Thorin pushed his fingers into him, Bilbo bucked backward, mouth falling open and moaning wantonly into the touch. Now he was certain it was the drink addling his mind that was making this far too easy, as he found it incredibly arousing to be taken and claimed here, with their companion watching in disbelief. The burglar tried to bounce back on the fingers, eyes screwing shut as Thorin began teasing his prostate deep in his core.

But then he heard something he hadn't expected in the slur of Khuzdul the king was spouting. He heard the warrior give a desperate groan of his own. Bilbo opened his eyes and gazed up at Dwalin through thick lashes, pupils blown with his need. The bulge in the warrior’s trousers was so thick and defined, even through the layers of clothing, and Bilbo felt his mouth begin to water at the prospect. He ran his tongue over his lips suggestively, his eyes still locked with the brutes and helpless little whimpers escaping him, and he desperately reached for Dwalin with a wavering arm.

The king watched Bilbo whimper and squirm beneath him and let out a long groan of his own, spitting on his free hand a few times. Palming his co*ck desperately, slicking it up as best as he consciously could in his state of arousal and inebriation, he removed his fingers from his lover’s core.

When Bilbo reached out to the warrior, Thorin slid into his tight channel, shivering violently at the clenching heat of his hobbit. A groan was ripped from him when Bilbo shifted back against him, wanton moans spilling from his little mouth that was guaranteed to be gaping and thirsty.

“Take his mouth,” Thorin grit out as he began a firm pace behind his lover. It wasn’t too hard, but it wasn’t gentle either. The rhythm was enough to ensure that the hobbit would feel it the next day. “He likes his pretty little mouth full when—Aulë, Bilbo—” he was interrupted by the sudden clenching of his lover’s entrance around his length, the hobbit mewling like a whor* as Thorin had been speaking.

It was the most peculiar sensation as the dwarf pounded into him. The drink, having so thoroughly fogged his mind, had dulled the sensation of pain upon his entrance, but it also dulled the sensation of pleasure and left him craving more. Bilbo did his best to rock back against Thorin, all matter of lewd sounds spilling from his parted lips, until he was faced with the object of his desire.

After a few more growled words in Khuzdul, the sounds of which were primal and incredibly arousing to the burglar, Dwalin was stepping forward and freeing himself from his trousers. The warrior pushed his trousers and small clothes down just enough for his thick erection to spring forth, and Bilbo was left gaping in unabashed awe at the sight he was greeted with.

Dwalin was thoroughly pierced, heavy looking metal studs lining his main vein all the way down the underside of his thick co*ck. It twitched temptingly as he stepped forward and hesitated, precome smearing against Bilbo's parted lips, and with a little assistance from the king Bilbo was able to close the distance. He lathed the thick rod desperately with his tongue, filthy moans leaving him as his need to fill his mouth was satisfied and sent endorphins rushing through his system, deliberately testing the feel of the studs against his tongue before he fully took the dwarf into his mouth.

Dwalin released an animalistic growl, his hips snapping forward as he curled his fingers in Bilbo's thick tawny curls. With his free hand on his hip in only in the hopes to steady himself he set his pace, each thrust deep and punctuated with a thick groan.

"An' a pretty little mouth it is indeed," the warrior ground out in thick Khuzdul, his words slurring slightly. "Thanks fer sharin' yer lil'burglar." Dwalin grinned lazily, tightening his grip in Bilbo's hair to pull a whimper from the mouth he f*cked into. He only increased his pace at the noises Bilbo gave him, his head falling back and his eyes screwing shut against the exquisite pleasure the halfling was providing.

"Wouldn't mind havin' a go at him when yer finished," he muttered again. Through the haze of his pleasure that was muddled with the drink, he did not think to hold his tongue from his true desires, now thoroughly aroused and wanting to take advantage of the tempting creature that was so very pleased to have a mouthful of his co*ck.

Thorin had been enjoying the sight of his lover’s mouth stretched taut around the girth of his oldest friend, shuddering at each filthy sound the hobbit made as he was f*cked from both ends. At Dwalin’s last words, though, the king pinned him with a murderous glare. Tension snapped through the room as he reached forward and roughly removed the warrior’s tattooed hand from Bilbo’s curls, at the same time wrenching the hobbit back. The halfling slid off of Dwalin’s co*ck with an obscene pop, followed by a desperate whimper that bordered on a frustrated shout.

Reaching around his lover, Thorin shoved four fingers into Bilbo’s gaping mouth and was pleased with the happy sound the halfling made as he bounced back against the dwarf’s pistoning hips.

“This,” he snarled, turning his eyes back to Dwalin’s and gripping one arse cheek hard enough to leave red marks. “Is mine.”

And it was, as far as his drunken, lust-addled mind could justify. With the exception of Kíli’s impulsive actions at Beorn’s home, Thorin was the only man to ever spend himself in those depths. This was his, penetrating the hobbit and marking his insides with the molten splash of his cum was his.

Bilbo melted once again against Thorin, his eyes rolling in his head as the king claimed him. The digits filling his mouth were demanding and rough and the hobbit found it all the more intoxicating. He tried to force words out between the tick fingers, each syllable he managed to utter dying on his lips and overtaken by a filthy moan.

Soon he resigned himself to be overcome with the pleasure, his hands still twitching forward occasionally to reach instinctively for the thick co*ck before him. Thorin did not seemed pleased with these actions at all by this point, and while Bilbo 's tongue slid between Thorin's fingers and against the calloused digits, the king captured his wrists and pinned them with one hand to the small of his back. Bilbo was now entirely at his lovers mercy, and he was entirely overcome with the desire to be taken, regardless of their audience.

It was many more moments of this, Dwalin staring without any idea of what to do now that the halfling had been yanked off of him and still dreadfully needy. With Thorin plowing into his hobbit and Bilbo happily accepting every last inch, the warrior was forced to stand in frustrated silence as he watched his king make his claim on his consort.

Kíli and Fíli had enjoyed a few more mugs of ale with the menfolk and both were now stumbling back with replacements for everyone in hand. When the archer pushed through the door however, he nearly dropped the precious drink. His uncle was slamming into the hobbit with reckless abandon and had reduced the creature to an entirely submissive whor* for his pleasures, while a painfully aroused and frozen in place Dwalin watched. The brunette couldn't help but notice the warrior’s thick member, and it had him licking his lips.

"What's all this then?" he muttered hazily as he placed his handfuls of mugs on the nearby mantle piece. It seemed Thorin and halfling, completely consumed by their lust, were happy to ignore him but the tattooed warrior on the other hand whipped his head around to snarl at them, clearly frustrated. Kíli only grinned like the imp he was.

"Did you ask to take his lover to bed?" Kíli mused as he slid up behind Dwalin, his hands roaming around to his front boldly. "I can tell ye' from experience he doesn't like that one bit," the young dwarf drawled on, his Khuzdul slurring.

Fíli followed his brother’s lead, his co*ck hard and leaking since the moment they reentered the room. Sliding up against Dwalin’s front, he leaned heavily against the taller dwarf. One of his hands found the warrior’s large member, the metal lining the bottom a sinful pleasure on his fingertips, pulling a low groan of appreciation from him. Peeking around Dwalin’s shoulder to meet his brother’s eyes, taking in the smirk on the archer’s lips, and nodded once.

“You might want to sit down, Mister Dwalin,” the blond said softly, tongue flickering out to wet his lips enticingly. “We’ll take good care of you.”

Dwalin had experienced many things in his life. He had charged into battle, gotten into drunken brawls, and had even taken a great many tumbles in the hay with lass and lad alike (though lasses were few and far between), but this was a brand new experience. Putting aside his king, currently mad with jealousy and plowing into a certain halfling to prove that the little creature was indeed his, he was being pawed at and led to sit on the edge of the bed by the princes of Durin. Mahal help him.

Kíli was the first to drop to his knees, a cat-like grin on his face, something entirely feral and wild about the thoroughly intoxicated youth between his knees. Dwalin had looked initially to their uncle for approval, but Thorin was too far gone to pay the trio any real notice. He caught the hobbit staring a few time, still focused entirely on his full and throbbing co*ck, as the hobbit would suck and lathe the king's fingers wantonly.

The archer teased Dwalin mercilessly, pleased to see the warrior's chest rising and falling slowly with measured breaths, an effort to contain himself no doubt. The warrior’s eyes were glued on the sight of his king having his way with Bilbo, and with each little delicious mewl and moan the hobbit let out it would be followed by a suppressed groan from brute.

"Enjoying the show?" Kíli as between teasing licks, his tongue drawn to the studded underside of Dwalin's thick member. He only received a curt nod and grunt as his answer. "He's a pretty little thing, isn't he?" Kíli continued to tease, finally taking the swollen head fully into his mouth, scraping his teeth carefully over it.

Fíli swiftly joined his brother on the floor, nudging Dwalin’s knees open even wider. Leaning in, his cheek sliding along Kíli’s, the blond began to mouth at the length, pink tongue teasing around the piercings, pulling a thick moan from the warrior. He hadn’t been sure how the attention would be received, but with the way the co*ck throbbed, Fíli pressed his lips more firmly to the line of metal, tongue lathing each metal ball, soaking them with his spit. He made his way up the length until he reached the ring of his brother’s lips, taking a moment to lap and suckle at the corner of the archer’s mouth, then moved back down Dwalin’s girth.

Looking up through his lashes, he smirked as he saw that Dwalin was finally watching them, at least for now. Letting out a filthy moan, the swordsman slid his hand down into his own trousers and smallclothes, palming himself lazily as he maintained eye contact with a man he has looked up to for as long as he could remember.

"Mahal lads...",the tattoo clad dwarf breathed out, his hands finding a home in the locks of each of the princes between his legs. It was an incredible sight, those two moving against each other and their mouths working his length in tandem. Occasionally their tongues would meet and duel on or around his length, which was a sinfully gorgeous sight. He fisted his hands in their contrasting manes, knuckle dusters clinking and catching the light.

Kíli followed Fíli’s example, palming himself desperately through his trousers while he once again took on the task of pulling Dwalin into his mouth. The warriors co*ck was deliciously thick, and the studs felt absolutely fabulous against his tongue.

The blond pulled back to watch his brother as the brunette took Dwalin into his moist cavern. He could hear Kíli’s teeth click against the metal balls, and shivered at the young dwarf’s appreciative moans. Gods, Kíli was gorgeous with his lips stretched taut around a thick co*ck, the way his eyes rolled back and his brow relaxed. It had Fíli hotter and more desperate than he had thought possible.

Without much further thought, Fíli was reaching for a flask he had spotted near the edge of the bed, his fingers closing around it with a small sound of triumph. Leaning in, he began suckling on Kíli’s throat, pulling little noises from his brother that had Dwalin bucking into the youth’s mouth. While marked up the archer’s throat, he doused his fingers in the oil from the flask before moving to push Kíli’s trousers and smallclothes down. The oil from his fingers and hand smeared all over Kíli’s hip as the blond exposed his arse, and more got spread across the brunette’s slender stomach as Fíli slid in behind him.

There was a moment he did nothing but watch Kíli swallow around Dwalin, the warrior’s hand tangled in the mussed up, chocolate tresses, and the noises behind them got even louder. He had almost forgotten his uncle and Bilbo. He groaned and sunk two fingers into his brother’s entrance without any warning, needing to be inside him like he needed air.

Thorin had leaned down over the hobbit, teeth sinking into the supple flesh of Bilbo’s shoulder and marking him further. The halfling was absolutely perfect, moaning and begging as he was speared relentlessly from behind, tongue working Thorin’s fingers with abandon. The dwarf’s arm was soaked with spit that dripped down from Bilbo’s mouth, the trickle of it making Thorin shiver as his pace grew more punishing.

As he marked his hobbit’s other shoulder with a near-savage bite, he happened to look up through his lashes and caught sight of the threesome on the edge of the bed, saw the way Dwalin’s eyes flashed between the dwarves at his feet and the hobbit on the table. Groaning deeply and loudly, Thorin reached around Bilbo’s front and wrapped his hand tightly around the base of Bilbo’s co*ck. He was determined to outlast the warrior and his playmates.

“Do you like watching them?” Thorin whispered into his lover’s ear, his pace slowing to shallow half-thrusts, not removing his fingers from the halfling’s mouth. “Do you like watching them work the co*ck you so desperately want in your own mouth?”

Kíli gasped around Dwalin's member, the sudden inhale causing the warriors hips to jerk up and deeper into his mouth. The archer, however, did not seem to mind either of the deep intrusions. He rolled his hips backward onto the digits that had pushed into him so suddenly. The way he would moan, mouth full of Dwalin's co*ck, caused the metal studs to vibrate and buzz and send the most intoxicating tremors through the burly dwarf.

Kíli pulled off Dwalin's co*ck just long enough to beg his brother for more. It was more of a sound than a sentence, a familiar keen that always seemed to result in the blond being balls deep in a matter of seconds.

Bilbo was indeed enraptured by the sight, and he was indeed thoroughly envious of Kíli’s full mouth. He had barely gotten a taste and had been so looking forward to pulling as many reactions as he could from the usually stoic warrior. He could barely nod his head from the position he found himself in, still desperately sucking and biting at Thorin's wide fingers, his tongue writhing between the gaps to satiate his appetite.

When finally given a moment to breathe fully, the dwarf withdrawing two of the fingers from his mouth, he turned as best he could to look at his lover. His lips were swollen and red from the abuse they had been through to satisfy his desires, a good amount of saliva slicked his chin, and his eyes were half-lidded and desperate. "I want--ah!--darling, I want to s-see you," Bilbo stuttered out between lewd moans.

Thorin grunted and pulled out, just enough to flip his lover over, and he returned to his vigorous thrusting, his hips a piston against Bilbo’s arse. One hand, slick with spit, held Bilbo’s hips down against the tabletop while the other gripped the base of the halfling’s co*ck. He couldn’t even form words at this point, so lost was he in his desperate f*cking into his hobbit, turning his eyes back to the sight across the room.

The blond couldn’t deny his brother when he begged so sweetly, and he was sinking into Kíli’s heat, barely pausing to slick himself with the excess oil that had pooled in his palm. Groaning thickly, blue eyes rolling back slightly, he started a slow and hard pace within his brother’s tight core. Fíli looked up at Dwalin now, his mouth gaping and slack with his pleasure.

“Aulë, he’s so tight,” Fíli moaned out, speaking to no one in particular, but his voice caught Dwalin’s full attention. “Imagine how tight he’d be around you,” he continued, his thrusts stuttering as he watched the stretch of Kíli’s lips around the warrior’s impressive girth. The images of his brother, skewered on that thick length, writhing on it, crying out for more as the piercings caught on the rim and rubbed his prostate, overwhelmed the blond. By the stars, the thought alone almost had him coming.

Thorin growled at the sight before him at the bed. Without so much as warning the hobbit, he hitched Bilbo’s thighs high up on his waist, wrapped his arms around the halfling’s lower back, and lifted him off the table. His lover gave a surprised squeak, but he paid it no mind as he walked them across the room, claiming Bilbo’s mouth in a ferocious kiss, all teeth and tongue. Depositing the hobbit on the bed next to where Dwalin sat, Thorin reentered Bilbo, starting his pace back up, the angle sending his co*ck into his lover’s prostate with brutal force.

Bilbo was once again being stared at by a slightly bewildered and absolutely blissed out Dwalin. With one hand reaching above his head and gripping the sheets desperately, knuckles white with his effort, his free hand rising to his mouth and clamping down on the knuckle of his crooked forefinger.

As the king plowed into him mercilessly, beastly noises echoing throughout the room as the unexpected orgy raged on, Bilbo clamped his teeth down on the digit hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. Just another mark that would be left by his lover’s ferocity in the long run. Tears stung at his eyes as an org*sm crept up on him and was denied by the firm grip around the base of his co*ck, the waves of pleasure shattering any reasonable state of mind he had maintained and sending him into a begging and desperate mess.

Kíli thought he had found paradise this night. Filled from both ends, and the sights and sounds and scent of pure animalistic f*cking hanging thick in the air. Oh, what a memory to hold on to for those cold lonely nights. The words spilling now from his brothers lips had him moaning and staring up at the warrior with brow knit.

Thorin looked down at his lover, hearing his high keens and whimpering pleas, but all they did was urge him on. The hobbit was gorgeous, with his cheeks on fire with a blush that spread down to his chest, his shirt rumpled and damp with sweat. The way the halfling scrambled for something to hold onto, like his body was about to fly apart with the intense pleasure had Thorin moaning and his thrusts slamming home even faster. The flash of blood that coated Bilbo’s lips suddenly scattered the dwarf’s thoughts as he watched it spread and trickle down his hobbit’s finger.

This was his.

He looked down at his nephews on the floor next to him, Kíli skewered between his brother and Thorin’s oldest friend and companion. His eyes traveled up the length of Dwalin’s torso until their eyes met, fire and tension dancing between them.

This was all his.

With a snarl, he lifted his free hand to curl around the back of Dwalin’s neck, pulling the warrior into a scorching kiss, tongue flashing out to delve into his friend’s mouth.

Bilbo's eyes grew wide as he witnessed the sudden kiss, the clash of lips intense and feral. It had his teeth sinking deeper into his knuckle, leaving him gasping, helpless little whimpers escaping him now as the sight brought another org*sm barreling down on him. Once again it was denied, sending him plummeting back down to earth and wrenching a desperate cry from around his bloodied digit.

Kíli was also wide eyed at the sight of his uncle and mister Dwalin lip locked and growling against one another, each struggling for dominance of the kiss until the warrior folded to the king’s advances and allowed him to control the kiss.

Filthy garbled moans emitted from the archer, each thrust of Fíli’s hips bring his co*ck to stab at the archers prostate, and the continual satisfaction of the tattooed warrior filling his mouth. He could feel Dwalin's co*ck twitching more and more, the dwarf's hips bucking into the cavern of his mouth as his desperation rose and his org*sm barreled towards him.

Fíli was just as enraptured by the press of lips Thorin and Dwalin shared. A whine escaped him as he lifted higher up on his knees, changing the angle of his thrusts, and somehow he slid even deeper into his brother. He slammed forward, driving Kíli even further onto Dwalin’s huge prick and f*cked the younger dwarf hard and fast, his sac slapping against Kíli’s every time he bottomed out.

“Come for me, Kâzash,” the swordsman begged, his voice a sob as he screwed his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek, driving back his org*sm as best as he could.

Thorin pulled back from Dwalin’s lips, eyes meeting his friend’s as a dark smirk split his face, a deep hunger burning in his gut as he continued to plunder his hobbit, hearing his lover’s ragged pleas for release. When he looked back at Bilbo, he saw more blood and immediately he was leaning down, concern washing through him.

“Stop, my treasure,” Thorin murmured as he pulled Bilbo’s finger out from between his teeth, sealing their mouths together to lap up the blood that coated his lover’s lips. Licking into his hobbit, he slowed his thrusts and loosened his grip on Bilbo’s member. Pulling back just slightly, he sucked the halfling’s wounded finger into his mouth, eyes meeting his lover’s as he suckled the digit.

Kíli obeyed his brother’s words, an obscene groan of satisfaction rumbling through him as he gripped his shaft and instantly spilled in his palm. The vibrations his sounds sent through the piercings in the warrior’s co*ck once again had the muscled warrior bucking his hips, though this time he tangled his fingers in Kíli’s brunette hair, being sure to tug it all off his face and hold it in place at the back of his head when he ripped himself from Kíli’s mouth. Then with his free hand moving impossibly fast, thick fingers catching each stud and sending shivers through him, Dwalin followed suit. He growled out his release, painting Kíli’s face with thick stripes that covered him forehead to chin. He opened his eyes (happy the dwarf had missed those), and circled his tongue around his lips to draw in what he could of the bitter seed.

Bilbo responded to Thorin's kiss slowly at first, his hips now jerking upward and into Thorin's loosened grip desperately. The angle of Thorin's thrusts had him brushing across his prostate, just enough to have him writhing beneath the dwarf. Bilbo was once again enraptured by the sight of his lover, soothing his bitten finger with long, loving strokes of his tongue. It had Bilbo whimpering helplessly.

"Oh please darling, I'm so close," he begged, trying his best to prop himself up and pull the king close.

“Come for me, my treasure,” Thorin said, his voice soothing as he stroked Bilbo’s leaking co*ck, his own org*sm rapidly approaching. He knew he would last long with the way his hobbit was already clenching around him.

On the floor, Fíli was shouting his own release, his hips a piston as he f*cked his seed deep into his brother’s convulsing channel. The aftershocks had him reeling, his breath coming out in short whines as he dropped his forehead to rest between Kíli’s shoulder blades. Pulling out with a groan, he turned his brother toward him, pulling him into a brief kiss before he set to work cleaning up Dwalin’s mess, groaning at the bitter taste.

Bilbo responded immediately, his trembling arms reaching up to grasp at Thorin's shoulders, slowly snaking around his neck and hugging him as close as he could afford. He screwed his eyes shut, surrendering himself to the incredible rush of pleasure that flooded his system and had him moaning his release, Thorin's name on his lips, his seed spilling against his chest and abdomen.

Thorin followed his lover into post-coital bliss, his cum shooting deep as he shifted inside Bilbo’s core thrice more. He stilled his body, forehead resting against Bilbo’s, and he gasped for air as exhaustion washed over him. The dwarf wanted nothing more than to pull his hobbit close and fall asleep, but their unwanted guests were still present. Lifting his head, he gave them all an annoyed glare.

“You’ve long overstayed your welcome,” he grit out, removing himself from Bilbo’s twitching hole with a hiss.

He set about stripping the remaining clothes from his hobbit’s body, wishing for complete skin on skin contact when they slept this night, haphazardly wiping them both off with the coarse material of their tunics. As Thorin lifted a drowsy hobbit and carried him to the head of the bed, he looked back to find everyone still there, not appearing to have any inclination to move from where they sat.

“Leave,” he ordered, his annoyance flaring as he tucked himself in with Bilbo curled into his side.

Kíli grinned as he and his two companions readjusted their clothes, trousers laced and belts tight. Of course, now that they were all ready to tip over and all their stupors about to drag them to sleep did the king order them from his chambers.

Dwalin looked rather deflated by the sudden change in his oldest friend, but had no desire to test the drunken king's temper in this matter.

"Come, Mister Dwalin," Kíli sighed as he clapped the warriors back companionably, now feeling much more at ease with the dwarf than ever before in their platonic relationship. "Ye’ can sleep with Fíli and I this night, we won't mind."

He opened the door as Fíli stumbled through, followed by Dwalin to whom he whispered, "Nor would we mind another romp in the future." The archer gave one last look at the couple on the bed, so thoroughly sated and clinging to each other as sleep took them, and smiled fondly at the sight.

With that they secured the door behind them, and made their way back to their own room for the night.

Thorin couldn’t remember the last time he spent a full day lounging in bed. It was something he often thought of as an inconvenience and a waste of time. This morning when he woke up to his lover snuggled into his side, he changed his mind. They spent most of the morning lying together, quietly, sharing lazy kisses as the shifted beneath the sheets. It didn’t escalate anywhere beyond that, and that in and of itself felt amazing for the dwarf.

They were simply enjoying each other’s presence, taking breakfast and lunch in bed together. The halfling seemed less embarrassed to be seen lying naked with the dwarf, though he blushed brilliantly each time the barmaid came in with their food or to collect their dishes. The king only smirked at his hobbit’s bashfulness, taking a moment to remind Bilbo that the menfolk had known of their intimate relationship since the first moment they had walked into the tavern. The braid in Bilbo’s hair told them so much.

After lunch, they peeled themselves from the bed long enough to bathe themselves at the washbasin, neither particularly keen on making their way to the baths. They were back in the bed in no time, the hobbit draped over Thorin’s chest and snoring lightly, each little breath puffing across the dwarf’s chest. It was this way that the king was lulled into a deep doze.

Thorin was woken up suddenly to the sound of cutlery and mugs of ale thumping against the table. He opened his eyes to blink blearily across the very dim room. It seemed they had napped for a great many hours. They hadn’t even moved from the position they fell into earlier.

Finally, his eyes focused and he almost groaned aloud at the sight of his nephews. “What do you two want?” Thorin muttered, rolling over so that he slung an arm around his lover’s waist, hold Bilbo down as he began to rouse from his sleep.

“We were curious, and also we brought you and your hobbit dinner,” Fíli responded, the blond beaming at the dwarf. “Since when do you sleep in all day, Uncle?”

Thorin ignored the question, choosing instead to nudge Bilbo’s cheek, waking him up further. “The boys brought dinner, my treasure, “ he murmured, moving so he captured Bilbo in a sleepy slide of lips.

Bilbo grumbled, the annoyed sound dying on his lips as Thorin pressed an endearingly gentle kiss to them. It wasn't demanding, wasn't fiery and desperate like they always seemed to be (especially the past couple of nights in Laketown), but comfortable and absolutely at ease.

However, as the curtain of sleep was pulled back and his sense of smell was roused by the fatty smell of braised pork and roasted potatoes, so were his other senses. As he had spent the day lazily with Thorin, content to lie in and forget the world outside their door, Bilbo had been spared any real discomfort from their recreational activities the night before. Now he was acutely aware of an insistent and stinging pain in his backside, as well as an achy jaw.

While the drink had dulled any discomfort at the time, the hobbit now felt every mark left on him. He especially noticed with a bit of self-hate the deep half-circle puncture wounds framing his right forefinger's first knuckle. He could vaguely remember inflicting the damage, though if he were to be honest he was having trouble remembering what had prompted his actions at the time. He was sore and achy and wanted to eat in peace so he could return to sleep.

The archer was sympathetic to the burglar that was still curled against their uncle’s flank. He noted each little bite, each deep purple bruise that interrupted the smooth white canvas of his flesh. He had his own bruises, though they were far fewer in number or severity in comparison to Bilbo's.

"Here ye' are, Mister Boggins," the brunette said brightly, hoping it would at least pull a smile from the halfling. He was happy to see Bilbo at least try to smile for him as he accepted his meal with a muttered "Thank you" and digging in.

Thorin ate his dinner quickly, not one to savor meals so thoroughly as his lover. He had finished his meal before Bilbo was even halfway finished with his own, and placed the empty plate on the bedside table. He looked over his lover, a pleased smirk coming over his expression as he appraised the claiming marks on Bilbo’s shoulders and neck. There would be no doubt of who Bilbo belonged to now. The thought of putting even more of those marks on his lover’s milky skin had Thorin’s co*ck filling with interest.

He leaned down and began mouthing at his lover’s throat, lathing the purple bruises there with the flat of his tongue. The king kept it as chaste as he could with his growing interest, as well as their current audience. Of course, the young dwarves were welcome in their bed, but Bilbo did have his limits that Thorin was careful to heed.

The halfling allowed the gentle touches, catching the youths’ eyes who also occupied the room. He saw the keen interest there and the way they suddenly felt rather predatorial to him. While he loved a romp like anyone else, he had already over-taxed himself with the previous night full of drinking and ruckus sex.

When Thorin's touches became more heated, his teeth scraping over clean patches of skin with the intention of marking them as well, Bilbo had to set his nearly finished dinner aside. The way Thorin's hands had also begin to wander under the duvet, their closeness second-nature to them now, and the way the burglar could feel those teeth pinch down on his skin drew little hisses and uncomfortable whimpers from him. With a palm pressed gently to Thorin's firm chest Bilbo pulled away, his expression and smile apologetic.

"I think I may have over worked myself recently," Bilbo said quietly as he took in the dwarf's expression. At the suggestion of denial, Thorin's face was oddly blank, void of emotion for a few moments before the halfling leaned in close for a chaste kiss. His lips trailed across Thorin's cheek until they were pressed to his ear. "I'm sorry darling," he murmured softly for Thorin's ears only.

The hobbit’s denial struck something in the king, and for a moment he had to struggle to force…whatever it was back down. Frustration bubbled inside him, and not just because of the throbbing in his loins that would seem to be going without his lover’s touch. There was the urge to pin Bilbo to the bed and kiss and suckle him until he begged for it.

The brush of Bilbo’s lips on his, and the puffs of the hobbit’s whispers against his ear had him sighing with resignation. Giving a short nod, he pulled away from his lover and sat back against the headboard, removing himself completely from Bilbo’s enticingly warm body. Thorin put a whole foot between them on the bed, shutting his eyes and trying to ignore the hobbit’s heat as he willed away his arousal and frustration.

He wasn’t meeting much success, but he had to show the tiny creature that he could have restraint. Though it was against his nature and his culture, it was important to make the effort to meet halfway between their differing views on courting and bedsport. At least that’s what he was telling himself as he counted backward from one hundred for a seventh time.

Bilbo had shivered when Thorin's warmth pulled away from him. With eyes wide and lips parted and jaw working uselessly. Well that hadn't been the result he had expected. He felt rather isolated with the dwarf keeping such a resolute distance between them, with eyes shut tight as if to keep out the world. Bilbo was about to reach for the king, but the long drawn breaths the king was heaving had him thinking twice.

The hobbit pulled his knees to his chest under the heavy duvet, his fingers gripping the thick quilt and tugging it up to cover him up to the shoulders. Something about the dwarf being so deliberate in his movements, how he had placed so much between them had Bilbo feeling incredibly exposed.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered again, his downturned gaze caught as his words seemed to go unnoticed.

Kíli caught Bilbo's eye, giving him a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder as he slid onto the bed and forced himself between Bilbo and Thorin. He could feel the tension in the air, and being the ever cheeky dwarf that he was, he felt the need to put the pair at ease.

"Ahh, yer fine little one," the archer soothed, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on the hobbit's cheek, his voice low and the words meant for the hobbit's ears only.

"I think uncle's just a bit frustrated with himself at the moment,” the archer turned to grin over his shoulder. Thorin was painfully aroused, that much was obvious as his persistent erection kept bouncing under the duvet. "And he's just being a stubborn old fool."

Bilbo still did his best to keep his eyes fixed on the pattern that decorated the heavy quilt. Anything to distract him from the lover he felt he had disappointed. Then a thought hit him, a thought that had a Tookish grin spreading across his face. Bilbo sneaked a hand out from under the comforter, pulling Kíli in for a moment to whisper in his ear. Slowly, that impish grin spread across the brunette's face as well. He gave Fíli one of their 'silently communicating' sorts of stares before he settled his attention on the king.

"You're little burglar's awful thoughtful, Uncle," the archer mused as he crawled onto Thorin's lap, straddling the dwarf's broad thighs that were still hidden beneath the quilt. "He asked if we'd take care'a you instead."

Thorin opened his eyes, meeting Kíli’s for a heated second as the pressure of the youth against him sent need careening through him. The bed dipped as Fíli joined them, leaning his body flush against Thorin’s side. The warmth of their bodies pulled a ragged gasp from the older dwarf, and he turned a vaguely bewildered look on his lover. “Are you certain?” he asked, voice thick with want, but he had no desire to lay with the boys if his hobbit was merely suggesting it out of misplaced guilt.

“You have no reason to be sorry, my treasure,” he insisted, co*ck throbbing as Fíli began mouthing at his throat and snuck his hand beneath the duvet to tease Thorin’s co*ck with fleeting touches. Though the blond was willing to wait the few moments while the two lovers sorted things out, he couldn’t keep his hands completely off of the older dwarf. It had been far too long since they last shared a bed.

Bilbo nodded his consent, that small smile still tugging at his lips as he hugged the blankets tighter around him. He was a tiny ball of warmth on the opposite side of the bed, perfectly content with the sight before him. At Thorin's words he merely chuckled, the hobbit casting his hazel gaze to the ceiling for a moment.

"Of course I'm certain, I told him too." Though it was obvious that the princes had begun their invasion of Thorin's space per the burglar's request it still brought a light blush to his cheeks to admit it.

"And besides," Bilbo murmured silkily, his eyes wandering over the three forms that seemed to be sliding against each other, each moving subconsciously with lazy rocks of their hips. "I've never had a private show before."

Thorin had only a moment to register his hobbit’s words before his mouth was claimed by the brunette on his lap. He returned the desperate kiss, licking into Kíli’s mouth forcefully, his hands wrapping around the youth’s waist and pulling their groins flush together. Setting a hard and steady grind, Thorin dominated the slide of lips, teeth biting into soft lips and tongue f*cking into the warm, wet depths of his nephew.

Next to this gorgeous display, Fíli sat watching dazedly, nibbling his own lip as need washed through him. The two dwarves in front of him made a gorgeous sight together, lips locked and writhing against each other. Knowing Thorin was naked beneath the thick quilt with Kíli fully clothed and whimpering against him had the blond panting and rutting against his uncle’s side.

Kíli growled playfully as Thorin latched on, the sounds flowing like water in a bubbling stream. The archer nipped at Thorin's lower lip, teasing it before he sucked it into his mouth. It was all to tease, all to get his uncle riled. Kíli also kept their audience in mind.

While Bilbo seemed entirely content to sit back and watch at his leisure, Fíli seemed to take notice immediately to the display. Kíli could see the blond in the periphery of his vision and took notice that he was rutting desperately against Thorin's side. It spurred the archer on further, breaking the kiss long enough to grab Fíli by the collar of his tunic and pull him forward, slotting their lips together for the king’s viewing pleasure as he ground his filling co*ck against Thorin's, which was hard as stone.

Fíli sighed into his brother’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he shifted his hips so he moved against Kíli’s thigh. His hands found the archer’s hair, a thick groan slipping from his throat as the younger dwarf’s clever tongue applying sinful pressure against his. The flickering movements of Kíli’s tongue telling of his talent, and the swordsman ached to have his co*ck pleasured by that slick appendage. The imaginings had him moaning, almost pulling his lover away from Thorin and having his wicked way with him.

The eldest dwarf was wild with desire at the sight, his body rocking up against his youngest nephew as he watched them. They were gorgeous like this, their mouths moving together with practiced movements. Thorin needed his nephew, but with the way Fíli was moving against Kíli and dominating their kiss, the blond obviously wanted the same thing. Inspiration struck the king, and a dark smirk overcame his face.

Leaning forward, his lips brushed against the brunette’s ear as he whispered, “Do you remember what I wished to do all those weeks ago at the giant’s home?”

Kíli froze instantly, tearing himself from the kiss and locking his eyes with Thorin's. The color rose in his cheeks, a fiery shade of red. He could feel his heart racing at the very mention of the shape shifters home. It was in Beorn's halls that Kíli had forgotten himself and sunk into Bilbo's core in his crazed lust, and when Thorin had so thoroughly punished him for his trespass against his hobbit lover.

"H-How could I forget?" the archer stuttered back.

Thorin smirked wolfishly, hunger filling his gut at the naked want in his nephew’s nervous eyes. Leaning closer, he licked his way into Kíli’s slack mouth. He chuckled at the desperate response that pulled from the youth, bringing a hand up to wrap around the back of the brunette’s neck to pull him deeper. When the youth was keening, he pulled away, just enough for their lips to part and chain of spit to connect their panting mouths.

“Would that be something you desire still?” the king asked, remembering the way Kíli had cried out and begged for it as he came.

"Oh, Aulë, yes," the archer breathed just above a whisper, his voice thick and husky with the sudden rush of desire that had been sent through him at the mere suggestion. He was nearly ashamed to admit just how much he had dwelled on the thoughts his uncle had planted in his mind, how his vivid imagination had taken those seeds and mere weeks later they were still in full bloom. He yielded to Thorin's advances, though not nearly as completely or with such abandon as the king’s burglar, his tongue moving against Thorin's as his need made him competitive.

Fíli watched the exchange with mild confusion, though anything that could put that look of absolute need on his brother’s face, this was definitely something to look forward to.

Thorin pulled away again, lowering his mouth to the brunette’s throat to bite softly, lathing the flesh with his tongue and savoring the salt there. He was careful not to leave a mark, only catching the skin hard enough to send a pleasant sting through the youth’s senses. “We will need oil, and for you and your brother to get undressed,” he said firmly, hand squeezing the back of Kíli’s neck briefly before releasing his hold.

The blond was on his younger brother instantly, rucking Kíli’s tunic up with a desperate sound in the back of his throat. He sealed their mouths together, releasing another embarrassingly needy sob as the brunette’s hands began to return the favor. They only parted long enough to lift their tunics up and over their heads, hands moving to the ties on each other’s trousers the instant their mouths met again. Fíli hissed when they had to part once again so that Kíli could lift himself up and remove the rest of his clothes. When the younger dwarf moved to return to his spot on Thorin’s lap however, the blond urged him over onto his, hands gripping Kíli’s perfect arse as the archer settled astride his thighs.

“I will get the oil,” Thorin said with a smirk as the young dwarves fell into another kiss that was all teeth and filthy sounds of want.

When Thorin moved away from the desperate lovers, the oil being on Bilbo's bedside table, he crossed over his hobbit and leaving himself vulnerable to the tempting creature. Bilbo was sure to catch his lovers attention as the dwarf fumbled for the oil, the hobbit's lips chasing after his and teasing him with playful kisses.

The burglar smiled, the gentle curves of his face entirely serene. The hobbit had no idea what was in store for the brunette, but with a clear mind he understood that an inquiry as to what Thorin had proposed all those weeks ago in Beorn's halls would only throw off the mood. "Having fun yet?" he asked softly, that serene smile still in place.

Kíli was lost in Fíli’s kisses, the pair of them rutting desperately and clinging to one another as if they were life-lines anchoring them to earth. "Kâzash," Kíli whimpered out between mouthfuls of the swordsman's tongue. "Promise to be gentle."

“I promise,” Fíli gasped, nodding earnestly as he attacked Kíli’s mouth with an intensity that contradicted his words. His hands were fisted in dark tendrils, holding his lover still as he plundered that sweet mouth. The swordsman hadn’t the faintest idea what Kíli and his uncle had planned, but as long as he had this continued access to his brother’s wicked tongue and soft heat, he would gladly go along with whatever it was.

Meanwhile, their uncle was caught up in the teasing slide of lips of his hobbit, a groan slipping from his throat. He afforded his lover a strained smile as he pulled back, barely keeping his want in check. “As much as can be expected,” he replied as he dipped down for another nearly chaste kiss.

“Without you, it is a duller pleasure,” Thorin confessed quietly, just loud enough for his hobbit to hear. “The power of your touch has ruined me for all others, I fear.”

Bilbo couldn't suppress the beaming smile that spread across his face. It was such high praise, such validation of his position in Thorin's life. It was confirmation of how much indeed his dwarf loved him. He pressed another kiss to Thorin's lips, sealing them together firmly but not forcefully, lingering there as if he didn't want to let go. "I'm sorry I could not take care of you," whispered as he broke the kiss, feeling slightly guilty and frustrated with his bodies limits.

He could hear Kíli moaning into his brothers mouth, and when he ducked his head around Thorin's side he could see them writhing desperately from their spot across the bed. It was a mess of limbs and mussed hair, a fine sheen of sweat covering their skin, and shameless snogging. "If you don't get back over there soon I think they'll end up finishing before you've even begun," Bilbo teased, his hand moving to stifle a giggle as Kíli had overheard and sent a rude gesture his way with his free hand over his shoulder. Bilbo, of course, took no offence, only shoved his lover gently in their direction. "Go on now, don't let me keep you."

Thorin stole yet another kiss, desperately wanting to linger for more, but the heat in his loins needed to be attended. With that final soft connection, the king slid away, moving across the bed to the entangled brothers and pressing himself flush against Kíli’s back. He rutted lightly against the archer’s tailbone, groaning as his desire rose up in him once again. The position, however, made it nearly impossible to see his hobbit, and that was something he would have to rectify before this continued.

“Fíli, on your knees, leaning back against the headboard,” he ordered thickly, his eyes going dark as he thought of what they were about to do, and so close to their eager voyeur, too. It had his throat going dry and his gut clenching, as he imagined Bilbo’s pretty face and the blush that would light it when he realized what he and Fíli would be doing to the archer.

Reluctantly, the swordsman pulled away, sliding out from beneath his brother with no small amount of hesitation. Only the reassurance that Kíli would return to his arms soon enough had him obeying the growled words.

“Kíli, go to him and spread your legs,” Thorin murmured in the brunette’s ear as he stroked his fingertips up the youth’s muscled inner thighs. The touch was fleeting, teasing, and just enough to have Kíli keening. “We must prepare you thoroughly.”

Kíli groaned at the thought of what was in store for him. If not the sex that the hazy gazes promised, the preparation promised to be a new and somewhat changing experience. He had never conceived this situation before and for a brief moment the archer considered as he crossed the bed and returned to Fíli’s lap how secretly devious his uncle was. Not that he was complaining, of course.

Soon enough he was thoroughly preoccupied by Fíli’s lips once more, his tongue pushing past his brother's teeth and tangling with the swordsman's erotically. The sounds that slipped between their firmly pressed lips were entirely indecent, and they only escalated as Thorin slid up behind the brunette oil in hand. "You must remember to keep your promise, kâzash," Kíli reminded as he heard Thorin work the cork from the flagon with a dull pop.

Bilbo watched, fascinated, as Thorin doused his fingers before they disappeared into the cleft of the archers ass. It was obvious that Kíli was not only accustomed to such touches but that he craved them as he had already begun to push back greedily for increased stimulation.

The burglar however was entirely enraptured by his lover’s glorious body. The king was a specimen like no other, perfect in every way in Bilbo's mind. He watched each and every individual muscle, as if to skim over this masterpiece would be some sort of offence, watching the way the defined structure of his body moved and twitched. It was not long before Thorin had worked in two fingers, then three, and then four.

Kíli took his fingers beautifully, his hole relaxing perfectly to allow for Thorin’s thick digits. He moved deliberately, avoiding the youth’s prostate as he stretched the ring of muscle. It wouldn’t do to have him coming before the main event. When it came time for more, he passed the flask to Fíli, meeting the swordsman’s dazed eyes over Kíli’s shoulder. “Add yours,” he growled, mouthing at the curve of Kíli’s throat.

The blond froze in shock as he took the flask of oil. Surely his uncle wasn’t serious? But when he pulled back to meet his lover’s eyes, saw the naked hunger in those chocolate depths, suddenly his pleas for tenderness made complete sense. “Oh, Mahal, I need a moment,” Fíli sobbed out as his release surged dangerously close, just the thought of sharing his brother’s tight core with Thorin enough to bring him to completion.

When Thorin made an impatient noise, Fíli shakily uncorked the flask to slick his fingers and hand before lowering the digits to Kíli’s hole. Seeking his brother’s eyes, he silently soothed the twitching youth as he slid two fingers into the tight entrance alongside Thorin’s. Kíli’s body was a vice around the combined girth of their slippery digits, squeezing and clenching around them, and for a few frantic moments, the blond feared this act would damage his lover.

“I will be gentle,” he promised, voice edged with something raw and ragged as he moved his hand with Thorin, nudging lightly against Kíli’s sweet spot to ease any pain their prepping fingers may have caused. “Gods, I might lose my mind, but I will be gentle, I promise.”

The stretch was indeed terribly uncomfortable for the brunette. At first it was something comfortable but as Thorin added additional fingers and deliberately avoided his prostate, a dull pain had begun to eat away at the edges of pleasure. Tears stung his eyes and he would hiss at each movement, but Mahal if it didn't leave him desperate to be filled. Thorin seemed so thoroughly impatient, so ready to plunge in with Fíli pressed flush, that it mellowed any pain he was experiencing. When the swordsman brushed the little bundle of nerves, deep in his core, he was relieved at the weak pulses of pleasure it sent through him.

"You and me both," he ground out, hissing between gnashing teeth as he felt Fíli insert another finger. "Oh gods...I'm so full," he breathed out, sounding almost as if he couldn't believe it himself.

“You will be fuller yet,” Thorin whispered into the brunette’s ear, spreading his fingers slightly before going back to thrusting. When Kíli finally relaxed with a sigh against his brother, Thorin deemed him ready. Right now he just needed to bury himself deep into a warm body, with or without Fíli joining him. Removing his fingers, he reached for the oil once again and slicked his co*ck before passing the flask to his heir.

Fíli took the flask and followed suit, kissing Kíli’s slack lips as the brunette whined at the loss of their fingers. Shushing him lightly, he wrapped his arms around the archer’s neck to pull him into a kiss, his oil-slick hand tangling in chocolate tresses. Soon though, Thorin was urging them to part, his movements growing more and more impatient as the encounter went on.

Thorin gripped Kíli’s thighs and lifted the youth, taking most of the young dwarf’s weight against his chest. He encouraged his nephew to wrap his legs around Fíli’s waist as the blond lifted up onto his knees. Fíli reached around to grip the archer’s arse, holding Kíli above his co*ck in a way that the head nudge against the brunette’s slick hole.

The king pressed flush against Kíli’s back, a hand sliding between he and Fíli to grip their pricks together, his other hand still gripping the brunette’s thigh. After a silent moment, Thorin met his heir’s eyes over the Kíli’s shoulder. “Lower him,” he said thickly, eyes rolling back as Fíli did as he was told.

Bilbo watched, silent with hazel eyes impossibly wide as it finally dawned on him the act they were about to do. He could feel the moment he began blushing a thick wave of pure heat rushing from the center of his body and then in all directions through his veins. Every part of the hobbit’s body, every inch of his pale milky flesh, would be tinted rose. He almost had to avert his gaze as he watched Thorin and Fíli, squeezed together at their most intimate of places, disappear slowly into the archer.

Kíli’s head fell heavily on Thorin's shoulder at first, somewhat satisfied with the sensation, but as they slipped into him further every muscle in his body protested the invasion. It stung like hell, and Kíli pressed his forehead to Fíli’s, desperately seeking out the comfort of his lover. Slowly, as they settled, both half-submerged in Kíli’s depths and spreading him impossibly wide, the brunette felt one of them nudge his sweet spot. He was keening raggedly in a moment, every last sensation he had experienced up till now melting away to be replaced with this raw and unbridled pleasure.

Fíli made a sound in the back of his throat as they settled as deep as they could in this position, as if he was choking on his own tongue, the tightness indescribable. The urge to rock forward was great, fighting it making him shake as he dug his fingertips into Kíli’s arsecheeks hard enough so that his blunt nails broke the skin. While he reeled from the ring that hugged him against the hard line of his uncle’s co*ck, he slipped one hand into the cleft, fingers pressing against the rim of the brunette’s hole, feeling the stretch of it around their lengths. It was absolutely filthy, an obscene sound torn from Fíli’s throat as Kíli clenched around them. “Oh, Aulë, this is…kâzash, this is—” he tried to say, but the words died on his lips as he pressed forward for a hard kiss.

Behind the youth, Thorin was very still, eyes half-lidded and teeth bared as he gnashed them. The pressure around his prick was an inferno and he wanted to take it. This tightness was for him, this willing body given to him, and he wanted to take it. His hands slid down the underside of the archer’s thighs, cupping the surprisingly slender appendages in the wide expanse of his palms. He loosened his jaw and fitted his mouth on the ridge of his nephew’s shoulder, eyes on fire as he pressed his teeth into the skin threateningly, relishing the sobbing cry that spilled from Kíli’s mouth. Thorin let out a growl and lifted his nephew slightly before letting him drop back down, and the cry that incited was enough to set the king’s blood on fire.

Kíli was lost to the sensations that tore through him. He felt almost as though he were underwater, suspended and weightless and everything sounded so distant. Even the sobs of ecstasy that were torn from his throat sounded warped to his own ears. He didn't know when it began, as time itself had seemed to come to a halt, but someone began to move inside of him. The pressure was incredible and had waves of heat pulsating through his body. He was shaking with the effort to stay somewhat conscious as he felt he might tumble into darkness and never return from the blinding sensations that were being forced through him. The archer focused on his lover, on the blonde that supported him from the front, and he willed strength into his arms to reach out and curls his hands into the swordsman’s golden mane. It was steadying, the feeling of those thick locks so tightly clenched in his hands, and Kíli kept his forehead pressed to Fíli’s for comfort and solidarity.

"It's so...much..." Kíli whimpered out, jaw slack and eyes heavy. As it was he had very little control. Each burst of pleasure that shot through him had him choking on his cries, and without Fíli there to anchor him he was sure that he could not have survived this act without losing his very mind to lust.

Bilbo was nearly as lost as Kíli. The hobbit had never even conceived an act as personal or incredibly trying, it was something that he didn't even think was physically possible. Yet here these sons of Durin were, proving him wrong. Against his will, his co*ck had filled out beneath the duvet, pressed close to his stomach by his legs that were still drawn tightly to his chest, and it gave an insistent throb. The burglar resisted the urge to please himself at the moment however. There was something about the sight before him that had him frozen in place, with wide disbelieving hazel eyes, and he could not find it in him to appease his body’s desires.

Bilbo tore his eyes away from the archer with his need, focusing them on his beloved. The dwarf was wild-eyed and desperate. Though they were still going slowly the ferocity in which Thorin thrust up into Kíli had Bilbo focused entirely on him. "Thorin...” he breathed out, his voice soft and getting lost in all of the lewd noises the three were making.

Something snapped inside Thorin and his world narrowed to the vice around his co*ck. His thrusts became quicker, the keening whines from the body he was claiming only spurring him on further. Pushing forward, the angle changed so that Thorin was bearing down into Kíli’s entrance, his girth slipping deeper into the youth and rubbing deliciously against the underside of Fíli’s member, their balls slapping together on each inward thrust. Everything else fell away, all sound and sight and smell. All that remained was the sensation of claiming, and taking, and he bit into the first expanse of skin his mouth touched, a deep snarl ripping from his throat.

Fíli gasped from his position, no longer given any amount of real leverage. With his uncle’s insistent shove, he was bent back in an arch, his hands having to fall away from Kíli’s arse to support himself. The back of his head and shoulders rested back against the headboard, his body creating a slope that his brother clung to as Thorin f*cked into him. Each thrust drove Kíli up against the blond, the brunette’s crown thudding dully against the headboard every time their uncle drove into him. The swordsman’s knees ached from the extreme bend they were forced into, but Gods, if the rub against him wasn’t sinful.

His brother’s noises had become high-pitched, desperate pleasure-pained cries of ecstasy and Fíli wish he could touch him again, that he could have the balance to lift his hands to cut the archer’s face. Thorin had taken this coupling over, which Fíli couldn’t quite find it in him to complain about just yet. As long as Kíli was still feeling good, he would suffer the pain in his knees and his strained muscles at maintaining this position. He would suffer anything to see that slack, needy expression on his brother’s face again.

Kíli couldn't form a coherent thought let alone make an intelligible sound as Thorin relentlessly plowed into him. The archer’s vision was blurry and his head buzzed with the chemicals that were pumping through his system to offset any of the pain. His ears rung, high pitched and constantly droning, and would occasionally be broken up with his own ragged cries. The pleasure was so thoroughly blended with the pain that it was a wicked in its goodness, something that he could not help but submit to completely and let the king have his way.

Bilbo flinched at the sudden change, when Thorin forced them under his mighty frame and f*cked into Kíli’s channel relentlessly. The sounds he was making were purely savage and animalistic, and the claiming marks he was leaving on the brunette shoulder had the most peculiar sensation twisting in his gut.

"Th-Thorin.", he stuttered out again, louder than before, brow beginning to knit in his concern as he suddenly felt quite isolated with the king so thoroughly lost in his pleasure. The hobbit got the fleeting impression that he was a ghost, that his lover had completely forgotten that he was even there.

The king was growing frustrated as he felt his release burning in his gut, but despite the pleasure of taking the body beneath him, wrapped so tightly in his nephew’s core alongside his heir, it came no closer to finishing. Another snarl and he upped his intensity, hands moving to hold the headboard for leverage, throwing his head back to stare blindly up at the ceiling. When his release continued to elude him, he let out a frustrated sound, teeth grinding together audibly.

Bilbo felt that peculiar sensation twisting his gut once more, and his heart skipped a beat as once again the king hadn't seemed to notice him. He swallowed hard, hoping to tamp down the emotions that were beginning to take shape and find a name for themselves, and called again, "Thorin." He had said it loudly and clearly enough that he had gotten Fíli and even Kíli’s brief attention, the speechless brothers so thoroughly debauched, looking to him through unfocused eyes. Bilbo felt something akin to panic spur forward and he was slipping from under the quilt and was at Thorin's side a moment later.

He reached out, gentle finger tips brushing a few errant strands of raven hair from the dwarf's face before they trailed down and cupped his cheek. The touch had wrenched a feral snarl from Thorin, his dark and fiery gaze finding Bilbo's in a look that the hobbit thought looked predatory. Bilbo flinched, slightly frightened by the reaction, but he forced himself to relax as Thorin's gaze seemed to clear and see him.

“My treasure,” he gasped, removing one of his hands from the headboard to slide around the back of Bilbo’s neck. The feeling of his lover’s soft skin beneath his palm had his gut wrenching, his release finally coming forward, no longer just bubbling beneath the surface. Pulling the hobbit closer, he sealed their mouths together, his tongue sliding into the moist cavern with a thick moan. His movements grew longer, less demanding, but the pleasure was just as amazing. Stars burst behind Thorin’s eyes as they fell shut, his hand sliding down the length of his hobbit’s body to cup the man’s heavy erection. “I will give you my mouth as soon as I’m able,” he promised through a groan, shivering as his completion hovered just a few minutes away.

Fíli was in no better state, his thighs shaking with the strain of his position and the effort it took to stave off his release. He was moments away from losing all control, what with the tender pace their uncle’s hips had taken up, and he wanted desperately to fall into oblivion with his brother. The hard line of Kíli’s co*ck was trapped between their stomachs, precome smearing in the blond fur that covered Fíli’s torso. The warm slickness on his sensitized flesh pulled an obscene sound from him.

Kíli was stunned as his org*sm rose suddenly, a garbled slur of pleas falling from his lips uncontrollably as Thorin changed his pace, and it was oh so perfect. He prostate was teased relentlessly with this new pace, and without the demanding rhythm he had the state of mind to fully enjoy it. He barely managed to warn them, the sounds escaping him still so incoherent, and he was spilling himself against Fíli’s stomach with a near scream from his bliss. The org*sm that rocked through him was intense and continued in waves with each continued thrust. Even with his seed spent he felt the intense pulses of the org*sm, making his limbs shake and every part of him dreadfully over sensitized.

"Oh, Aulë, I can't--!" he forced out with a sob, the pleasure blinding in its intensity as the other two found their completion as well. "Oh please, please fill me, I can't go on--!"

Bilbo had accepted the kiss, smiling when Thorin had made his promise with a light shake of his head. "Don't worry about that now," he muttered, hissing slightly at the sensation of Thorin tugging at him. It felt amazing to say the least, but every other muscle in his body still protested the over stimulation. Bilbo also was rather unsettled by what he had seen, by the way Thorin seemed to be so consumed that he had forgotten anything else existed; including Bilbo.

He forced the thoughts from his mind for the moment, convincing himself that he had just been imagining things before he returned to his lover’s lips with a sigh, sliding his tongue past parted lips to tease and taste the raven haired dwarf.

Fíli followed his brother swiftly over the edge, his body locking almost painfully as he groaned his release, pumping his cum deep into the convulsing channel. It slicked the way further for Thorin’s thrusts, the movements relentless even as the blond overcame the aftershocks and the stimulation became painful. As the blond whimpered and squirmed beneath his dead-weight brother, his body aching from the taxing position, he could feel his cum leaking down his co*ck and slowly trickled onto his thighs, more of the opaque liquid being pulled out with each outward slide of Thorin’s co*ck. It was filthy, and Fíli wouldn’t have it any other way, especially with the sticky stuff splattered across his abdomen and chest. With some effort, he tipped his head and caught Kíli’s mouth in a soft kiss as he continued to make keening sounds, both of them trapped beneath Thorin and waiting for his release.

They didn’t have to wait too long, what with Kíli’s body tightening around them and Fíli’s cum splashing hotly around them in the convulsing channel. Thorin f*cked deep into the brunette’s core, flinching at the pleasure-pained cries of his overstimulated nephew’s. Three more thrusts, though and he was shouting his release into Bilbo’s mouth, his lover’s name falling from his lips in a sigh as his length throbbed and splashed molten heat against Kíli’s insides once again. Though he was normally wont to pause, wrapped in clenching heat as he softened, Thorin pulled away the moment he finished pulsing.

Without much more thought than his need to have his lover coming down his throat, he turned fully toward Bilbo and fairly tackled him to the bed, mouth latching onto an unmarked patch of Bilbo’s throat with an earnest pressure. “Is it time to worry about pleasing you, my treasure?” he teased, voice rough.

Bilbo gasped as he was pinned to the bed, looking over to catch a glimpse at the princes who had passed out coiled together. It was safe to say that Kíli was entirely unconscious, and it looked as if Fíli would be following any moment as his groans began to die down and chest heaved with even breaths.

The sensation of Thorin's teeth tugging at a patch of unmarked skin, marking it lightly, had him whimpering for more while his muscles continued their protesting. Nearly everything ached, and his head thrummed with discomfort when Thorin's mouth had him forgetting how to breathe. Thorin however was intoxicating in every way as the scent of sex clung to his skin and his eyes now burned for his hobbit. When Bilbo began to give in however, barely rolling his hips upward into the heat of his lover, his muscles screamed with their stiffness and left the hobbit groaning in frustration.

"I do not know if I can darling," he admitted sheepishly, eyes screwed shut and head tipping back to bare his throat further to be marked and claimed by his dwarf.

“You would prefer to be left unsatisfied, my love?” the king asked seriously, finally catching his breath from his intense org*sm, and he pulled back to meet his lover’s eyes. He did not wish to ever leave his lover unattended-to, to leave him hard and wanting, not since the first time they had lain together. The idea that his lover would prefer to will away his erection rather than let Thorin take care of him rankled something else in the king, but he shoved that back easily enough.

Lowering his head once again, he pressed his lips softly against Bilbo’s, tongue barely flickering out to tease the hobbit. “You need only to relax and allow me to take care of you, treasure,” he murmured lightly, the tone more matter-of-fact than coercive. As much as he wanted to help his lover, he also knew the man had been quite a bit more active in the bed than he was accustomed to yet.

Bilbo accepted the kiss, tongue chasing after Thorin's to catch that incredible earthy taste that he was fairly certain he was addicted to. Thorin had the most amazing ability, in Bilbo's mind, to put him at ease and comfort him in ways that no one else could.

In the past, though it was incredibly unlikely that this conversation ever would have taken place with one of his many flings, he would put his foot down and insist that he knew himself well enough to know when enough was enough. He feared himself when he was so overly sensitive, when his body told him simultaneously yes and no. But with Thorin in control and sounding so very steady he found himself agreeing with little hesitation. He trusted his dwarf implicitly, and if Thorin insisted he could take care of him than Bilbo would have faith that he would do just that.

"Alright," he replied gently after a moment before Thorin was laying him back. The dwarf was being incredibly gentle, almost as if Bilbo were made of glass or a precious gemstone in his grasp, and when his back met the soft mattress once more and the dwarf was kissing a slow line down his sternum and then soft abdomen Bilbo forced his tense body to relax.

Thorin released a pleased hum as he made his way down his lover’s body. Though he would have loved to spend some time tasting his lover’s skin and the lingering traces of salt from the night before, he knew neither of them had it in them to handle such teasing. With Bilbo being so sore and sensitive, it would have been more of a torture than anything else, and exhaustion was licking at the edges of Thorin’s vision. He decided in that moment to treat Bilbo properly a couple nights when he had recovered.

Finally reaching the hobbit’s twitching arousal, the king took the head into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the head. As he slipped his tongue beneath the foreskin to lap at the sensitive glans, he suckled lightly. He moved his hands to hold Bilbo’s hips down against the bed, not allowing him to strain himself. Thorin didn’t tease, not much at the very least, not wishing to drag this out too much. Sliding down the length, he took Bilbo so deeply into his mouth that his nose buried firmly into the hobbit’s soft pubic hair, throat swallowing around the head convulsively. He pulled back before too long, keeping his attention focused on the head, tongue slicking the tip and pressing into the slit.

Bilbo instantly fell victim to his lover’s devilish tongue and glorious mouth, the sweet torture making him tremble beneath Thorin's sure movements. It did not take long for Bilbo's own pleasure to begin rolling through him, each wave gently rocking him to and fro and making him beg for more. Words, soft and sweet and pleading for release, fell in quite bursts from his lips. "Yes there--oh, darling--please don't stop."

They mingled and swirled with the obscene sounds of Thorin's mouth full and working his twitching co*ck. He forced himself up, a tremor shuddering through him as his muscles strained and tension pulled them taut, his hazel eyes finding Thorin's and pulling a groan from him. And once again, the fire in those eyes sent the hobbit reeling, and the words that threatened to spill from his mouth had Bilbo's bottom lip quivering. "I...Thorin, I..."

The dwarf groaned around the length in his mouth, eyes locking with Bilbo’s as the hobbit began to lose his composure. Reaching up, he pressed a hand down onto the center of his lover’s chest, encouraging him to lie back, to relax against the quilt again. As the hobbit followed the motion, the king moaned again and took Bilbo deeply again, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked in earnest, tongue lapping at the vein.

On each upstroke, he would linger on the head, pulling all sorts of delicious sounds from his lover. If he hadn’t come such a short time ago, he would have been hard as a rock by now. His hand was still on Bilbo’s chest as he pleasured the man, and soon the fingertips were rubbing along the hairless expanse soothingly. His large palm coming to rest on Bilbo’s left breast as he turned his full concentration to the task at hand, desperately needing the hobbit’s cum on his tongue.

Bilbo resigned himself to his pleasure when Thorin forced him back down and let go of his restraint. He thought of nothing but his lover paying such splendid attention to him. His release was closing in on him, not fervent and out of control like it had been so many other times, but with the control that Thorin had and how he paced the encounter. He yielded when Thorin increased the suction, only feeling without sight or sound to distract him, a broken moan escaping him as his org*sm crested and the kings name was torn from his lips. The burglar’s muscles locked up, his back arching as the org*sm tore through him and he could feel it in every nerve ending.

With a groan, Thorin was swallowing his lover’s load, eyes shutting as the bitterness swept through his mouth. When he’d taken in enough to keep from choking, he pulled off of Bilbo’s softening member and sat back on his heels, mouth open and panting as a few drops of cum trickled down his beard. He stared down at his hobbit, tongue flickering out to wet his lips again and collect any spunk that lingered there. His breath caught at his lover’s beauty, they pretty flush that splashed down his neck and across his chest, pink mouth open and panting as he came down from his org*sm, eyes shut loosely.

Leaning over the hobbit, Thorin captured that mouth in a lazy kiss, his tongue pressing into the moist cavern for a few content moments before he retreated again. There was a smile on his lips as he said, “You’re perfect, my love.”

Bilbo accepted the kiss, his taste so thick and powerful on his lovers tongue, and when the kiss was broken he was returning the smile. The words that had threatened to pour from his lips when caught in ecstasy seemed much less terrifying now with his beloved hovering over him and praising him with endearments. He reached up to Thorin, raking his delicate fingers through the raven tresses and catching hold of the promise braid he had woven there all those week ago. It was slowly coming undone, threads of black and silver pulling loose from the binding. He was looking forward to fixing it before they went to bed.

The silence in the room was only interrupted by Fíli and Kíli’s sleepy breathing and snores from across the bed, and Bilbo forgot their company completely as he stared up into the king's eyes. The tenderness in his gaze was echoed by the hobbit, and in that moment Bilbo uttered the words he had never dared say outright.

"I love you," he whispered, his finger trailing over Thorin's promise braid and to his cheek. The touch he placed was so tender, spoke so clearly of his love beyond what his words possibly could. "I love you so much Thorin."

Thorin blinked at his lover, warmth exploding in his chest before he crashed their lips together, arms wrapping around his hobbit’s back and pulling him up off the bed. Once they were flush together, he pulled away from the kiss, only to move his lips to Bilbo’s throat, teeth nibbling at the bruise he had made just a few minutes ago, a sigh leaving him.

“And I, you,” the king whispered desperately, his hold on the hobbit tight as he was overcome with the emotion he had never fully put a name to. “I love you,” he said firmly, pulling back to meet the hobbit’s eyes, but despite his tone, there was a smile lighting his lips and brightening his eyes.

Bilbo released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding when those same, beautiful words passed Thorin's lips. The look on the king's face, though he sounded coarse with his emotions, was as bright and joyful as Bilbo had ever seen on this arduous journey. It was incredible. Nothing else in the world mattered before this moment.

He settled back down onto the bed, the mattress dipping down with a short creak as Thorin settled next to him and pulled him close. He curled against his lover, his head resting against his shoulder and his free arm sprawling across the expanse of Thorin's chest, and all was right with the world. Then, between fleeting kisses and contented sighs, they were lulled into a peaceful sleep by each other’s heartbeats.

There was a ruckus in the tavern, the merrymaking of menfolk and dwarves alike filling the halls of the inn with boisterous laughter and song. The dwarves were only three days and two nights away from disembarking. Though none of the dwarves would admit it, there was a nervous edge to their partying, as they basked in what could be the last time they drank ale in a tavern, or danced and sang until the sun returned on the horizon. The men of Thorin's company were sure to fully enjoy the last few days in Laketown.

And this is what brought Fíli to the tavern. He was weaving through the crowd of men, smirk on his lips and a dark glint in his eyes. He was on a mission, looking for a particular dwarf that could almost always be found at a certain table. When he finally broke through the crowd, his blue eyes found the tattooed head of Dwalin.

Of course the warrior was seated with Balin and Thorin, the three of them drinking merrily enough. As Fíli walked up, Bilbo slid into the empty seat next to Thorin, a large mug of ale in his hands. When he finally reached the table, he pressed flush to Dwalin's back, the hard line of his co*ck pressing into the warrior's lower back.

"My apologies," he addressed the group at the table, a smug grin overcoming his features as he felt the dwarf beneath him stiffen. "I have an urgent matter, and it would seem I require Mister Dwalin's assistance." At that he winked at Bilbo, delighting in the blush that swept his features.

Dwalin was standing before the prince even took a full step back, and together they pushed through the crowd. When they reached the door the brothers' chambers, the blond paused and turned to the warrior, his smirk still in place. "After you, Mister Dwalin," he said softly, stepping aside so the burly dwarf could open the portal.

The burly warrior was greeted with an unexpected, though not unwelcome sight. There, on the oversized bed was a particular dwarven prince. He noted how the youth attempted to look up, straining his neck from where he was, but then the warrior noticed the many thick, red satin ribbons that held the bowman in place. His mouth watered at the sight.

"Wha's all this about, then?" he growled, trying his best to look grumpy and failing miserably. He had not behaved in this way since he was the prince’s age, but since their recent and unexpected coupling they had rekindled his youthful desires.

He walked to the bedside, noting the intricate way the archer was tied down. The ribbon hooked around and was secured at each of the brunette’s knees and then wound up around a bed-post, bring his knees to either side of his chest and spread wide. Another set of ribbons bound his wrists together and had them pulled above his head, steepling at his wrists, and they looped over the decorative centerpiece at the top of the head board. The loop was loose enough that it could easily be worked off so that the archer could be readjusted if need be, but kept taut to ensure the archer was helpless with his arms above his head. Kíli was entirely exposed.

Dwalin couldn't hide his smirk, a fire burning in his eyes as he brazenly scanned over the archer’s flesh.

“Well, you see,” Fíli began, eyes raking over his brother’s body just as hungrily while he slid into a chair at the table. He was afforded a lovely view of the bed from there, Kíli on display for all eyes. The blond licked his lips as he gazed at Kíli’s gorgeous, pink hole.

“Kíli has been pretty mouthy lately, and I fear I don’t possess the power to discipline him properly,” he continued, need churning in his gut as he thought of all the things he could do to the archer with him tied so prettily. But a greater stab of want went through him at the imaginings he had of Dwalin wringing every gasping cry out of his brother. He turned his fiery blue eyes to the warrior, breaths coming out in harsh pants already as his co*ck throbbed against the ties of his trousers. “You think you could help with my dilemma?”

The warrior paused, the room seeming to go entirely still save for the gentle rise and fall of the archer’s chest where he was tied to the bed. The suggestion the heir apparent made were quite arousing and had white hot desire coursing through him and nearly bowling him over with its intensity. He turned his gaze from Fíli, settling it on Kíli with a toothy, wolfish grin. He was positively predatory.

"Oh aye, I think I can," he responded grittily, removing his calloused touch for a few moments to undo the binds and remove his knuckle dusters. His thick co*ck, half hard from the sight alone, gave a mighty throb as a bright flush of scarlet invaded the brunette's cheeks. He was already straining gently against his red bindings, trying to regain some of that intoxicating contact. Dwalin pulled out the torture, thoroughly pleased that the archer was so keen.

Kíli was indeed straining to be touched, a deep ache having already settled into him and making him delirious in his need. It had been so long since he had been trussed up in this way, so long since he had been made to submit, and he was chomping at the bit to please and be pleased.

“Perfect,” Fíli all but purred, lounging back in his chair as he watched their childhood hero remove the metal from his hands, the sight of those large hands bare almost embarrassingly arousing. The blond shifted in his seat as Dwalin circled around the bed, his movements sure and even graceful (by dwarven standards, of course). As he came to the other side of the bed, he paused to remove his boots before climbing onto the bed.

The look in Dwalin’s eyes, the fire, was intense and all-consuming. It was startling, but the swordsman could understand just the sheer need the warrior was feeling. There was something about his brother’s youthful, beardless face that made one want to debauch and ruin him just on its own, but to have the brunette like this…? It was one of Fíli’s favorite ways to take the bowman, but one he rarely indulged in because once again, just as it was with Kíli claiming him; too much of a good thing, and all that.

As he sat there now, watching Dwalin loom over the young dwarf, he began to question his reasoning.

Dwalin was perfect as a dominant partner in the bedroom. While practices among these particular lines were not common, it did make him a much more efficient and satisfying bed partner if you were looking to submit. With the brunette tied up so prettily beneath him he was aching, and teasingly he unlaced his trousers, slowly and holding the archer’s constant attention.

When he finally pulled his member free, the underside pierced heavily, studs lining the main vein, he was hard and ready, a thick bead of precome clinging to the tip. "You want this?" he asked slowly as he let his co*ck lie heavily across the archers face.

Kíli’s response was a helplessly whimpered "yes", and he canted his head, trying to capture the thick rod with his mouth.

Dwalin was quick to pull himself away with one hand, having enough leverage as he was still on his knees, and curling the other into Kíli’s dark locks. "Yes what?" he asked, a brow quirked and eyes burning.

"Yes, sir," Kíli conceded with a shuddering moan, grateful when the hand in his hair moved to his jaw and worked it open. Dwalin forced himself into the moist cavern with a grunt, a smirk tugging his lips.

"Ye' learn fast," the tattooed warrior mused, his eyes finding Fíli’s again. "Or ye've been well trained," he suggested thickly, tugging again at Kíli’s jaw and goading him into increasing the suction.

Fíli’s breath hitched as he watched Dwalin’s thick length sink a few inches into the brunette’s mouth, hearing the click of the heavy metal balls against Kíli’s teeth even from his distance. “He’s a little bit of both,” the blond offered smugly, if a bit breathlessly. “Though, mostly the latter.”

Though the archer was loud and brash, and impulsive to a fault, he was quite submissive in bed if he wanted to be. He enjoyed being controlled and claimed, taken care of and loved. When he was tied up, leered at and had filthy words spat at him however, Kíli was a completely different level of submissive. Fíli ached at the memory of the last time they played like this, how quickly he had reduced the young dwarf to begging for anything to fill him. That night, the cheeky imp had gone so far as to call Fíli “my king”, and it was shameful to admit just how deeply that aroused the blond.

Kíli hadn’t been able to walk properly for days, his wrists and ankles bruised and raw from the leather bindings. Even now, the mere thought of that deep voice crying out, “harder, my king!” as Fíli mounted him with a fierceness he would rarely indulge in had the swordsman unlacing his own trousers to relieve the pressure.

Across the room, Kíli was sucking Dwalin’s co*ck in earnest, his head afforded limited movement with the way he was bound. The sounds he made were absolutely obscene, between the wet sucking and the gargling mewls that spilled from his throat. The way spit dribbled down his chin and cheeks while he worked the warriors co*ck made Fíli want to move to the bed and lap up the mess. Mahal, he just wanted to touch so badly.

But instead, he sat and watched, not bothering to pleasure himself just yet. He had other plans for how he would come this night.

Kíli was indeed a mess, mouth full and overflowing with Dwalin's hearty co*ck. It had him mad with desire as his own neglected erection kept throbbing and twitching against his stomach, begging for relief and smearing his abdomen with his precome.

Dwalin looked to the blonde in the chair once more after he took note of the archer’s desperate arousal. A wicked little idea crept into his mind. "Ye wouldn't happen to have any more of this, would ye?" the warrior questioned as he gave one of the scarlet ribbons a tug.

Fíli smirked as he stood up, plucking a length of ribbon he had set aside on the table. The only reason he hadn’t used it before was Kíli got very loud, and very desperate very quickly when he was tied off. The blond figured it had something to do with yet another thing taken out of his control, and it wasn’t stimulating in the same way as if Fíli’s hand choking off his release.

He made his way to the bed, climbing onto it and crawling over to the warrior. The blond pressed close, body lined flush against the large dwarf’s side as he pressed the ribbon into Dwalin’s hand. “He gets loud, and he has a habit of turning insolent,” Fíli warned in a whisper, just loud enough for Dwalin to hear, before he slid away and situated himself on a far corner of the bed to watch, gaze hungry as his brother writhed against his bindings.

The warrior smirked down at the brunette menacingly. "I think he'll be stayin' good and quiet tonight.", he warned, his eyes full of challenge, his co*ck giving a mighty throb when the archer whimpered beautifully. He did not waste time and set off to securing the ribbon, tight enough to stave off his release but not tight enough to inflict any unnecessary pain, and held Kíli’s gaze. "Won't you, little Kee?" he pushed on, using the nickname he had given the youth as a child to address him.

Kíli whimpered once more, the sound desperately being torn from his throat as he was trussed up. All he wanted was just a little more contact, just a little more friction, but the warrior withheld it with ease. The difference, the bowman was finding, between his brother and the burly warrior was apparently patience and practice. For all of Fíli’s controlled airs and nonchalant teasing during these sorts of couplings, the archer always knew that with a few well-chosen words he would have Fíli begging just as loudly for his release. Dwalin, on the other hand, was entirely in control, even of Fíli in a way it seemed to the archer. He wasn't eager to sink in, wasn't desperate in his movements. He was entirely in control and it showed.

Fíli’s breath hitched at Dwalin’s use of the brunette’s childhood nickname, almost ashamed of how hot it made him to hear it in this context. This man had known them since they were babes, had taught them nearly everything they knew about combat and war, had helped raise them since their father had passed on. Somehow, that knowledge only made the blond ache harder. As his trousers grew suffocating once again, even though they were untied, Fíli reached in and fished his flushed co*ck out, letting it hang out as he once again lounged back against the bed.

Dwalin had quite a bit of patience this time around, though of course tonight he was less startled, and significantly less inebriated. Also, without the soundtrack of Thorin and his pretty hobbit f*cking in the background, it was much easier even for the young sons of Durin to keep control of themselves. But nonetheless, the blond found himself growing restless with the pace, watching as Kíli’s eyes began to water. Surely, by now the brunette’s jaw was aching terribly from having such a girthy mouthful, and despite Fíli’s regular arrogance, it was easy to admit that Kíli had never taken such a large co*ck into his mouth.

Once satisfied with his work, the archers co*ck and balls tied off with an uncharactaristically pretty bow as if he were a present, Dwalin resumed his controlled thrusts into Kili's mouth. The brunette positively gagged for it, and all the while with each little whimper and mewl around his girth Dwalin was giving him whispered praise.

The warrior took note of the tears that were gather at the corners of Kíli’s chocolate eyes, his features pinched uncomfortably, and he pulled out with ease. While it was incredibly stimulating to be once again submerged in the archer’s mouth, it was just as easy to pull out and let his jaw rest with the knowledge that they would all find satisfaction in the end.

Kíli was insufferable with his begging and whimpering moans of protest as he was left without any stimulation now. He instantly missed the heavy feeling of Dwalin's thick co*ck weighing down his tongue, the sensation of the metal studs dragging across his palette and clacking over his teeth. Dwalin however, ever in control, was quick to find a substitute.

"Greedy, aren't we Kee?" he grumbled with a smirk, looking back at first to Fíli, who had freed himself from his trousers and stared unabashedly with mouth agape. The tattooed warrior hummed, a deep rumbling sound in his chest, in contemplation. When Kíli persisted with his whining he growled in warning, "Quiet."

"Oh please, more, I want it in my mouth, I want it in me," Kíli rambled nonsensically, his face flushed and limbs straining as he begged. He was shushed by the warrior once again, but that only made him more vocal, and Dwalin returned his gaze to the brunette slowly.

"Didn't I tell ye ta be quiet, little Kee?" he growled lowly. Kíli stilled instantly, eyes wide and face burning. Before he could answer Dwalin was pushing off the bed crossing the room. Each room had a washbasin and pitcher, not to mention a collection of rags, and the warrior plucked a clean one from the drawer where he knew they were kept.

When he returned to the bed he glowered down at Kíli, looming over the archer, his tone even and warning. "Ye' disobey again, Kee, and I'll be sure yer quiet."

Fíli was shaking, his breaths coming out in gasps as he listened to his brother beg. That would have been enough for him to f*ck that pretty mouth wide open, to give the imp exactly what he wanted because, by the gods, it was too much to handle. Kíli knew that, of course, and most times used it to his advantage on the days the blond was being a particularly terrible tease. However, it seemed those charms would have the opposite effect on the warrior.

Since he was partial to hearing the archer scream and beg, Fíli had never gagged him with anything. It was something he was tempted to do before he went to fetch Dwalin, but decided to forgo because he wasn’t certain of his brother’s reaction. By the naked hunger in Kíli’s eyes, it was something he was desperately interested in, and Fíli found himself praying that the young dwarf disobeyed. Perhaps it was defiance that was the key to cracking the warrior’s control wide open.

“As I told you, he tends to become noisy and disrespectful,” he said breathlessly, meeting his brother’s eyes in silent communication.

Dwalin's grin only grew as he took in Fíli’s hopelessly lusty expression and the way he was lazily palming himself. "Looks like he's not the only one that could use a bit'a trainin', eh Fee?" he asked the blond prince. Kíli groaned in his exasperation now that he had lost the warriors attention, and Dwalin snapped back to Kíli with a burning pair of eyes. Kíli froze again, but that did not deter the warrior.

Dwalin worked Kíli’s jaw open once more before stuffing his mouth full of the thick clean rag. It was not the best gag, but it would work in this situation. "Ye try'n spit it out and you'll regret it," Dwalin warned as he shook the brunette's face, calloused fingers gripping his jaw roughly.

Kíli submitted gladly, a contented sigh escaping him before his breath hitched and a desperate groan slipped around his gag. He was already on his way to soaking the rag with his uncontrollable spittle, bits of it dribbling already around the gag from the corners of his full mouth.

Fíli flushed heavily at Dwalin’s words, shaking his head with no small amount of nerves. The thought of being under someone’s complete control as Kili was now was arousing, of course, but terrifying. To be held down and disciplined, trained like an animal…

With that thought, he moaned at the sight of his brother, gag in his mouth, body bound and vulnerable, face slick with spit and flush engulfing his neck and torso. His need was becoming too much to ignore, his teasing touches on his own co*ck not nearly enough to hold him off. If anything, they just made it harder to keep control. Closing his hand around his aching member, he began to stroke it in earnest, shutting his eyes in the hope that without the vision in front of him, he might be able to last.

Unfortunately, without his sight, it became even more erotic, the sounds of Kíli gasping and almost choking on the soaked gag in his mouth, Dwalin’s rumbling voice. It was all so overwhelming, the blonde’s org*sm surged forward, forcing a desperate whine from his throat. Mahal, he was about to come and they hadn’t even begun f*cking. Part of him was humiliated, a furious flush overcoming his features as yet another high-pitched keen escaped him.

Dwalin didn't allow himself to linger when the blond heir didn't give him an answer. The youth had begun tugging at himself in earnest and seemed to be just as lost as the brunette that was bared to the world, so the warrior would let him have his peace for the time being.

He gave his shaft a few pumps, humming contently before he straddled the archer’s chest. From his vantage point above the bowman he was eclipsing the youth's face with his thick co*ck, and he dragged it over his face teasingly. "Ye' want it then?" he teased with that menacing grin, his deep voice gritty like chipped stone.

A garbled moan escaped Kíli, his saliva bubbling at the edges from the helpless sound before spilling out and wetting his stubbled chin. It only caused Dwalin's grin to spread. He reached back with one hand, the warrior’s thick digits trailing down Kíli’s abdomen before it found his desperately bobbing and engorged shaft. He gave it a rough tug, pulling the most deliciously helpless sob from the archer.

"Ye'll have ta' do better than tha'," he growled again with another firm tug, another cry spilling around the now thoroughly soaked gag in the archer’s mouth.

"What'dya think then, Fee?" Dwalin rumbled, using his free hand to smack Kíli teasingly in the face with his dick, the metal studs and girthy organ making a dull slap each time.

The blond let out a sob, letting go of his co*ck before he lost himself completely, gasping for breath as he tried to understand Dwalin’s question. Of course in his state, the words made no sense combined with the sight before him, and he could feel Dwalin growing impatient as he hesitated too long. Fíli was distracted by the way Kíli whimpered and keened, the slaps of Dwalin’s co*ck against the archer’s cheek. “Wha—?” he blurted out, flinching belatedly as something hard came over the warrior’s expression.

"Ye' seem a bit distracted there," the warrior growled, his eyes boiling with the fire of his lust as he turned his predatory gaze on the blonde heir. He pulled back from the archer, leaving him straining against his restraints and bucking after the touch that had left him. Dwalin crossed the bed on his knees to Fíli, his firm grip taking the youth by the chin as he had with Kíli. He commanded his attention, locking their eyes for what felt like an eternity.

"Perhaps ye' could use a bit'a trainin' yerself, little Fee." His voice was low, warning, and his gaze harsh. He pulled the hesitant blonde into a fierce kiss, growling as he forced his tongue through the seam of the swordsman's lips, and only breaking it when he thought the prince might faint against him. His hold never faltered however, and he leveled him with that stony gaze once more. "What'dya think?"

The young dwarf was reeling, his head spinning dizzily as he caught his breath. The kiss had been brutal, Fíli’s lips still stinging from the harsh contact, the large fingers gripping his chin almost hard enough to bruise his fair skin. He leaned forward for more, whimpering pathetically, but the hold on his face held fast, keeping him in place. “Yes,” he whispered, the hand on his chin squeezing in warning. “Yes, sir. Please, sir.”

Kíli outright moaned, the sound loud and obscene, at the tone in his brother’s voice and the pleading words that escaped him. It was like a heady wine, dizzying and delicious, and left him thirsty for more. He craned his neck, just barely able to catch a glimpse of the incredible sight of the warrior so easily handling his brother, and with such control and confidence. And oh Aulë, if the look of Fíli’s face wasn't just as intoxicating as his helpless pleas.

Dwalin grinned wide once more before he released the youth and guided him off the bed and stripped him. He spared no time for lingering touches or slow reveals, opting for the sight of a pair of naked Durins instead. Once Fíli was in naught but his skin the warrior spun the youth on the spot as he deftly unbuckled his heavy belt and whipped it off his waist with a flourish. He ordered the blonde briefly, pressing in close and growling into his ear, "Hands behin' yer back."

Fíli complied instantly, much to the tattooed warriors delight, and he easily bound Fíli’s wrists behind his back with the heavy belt, giving the makeshift binding a good tug and satisfied with its hold. He helped the blonde onto the bed, guiding him by the shoulders before he eased him down on top of his brother with a wicked grin.

"Spread yer legs," Dwalin ordered gruffly, giving the insides of the blonde’s thighs a stinging slap when he hesitated to long. He coaxed him into straddling the brunette, and pulled back to appreciate the sight. The heirs of Durin, one straddling the other, legs spread and co*cks ground together. They were making the most desperate sounds, each unable to control themselves as they rutted against each other.

The blond whimpered desperately as he humped down against his brother, his lips mouthing along Kíli’s cheek and open mouth. The slide of his lips was messy, slipping through the spittle the coated the stubbled flesh. “Kíli,” he gasped out, forgetting himself as his thrusts against his lover grew frantic. His thighs burned as his legs were spread impossibly wide, the position testing his hard-gained flexibility. He wouldn’t complain though, as long as he was with his lover so intimately, their sweat and precome mingling as their torsos were aligned.

Dwalin had made his way around to the boys’ side and between the sloppy half-kisses he did the princes a kindness, removing the brunette’s gag. It pulled with it a line of spittle, only breaking when the warrior yanked it away and the chain joined the rest of the slickness on the archer’s face. Kíli then proceeded to attack his brother with his mouth, licking and nipping at the blonde’s strong jawline and lips, hoarse gasps escaping him with each joining of skin to skin. The words that tumbled from his lips were a mess of Khuzdul and Westron, entirely unintelligible, as with each rut of their bodies the bowman was sent reeling.

While they were preoccupied with themselves Dwalin had retrieved the flask of oil that had been placed on the bedside table with forethought; the devils had planned this for him. By the time he was behind him his own plan had formulated in his mind. Without a word he uncorked the flagon and suspended the flask above them, upending it for a slow trickle at the top of Fíli’s crack. The lube slid down the cleft and then over the princes’ sacs that were just as ground together as the rest of them before it slid down Kíli’s arse in turn.

Fíli shuddered at the slick oil pouring down over his arsehole, the viscous fluid holding so much promise. After a few moments of delirious pleasure, his nerves caught up to him. Dwalin was quite large by dwarven standards in every way. He was battle-hardened, brutal, and submitted to no one, and he was huge. Fíli whimpered as a bit of real fear slipped into his mind. With a desperate whine, he sought out Kíli’s lips once more, finding the comfort he needed in that perfect mouth.

Without any warning, the warrior was pressing a finger each into the princes, slowly but surely letting his thick digits sink in and the tight muscles adjust. He pumped into them, fingers working into the princes in unison, wrenching the most delicious whimpers and moans from their tangled lips. Once they were adjusted, Dwalin added another finger each, then another following shortly after, scissoring them open with practiced movements.

Fíli all but screamed into his brother’s mouth at the stretch, his thighs quivering with exertion. The pain and pleasure of Dwalin’s thick digits inside him became too much, and he let his head drop uselessly against Kíli’s shoulder. He hadn’t the strength to hold himself up any longer, and with his hands tied behind his back and unable to support his body, the blond was forced to just lay there and take whatever the warrior gave him.

But gods, was he full, almost fuller than he’d been when he was taken by Thorin, and each scissoring motion of those massive fingers had Fíli keening high and desperate, an embarrassed flush overcoming his cheeks. Rarely the submissive partner, the swordsman was extremely sensitive, the smallest brush against his prostate enough to have him begging to be filled and f*cked raw.

Dwalin however seemed to be deliberately missing that pleasure center deep inside him, and by the brunette’s frustrated huffs it was an easy guess to say that the warrior was treating Kíli to the same torture. Now it seemed to be a battle of wills, who would break first and begged for the torture to end. Dwalin certainly wouldn’t be kind and relent (he had already been kind enough with removing Kíli’s gag), so it was down to the brothers to submit completely.

Though it was tempting to just plead with the warrior and get it over with, Fíli had his reputation to try and restore. Here he was, heir apparent, and moaning like a whor* with three fingers buried deep in his arse. He was not crumbling first. With that thought, he sunk his teeth into Kíli’s shoulder to keep his mouth busy, hard enough to bruise but not yet breaking the skin.

Kíli let out a broken sob, the sound cracking and gargling in the back of his throat, as he felt Fíli’s teeth sink in. The desperation that was rising in him was too much to bear.

He would indeed break first.

"Oh Aulë, please," he cried out, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to rock backward onto those thick digits that kept eluding his sweet spot. The friction those motions cause between their bodies, however, was sublime and he continued his hindered thrusts with desperation, his pleas entwining with whor*ish moans. "Please, I can't, please, I need--"

"Tha's not how ye ask," the warrior replied nonchalantly, as if her weren't about to bury himself in that temptingly tight canal.

Kíli responded instantly, whining his pleas as he tried to catch his breath and strained against his bonds. "Please, sir, please fill me up!" he cried out, so incredibly desperate for what was to come.

Dwalin growled his approval, the sound deep and rumbling through his broad chest, as he gave the archer a few strokes deeper within to tease his prostate, the pleasure then sent zinging through the grateful youth. To behave and submit was to be rewarded, and Dwalin was more than happy to reward the archer’s compliance.

He slid his fingers out quickly, and with practiced movements took the flask in hand once more before he doused himself in oil. He barely ensured the cork was back in place before he set it at his side once more, eager now for the relief of Kíli’s core, and he lined himself with the archers prepared entrance. "Ye'll wanna bear down lad."

Kíli headed his advice, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the warrior begin to breach him. It was incredibly intense, the stretch seeming impossible for a single being to cause, and as the warrior pushed in he could feel as each of the metal studs lining the underside caught the rim of muscle. It was sinfully good.

Once Dwalin had bottomed out in the youth, suppressing a fierce shudder and keeping his eyes shut tight against the pleasure that consumed him so quickly, he began to thrust. It was easy going at first, and with his size he did not have to maneuver much to ensure he would brush the archers prostate. It didn't take long for the brunette to dissolve into a moaning, whimper mess of nerves and garbled pleas for "More sir, please more!" Dwalin was more than happy to oblige.

With the way Fíli was whimpering, one would think he had the warrior’s studded rod in his arse as well. As it was, he was still skewered on three thick digits, legs spread-eagle and displaying his greedy hole and heavy sac shamelessly as he ground down against his brother as best he could. His jaw clenched into his brother’s shoulder as each thrust Dwalin made into Kíli’s core bumped his fingers deeper into him. Mahal, he wanted to be f*cked so thoroughly, and he was viciously jealous of his brother.

Then, Dwalin removed his fingers as he gripped the back of Kíli’s thighs, the thrusts growing harder and longer behind them. Fíli was now left gaping and empty, his entrance clenching hungrily as he released Kíli’s flesh and sobbed out, “no!” He didn’t even have the presence of mind to tack on a ‘sir’ or even the warrior’s name, only tried to scoot his bottom back to be filled once again. Each inward thrust of Dwalin’s hips had his lower-abdomen slapping against the heir’s arse and sac, the sensation ridiculously arousing, but not nearly enough to stimulate him.

At this point, the swordsman just needed to be f*cked soundly into next Durin’s Day.

“Please, sir!” he begged wantonly against the bruised flesh of the archer’s shoulder, tears spilling down his cheeks, though at the level of his need, the intensity of his arousal, or the ache in his strained thighs, he had no idea. “Please, Dwal—sir!”

Dwalin let out another deep growl, pleased with the heir apparent’s eagerness and his desperate pleas. He moved his hands from their spots at Kíli’s thighs, the muscles twitching as his calloused grip vanished. With one hand firmly gripping his shaft and the other grabbing a handful of the blond’s arse, he complied with a wicked grin as he began to sink into the older prince.

He was slower than he had been with Kíli, instantly recognizing the way the swordsman clenched around him in a vice grip Fíli was not used to such treatment. He began his pace once again as he buried himself deep, barely allowing the blonde to adjust before he picked up his rhythm, and with each thrust he was mercilessly pegging the blondes barely used pleasure center so hidden away deep in his core.

Kíli began whining again, rutting upward and trying to catch his attention. It was far too tempting to resist, and soon he pulled from Fíli and dived straight back into Kíli, wrenching as many beautiful cries as he could from the youth. Fíli begged for his co*ck next, the words so desperate and prettily falling from the heir’s lips, that once again Dwalin pulled from Kíli and drove back into Fíli.

They picked up a rhythm in this way, the warrior dipping into the princes in turns, his thrusts only becoming more demanding and savage as they continued.

Fíli was losing his mind to the intense heat the filled his head, each time Dwalin rammed into him pulling a squeal from his throat. The way those metal balls pulled on his hole on each intrusion and exit, and the constant massaging pressure of them against his prostate had him reeling. Then there were the moments of emptiness that had his entrance fluttering and screamed pleas spilling from his lips as he tried to thrust back against Dwalin.

At first, he had thought this would prolong his release, but after the first two times Dwalin switched who he was f*cking, Fíli realized it was the exact opposite. The rapid change between being impossibly full and achingly empty kept the pleasure from fading, keeping it at a certain level that was continuously built upon each time Dwalin’s co*ck slotted back into place in his core. And the pace only grew harder, more brutal, and the pain was so delicious it brought a strained smile to Fíli’s bearded lips that was quickly wiped away as he was savagely entered once again.

With each thrust into him, however, he slipped forward on his brother, and very quickly he was losing his precarious balance on top of Kíli, the mingled sweat and precome on their bodies making everything incredibly slippery. With his hands tied behind his back, Fíli was helpless to right himself.

“Dwalin, I can’t—” he began, but suddenly he was empty and keening at the loss. When he recovered slightly, though pleasure still hung heavily in his mind, he began again. “I’m slipping, sir! I can’t hold myself—ah!”

With a firm grip Dwalin found Fíli’s hip and hauled him back into place, pulling him backward now with each mind-blowing thrust. It wasn't long before he was sinking back into the archer pinned and hog-tied beneath the blond, and he intended to spend much more time torturing the archer. He had heard more than one org*sm die on the bowman’s lips, and the helpless sounds and writhing frame lit a fire in his belly like no other. The warrior could feel his completion coming close, something that he could keep at bay as long as he needed, but he did not particularly want to stave off the satisfaction of painting these princelings with his seed.

"You want to come, Kee?" he growled out as he sunk into Fíli’s tight channel for what he intended to be his final time. He set a punishing pace, ensuring to drag each stroke of his girthy member over the blondes sweet spot roughly and relentlessly. "Then ye best start beggin', ye don't get te finish until Fee." He smiled wickedly, his grip bruising the tanned flesh of Fíli’s hip as he dug in and f*cked deep into the heir.

"Oh please Kâzash, please come for me, please you must!" Kíli began babbling, rutting up desperately against Fíli to grind their co*cks together. The binding on his own member made the stimulation nearly painful, but he knew that would all melt away as soon as Dwalin let him have his release. "Oh please Kâzash, please come for me, I need it, I need you to come for me!"

Fíli barely heard his brother over the roaring in his ears as his org*sm rushed forward, milked from him by the relentless pressure against his prostate. He was spilling over between them, his cum slicking their skin even further and spilling down Kíli’s sides in thick rivulets, screaming brokenly, “Kíli!”

His eyes were rolling back as his climax seemed to never end, Dwalin’s rod still deep inside him and massaging his prostate as the aftershocks rocketed through him. As his vision began to go white and more tears wetted his cheeks, Fíli sucked in a deep breath to beg, his voice pleading and ragged as he cried out, “Stop, please! I can’t take anymore, Dwalin!”

The warrior pulled out with a growl before forcing Fíli off of his brother. By taking the leather belt that held his wrists he yanked the blonde off as he pulled out, rolling him on to his back directly beside the brunette. With a sift motion the warrior tugged at the binding on Kíli’s co*ck, pulling it free, before he sunk back into the archer and f*cked his senseless. All Kíli could do was make sound, all filthy and lewd and more than likely heard by everyone within a mile of their bedroom, as the org*sm barreled down on him now. Through all of this, when Dwalin spat out, "Beg" between his savage thrusts, hips snapping forward to pillage that clenching heat, Kíli managed out a garbled, "Please, sir, may I come?"

Dwalin barely uttered his answer, "You may" just passing his lips as Kíli screamed into oblivion, head thrown back and vocal chords tearing from the ferocity of it as he blew his load. It was stick, hot, white ropes of his passion, and the covered his torso and even up to his lips and chin.

With the brothers pressed together, covered in the evidence of their sinful pleasure, it was to delicious a sight for the warrior to refuse. He eased out of Kíli, minding the lad’s sensitivity, before he hovered over them and tugged desperately at himself. With brow knit and beaded with sweat, a beastly growl leaving him, he painted his release across the boys’ faces and chests. The youths were panting and red face and positively dripping with seed.

After many silent moments, the warrior muttering praise as he maneuvered them around and undid all of their bounds, it was relatively silent. The scent of their deed hung in the air, and Dwalin sat himself at the edge of the bed as he began to resituating his heavy clothes with a smirk.

Somehow, Fíli managed to reach out and grab Dwalin’s arm, despite his boneless exhaustion. His body ached all over, and he knew he would probably require most of their remaining stay in Laketown to recover. Swallowing thickly, he wetted his parched mouth before saying, “You intend to sneak off after that performance, Dwalin?”

The blond shook his head as his eyes drooped with sleep, forcing himself to stay awake just a little bit longer. Next to him, Kíli was snuggled in and sound asleep, the evidence of their activities drying on his flushed skin. “Come, spend the night with us. You are always welcome in our bed,” Fíli said softly, and he knew he wasn’t just speaking of Dwalin sleeping with them, but offering more of what they had just shared.

The warrior smiled down to the blond, taking a moment to be tender with the young man he had watched grow and mature over the years. "I'll keep it in mind, lad." He murmured as he made his way for the door, stealing one last glance before he slipped away silently and rejoined the company downstairs.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

[We apparently skipped the part with Smaug, too]

As Thorin stood amongst his gold, he felt awash with triumph. The piles of it towered high above him, and for several blessed moments, he was filled to the brim with happiness. Here he was, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain with his hoard and his kingdom.

They had finally braved the long stretch of the hall from the secret passage, and after ascertaining that Smaug was nowhere to be found within the confines of the mountain (via Bilbo and his clever magic ring), they had returned to the treasury to begin divvying their shares of the gold. Soon began the merrymaking and the boisterous laughter filled the cavernous room. None of them seemed particularly bothered by the missing dragon, and perhaps rightly so. They had somewhat of an upper-hand now that they were in the mountain, and it had been days since they had seen or heard the creature.

Eventually, the company split off to explore the old city, take in its glory despite the film of filth that coated nearly every surface. That left Thorin alone in the giant room, his eyes on his hoard and pride nearly bursting his chest. He was proud of his men for their resilience, proud of himself for staying true to his word to them, and proud of his hobbit for his excellent burglaring. Thorin knew that soon he would have to search for the Arkenstone, the proof of his divine rule, but for now he was content with the treasure before him.

Movement to his left caught his attention, and from around a tower of gold coins came Bilbo, wearing the mithril coat Thorin had gifted him when everyone had been sifting through the gold. More pride bubbled in his chest at the beauty his hobbit made in the deceptively delicate silver, that this was his consort, his hobbit, his treasure. To his dismay, Bilbo was looking upon the piles of gold disinterestedly, eyes catching on shiny objects only to flicker away, often times with a physical shrug.

When Bilbo’s eyes found him however, they blazed with something hot, though his face was schooled into a small smile.

“So, my love,” Thorin began, his body reacting to his lover being so close, so richly dressed and surrounded by heaps of gold. The king gestured widely, a smile on his lips. “What do you think of our kingdom?”

A small laugh bubbled up from the burglar, the sound rich and warm and bouncing off the walls and vaulted ceilings. Erebor certainly was everything he had been told, brimming with gold and sparkling gems, great veins of precious raw metal running up the stone walls and embellishing the ornately carved pillars that seemed to keep the mountain up. Between the rows of pillars was the dwarves’ hoard, so many valuables a hobbit could never hope to see. In a singular pile there was enough to buy the Shire ten times over.

"Your kingdom, darling," he replied easily as he slid up to Thorin, standing on tiptoe to wrap his arms around the king’s neck. With as stressful as the past few days had been it felt good to relax in his lover’s arms. He could definitely get used to this. The smile on Thorin's face and the ease in his demeanor was refreshing. "I'll be here to support you, my love, but it is most definitely your kingdom."

“Mm,” the dwarf muttered thoughtfully, lowering his mouth to Bilbo’s chastely, not yet giving in to his desire, or revealing it to the hobbit in his arms. He would have his hobbit soon enough, and at the moment he was content enough to hold him. Pulling away, he smiled warmly. “Once we are bonded in marriage, what is mine will be yours.”

Bilbo turned in his lover’s grasp, his smaller delicate hands coming down to rest on top of Thorin's where they were now splayed possessively across his middle. He let himself relax into his dwarf with a sigh, survey the buried city in all of its glory. The journey had been a success, and now they would get to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

"Even then, I'm only a hobbit. We prefer the simpler things in life," he mused, canting his head and trying his best to look up at the raven dwarf, his smile warm and expression beaming. "I’ll keep myself quite happily preoccupied ensuring your happiness if it's all the same to you."

Thorin chuckled darkly, lowering his lips to Bilbo’s throat, fingertips massaging the hobbit’s soft belly through the silver vest he wore. Imaginings of the halfling wearing nothing but the gorgeous garment flooded his mind, and soon the room was very hot and it was extremely challenging for Thorin to keep from rutting against Bilbo’s lower back. “And how exactly do you intend to ensure my happiness, my love?” he rumbled suggestively into Bilbo’s ear before returning to mouthing and suckling his neck.

Bilbo hummed, a giggle breaking through the luscious sound as Thorin's thick bead tickled a particularly sensitive patch of skin on his neck. His shoulder rose automatically, his nerves reacting as he wriggled again in Thorin's grip, and he turned just enough to slot their lips together. Bilbo felt the dwarf growl, a tantalizing vibration that rumbled through the king and into his consort, before he heard it. His tongue darted out just long enough to tease, to lure Thorin's tongue out between their mouths to play in the open, before he whispered his reply, "Any way you ask of me, my king."

Thorin groaned at the tease of his lover’s tongue, sealing their mouths together in another hungry kiss. He delved deep into the depths of his lover, filthy noises mingling between them as Thorin lifted Bilbo to slot their pelvises together. Through their layers of clothing, his erection was obvious and as their kiss grew deeper, Thorin could feel his hobbit’s body answering his desire in kind. The dwarf pulled back and panted against Bilbo’s lips, saying hoarsely, “I wish to have you right here, astride my hips on top of my gold.”

Bilbo smirked through their kiss, their shared passion building and creating a visible tension between them that was entirely sexual. It was playful and hot, the vivacious hobbit answering his lover with "As you wish" before sealing their lips together once more.

They jostled against each other, the hobbits smaller hands curling in the fur trim of Thorin's overcoat, before the dwarf let his burglar win the battle and fell easily onto his backside and took Bilbo with him. Growling chuckles and bubbly giggles bounced between the pair playfully until Bilbo was straddling the king’s lap. Their erections, both straining at the fabric that held them at bay, slotted together instantly and with a breathy gasp Bilbo began grinding himself against the tempting member.

Thorin shuddered beneath his hobbit’s enthusiastic rutting, the strong movements against him pulling at his control. Bilbo had become so confident in their bed sport, so willing and pliant, and some days he was quite adventurous. Such as today, as he agreed to be debauched atop a pile of gold in the treasury, a place where any one of the company could happen upon them, a place that echoed so that any one nearby would hear them. It had his loins absolutely aching for his hobbit as he let his head fall back against the treasure he was lounging on.

“Too much clothing,” he gasped out, hands gripping Bilbo’s hips before he stroked the mithril vest and added with his tone heated, “But keep this on.”

Bilbo looked down to his front where Thorin eyed the mithril undershirt he had been given. It was indeed a pretty thing, and though Bilbo would never prefer his lover fully clothed when he had hungry eyes, he would entertain his lover. To ensure his happiness, he had said after all.

He complied with the order, his feet planted in the mountain of gold on either side of his lovers legs as he deftly unlaced his trousers and tripped out of his clothes. He tossed them just to his side without a care before he shrugged off his over coat. Now all that was left was his relatively unblemished skin and the sparkling mithril shirt.

He returned to his position, feeling it only fair that Thorin suffer the majority of his clothes if he would have to as well. He unlaced the king’s trousers, tugging at the waist band along with the kings underthings until his member sprang free, bobbing up to meet the hobbit greedily. Bilbo once again slipped down Thorin's legs as he tugged and teased at the king, lathing his tongue over the stiff rod and positively purring at the shudders it was pulling from his lover.

The dwarf groaned at the teasing touches on his co*ck, the vision before him doing terrible things to his restraint. His hobbit, naked from the waist down, the mithril vest gleaming in the torch light, tongue lapping at the head of the king’s erection as hazel eyes gazed up at him. They were playful, the corners crinkled as he smirked up at Thorin, and now he was finding it hard to breathe.

Lifting a hand, the king brought it to Bilbo’s hair and tangled his fingers in those gorgeous curls he loved so much, fingers teasing around his claiming braid. “Perfect,” he murmured, eyes widening as arousal flooded through him. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

After a few more overly wet laps of his tongue, ensuring that his lovers members was thoroughly slick and ready for him, he slicked his own fingers before reaching back to prepare himself. The ministrations were still off to perform on himself, always making him feel as if he were bending at awkward angles, but the sounds it always pulled from Thorin were enough to keep him encouraged.

He was desperate for more after he had hooked his second digit into his needy hole, his cheeks dusted coral and the color echoing in patches all across the pale canvas of his milky skin. "You really think so?" he breathed out between mewls before he sunk back down to engulf the dwarf's co*ck with his mouth, slicking him once more.

“Yes,” Thorin moaned, head falling back against the treasure beneath him as he was swallowed deep by the hobbit. The brazen actions of the hobbit this night surprised the king, pleasantly of course, and he began to wonder how far he could stretch this courageous streak. He certainly hoped it was here to stay. Bilbo hadn’t even blushed at the compliment he paid him. Mahal, he needed inside his hobbit and soon. Desperation was coursing through him as he release began to coil lazily in his gut.

“Bilbo,” he groaned out as the hobbit did that clever thing with his tongue beneath the foreskin of his co*ck, and tugged lightly at his lover’s tawny curls. “I’ll come if you continue.”

Bilbo made an affirmative noise, a low hum that made the king's girth buzz between the wide stretch of his lips. It had Thorin groaning all the louder. He indeed was feeling rather brazen this evening. Granted the self-assuredness merely came from their perceived privacy as everyone else had wandered off to do Aulë knows what. At the moment Bilbo didn't particularly care what they were all doing as long as he could have his private moments stolen away with his lover.

He pulled off the king with an obscene slurp, scooting his way back up the king’s torso before he settled again at his hips. He reached between them, bracing himself as best he could over Thorin's co*ck which was now pressed tight to his ready entrance, and with his free hand to the king’s chest for support began guiding Thorin's length slowly into him. He eased back onto the dwarf's shaft, slowly but surely burying the king deep in his core, the burn much more tolerable than the last coupling they had.

"O-Oh my..." he breathed, eyes fluttering shut as a light blush broke out across his cheeks and spread rapidly down his neck and chest, the sensations of dull pleasure coursing through him as he was filled.

Thorin groaned loudly as he was engulfed completely in an impossibly tight heat. His hobbit was always so tight, so perfect, his clenching hole scorching as the dwarf was settled balls deep inside him. By the gods, Thorin couldn’t get enough of this delicious grip on his co*ck. He was wishing he could spend the rest of his days submerged in his lover, never again resurfacing.

Shifting his hips up slightly, he moaned again at the friction, mouth lolling open as the channel hugging his length convulsed around him. For a few breathless moments, he just stared up at his little lover, eyes only seeing Bilbo’s flushed, gorgeous round face. It was almost as if he was seeing the hobbit for the first time, falling for him all over again, and he let out a desperate laugh as he thrust upward.

“My love,” he crooned, sitting up and wrapping his arms around the halfling’s waist, and he began to lazily roll his hips up into Bilbo’s arse, his co*ck sliding deeply into the hobbit’s depths.

"Darling," Bilbo replied, a whimper escaping him as Thorin began. The hobbit gripped his lover’s shoulders, leaning down close to press their foreheads together, stealing fleeting hungry kisses as he began to move in tandem with the dwarf. The friction was incredible as it always was, and after a few minor adjustments Thorin was brushing that hidden sweet spot deep in his core with each upstroke. It had Bilbo coming undone at the seams.

He worried his lower lip, containing the embarrassing noises that would pour from him, only halting the preoccupations when he would seek Thorin's kiss once more. When his lips were sealed so fully against his lover, tongues searching each other out, he would moan with little inhibition and swallow his lover’s moans in return.

"Oh Eru, Thorin--!" he gasped out as they had finally found there rhythm and were moving against and into each other perfectly. The sensations that were overtaking him had fire coursing through his veins. He had never before felt so bonded with the dwarf, so very close, as if they were one in body and heart, their very pulses seeming to match in time with everything else.

“Bilbo,” the dwarf growled, his thrusts into his lover growing harder and more demanding, but the position and unstable surface made it difficult to keep that pace for long. With another animalistic noise, Thorin raised up on his knees—the hobbit’s legs instantly clamping around his waist—and turned them so Bilbo was on his back beneath him. For a few moments, the gold that was spread out beneath the hobbit was distracting, the way it glinted in the torch light and mingled with the halfling’s hair.

When his eyes landed on Bilbo’s face again, he began to move in slow, brutal strokes. Each inward stroke had the hobbit’s mouth falling open with a cry, eyes rolling back and body shivering as Thorin hit his prostate with each thrust. A blush spread across the halfling’s milky skin, sweat forming on his brow as the fever of lust overcame him, lips bitten-red and chin rubbed raw by Thorin’s beard. Bilbo looked positively debauched, and Thorin moaned outright.

“What would your kin say now?” the dwarf asked, slightly breathless as he pounded his pelvis forward, the motion knocking several coins and gemstones above the hobbit loose, many of the precious pieces of treasure falling upon Bilbo’s shoulders and sliding down onto his chest. Thorin groaned at the sight of it. “If they saw you like this, mounted by a king on a pile of gold?”

A gasp caught in the hobbit's throat, his eyes fluttering shut as Thorin's words whisked him back to Hobbiton and all of the disapproving faces and whispers of impropriety. Forget being mounted by a king on a hill of treasure, the bachelor of Bag End had run off with the likes of dwarves and a wizard to boot! He had already shamed his well-to-do Baggins name with that act alone. What his kin would say, indeed, to him so thoroughly wrecked. The thought brought a grin to his face.

With each thrust little gasps escaped him, air forced from his lungs with the ferocity of each stroke. The words that were held on the tip of his tongue were entirely to be blamed on his Tookish roots, his sense of adventure for going in the first place and his audacity for the statement he was about to make. With his hazel orbs consumed by his black pupils and heavy lidded he reached up, cupping Thorin's cheek in his palm, and replied, "So much for being a respectable, properly boring hobbit."

“Now you are a king’s consort,” Thorin murmured, turning his head to mouth at Bilbo’s palm, moaning breathlessly against the soft skin as he moved inside his lover with strong, determined thrusts.

“I should have to decked in gold,” he gasped, smirking as he looked down at his lover from the corners of his eyes, taking in the sight of the golden coins and gemstones that had fallen to rest on him. The dwarf sped up, his hips becoming a piston against Bilbo’s arse as he felt his org*sm begin to rear its head. “Pierce those perfect little ears, your wicked tongue, and dress you in this mithril that suits you so well. Take you back to the Shire to show all those who doubted your worth exactly who you are.”

The image spurred on Thorin’s movements and he angled his pelvis, beginning a relentless assault on Bilbo’s prostate and wringing every sound he could from the creature.

The image had Bilbo blushing, the idea of being paraded around in such a fashion rather embarrassing to the timid gentle-hobbit. He was going to his best not to think about the suggestion of piercings. The whole idea to the hobbit, while arousing in a sort of primal way, was barbaric. He did not think he could suffer anything piercing his skin for any reason, aesthetically pleasing or otherwise. But he allowed the king to vocalize his fantasies, and would even indulge them if he was indeed ever asked, within reason of course.

Bilbo was not disposed for such conversations however, as he was coming undone beneath the mighty dwarf. He was writhing, hands looking for anything to grasp and scrambling for purchase on Thorin's shoulder and in his raven mane. He could feel it barreling at him now, his org*sm slipping up his spine like liquid fire and spreading to every inch of his body, each muscle tensing in turn as he prepared to be rocked by bliss. "Oh, d-darling, I'm--"

Thorin grunted as the hobbit’s tightness clenched, bringing his own release ever closer. With a thick sound of desperation, the king brought snuck a hand in between them, wrapping it around the hobbit’s leaking co*ck and pumping it in time with his thrusts. Very soon, the dwarf’s balls began to draw up against his body, the coil of heat in his gut growing tighter and about to snap. “Come for me, Bilbo!” he gasped, eyes stinging as he forced them to stay open and watch his hobbit come undone completely beneath him. “I have you, my love.”

Bilbo jaw fell slack in a soundless cry, his entire frame shaking violently for a split second before his muscles locked up beneath the dwarf. With a strained cry, Thorin's name being torn from his lips in the same breath, Bilbo was spilling over in the dwarf's steady grip while the world dissolved into glittering gold and the dark abyss of pleasure.

The hobbit kept himself conscious, his body going limp beneath Thorin's as the king sought his own release, and he miraculously maintained his hold on his dwarf's shoulder and tangled hand in his thick raven mane. "I—I love you, darling, I love you so—oh Eru!" he sobbed, his voice hoarse from the scream that had been torn from him, his eyes beginning to water from the over stimulation.

As the dwarf released a sound that was almost a sob, Thorin’s co*ck gave a hard throb and he spilled deep into Bilbo. His hips stuttered against the hobbit’s arse, the rhythm faltering as he f*cked through the aftershocks, eyes finally rolling back. When he finally slowed to a halt, he let his head loll forward and his hair spill in a dark curtain around them, a lazy smile overcoming his features as he slowly opened his eyes. “I love you,” he responded softly, leaning down to press a slow, passionate kiss into Bilbo’s lips.

Bilbo returned the kiss with a content sigh, repeating the endearments in those last lingering moments of tenderness as their systems were flooded with oxytocin, his post-coital coma beginning to pull him back into oblivion. He could care less for how exposed it left him or how much ribbing he was he would endure, all he could manage to do was slip into his small clothes with his trousers resting askew on his hips before he settled against Thorin once more to relax. He would not give in to his body's desire to sleep, not yet at least. For now he would simply sit with Thorin, the pair chatting quietly as whispering endearments between fleeting kisses, but once Thorin returned to his work Bilbo would have to further investigate the incredibly luminous and gorgeous stone he had found earlier.

The next week had been met with growing frustration as Thorin’s search for the Arkenstone bore no fruit. Each night as he fell into his shared bedroll with Bilbo, he was angrier than the last. But in the arms of his hobbit, and the tightness of the man’s core, he couldn’t keep his dark thoughts for long. During the hours between their couplings, however, it was a constant litany in his head, find the Arkenstone, find the Arkenstone, find the Arkenstone.

Each minute he spent surrounded by his hoard had his chest swelling with more and more pride, as well. The treasury became his home, as the company had set up their bedrolls on the floor amongst the piles of gold and jewels. Constantly, he was surrounded by the heady, glittery heaps of his legacy’s wealth, and that brought him a dark pleasure. Pushing away memories of his grandfather, mad with goldlust and spending almost every waking moment in this room, Thorin continued his search.

This was different. He only spent this much time in the treasury out of necessity.

When he did leave the cavernous room, in a fit of frustrated rage usually, he only went to one other place. The throne, his throne. There he would sit for an hour or so, thoughts swirling in his mind as everyone continued the desperate search for the Arkenstone. Generally, everyone left him alone when he took to the throne room, only Bilbo braving the irritable dwarf’s presence. As it was, the hobbit was the only one immune to Thorin’s mood swings, something he heard the other’s good-naturedly ribbing the halfling over.

Today was another day when Thorin stormed out of the treasury, his frustration leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he marched up the many steps to the hall that lead to the throne room. His anger dissipated though as, upon entering the great hall, he smelled the familiar scent of Old Toby. Across the room, he could see Bilbo lounging on the throne, pipe perched in his lips as he hummed to himself and picked at his fingernails idly. The hobbit wore only the mithril vest and trousers, and suddenly Thorin felt heat rush through his whole body.

Continuing forward, he came to a stop in front of Bilbo, eyes roving over the small creature’s body with a hunger he didn’t think possible with how much they had coupled in the last few days alone. Next to the throne, on a pedestal, was the crown of Erebor waiting for his coronation, and Thorin glanced at it longingly before turning his attention back to his lover. By now Bilbo was looking up at him, pupils blown wide with the effects of the pipesmoke and that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Isn’t there work to be done, my treasure?” Thorin rumbled as he bent at the waist, bringing his face close to his hobbit’s, breathing in the sweet smoke that swirled around Bilbo.

The hobbit was in a daze, the world seeming to swirl and brilliant with color regardless of the stone walls surrounding him. He had been exceptionally tired today, his lover’s ire wearing him down like it did to the rest of the company, though he was determined not to let it show. In doing so, however, he had succeeded once again in making himself homesick. His remedy was to hole himself away in the one place no one would dare enter, save for Thorin, and indulge in a bit of home. He was on his second bowl, the ember a bright orange cherry with each lazy drag, and he had gotten himself properly knackered.

"I apologize, my king," he replied softly, a smile tugging his lips upward as his heavy-lidded gaze found Thorin’s. He had surpassed his normal state of intoxication, when he could merely float and get away with seeming unaffected, and was completely lost to the smoke that filled his lungs. It had begun to sting quite some time ago, but the brief pain only reminded him of home in the most pleasant of ways.

"I found myself gasping for a smoke." He took another long drag of the sweet leaf, holding it until he could no longer bear the sting, before exhaling the white vapor into his lover’s face.

Thorin groaned as the sweet vapor washed over him, a twinge of a buzz setting in at the base of his skull from the secondhand smoke. Pressing forward, his mouth found Bilbo’s, tongue licking the hobbit’s lips open hungrily. Lifting his hands, the dwarf cupped the back of the halfling’s head as he licked and sucked those soft lips, teeth catching the bottom one as he pulled away.

“How much have you imbibed in, my treasure?” Thorin asked with a tone heavy with want, his eyes heated, and loins aching with his need. He glanced over his shoulder to the hall that led to the treasury briefly before meeting the hobbit’s dazed hazel eyes.

"Mm," Bilbo hummed in brief thought and gave the king a small shrug. He returned the kisses with not nearly as much fervor, happy to simply be compliant and manipulated however his lover would have him. He would be much more bold if he wasn't so lost to his indulgence.

"Well this is my second portion." The reply was delayed, his lips as pliant as the rest of him under the king's roaming, hungry touches. He glanced to his side when Thorin's eyes strayed to be greeted with the crown that sat on its own personal little pedestal. The burglar chuckled to himself before he clamped the stem of his pipe firmly between his teeth, reaching with both hands to grasp the heavy metal symbol of royalty. He held it before Thorin for a few moments, arousal curling in his gut and sparking to life. It was a flame that was lit by the king.

He placed the crown on his lover’s head, if only to admire the sight of this dwarf of royal blood and noble status as he was sure to see him for the rest of his life in this fashion. "It suits you," Bilbo drawled before taking another measured drag.

The weight of the crown atop his head sent arousal surging through him. And the way his hobbit was absolutely opening up beneath him, waiting for Thorin to take him had the dwarf falling to his knees and capturing Bilbo’s lips, inhaling the smoke that had begun to spill from the halfling’s lips. He was painfully hard, thick groans tumbling from his throat as he plucked the pipe from his lover’s hand and placed it on the pedestal his crown once sat. As their kiss deepened, Thorin’s hands began working the fastenings on Bilbo’s clothes open, growling in frustration at his own state of dress. Why he couldn’t just lie naked with his lover for the rest of their days, he had no idea.

“I must have you,” he groaned against his hobbit’s lips, shoving the mithril vest down off of Bilbo’s shoulders, though it still clung to his body, before moving to work the trousers and smallclothes off of his lover’s body without pulling too far away. Returning to snogging Bilbo thoroughly, he began working on his own clothes, shucking his open tunic before standing to untie his breeches and push them down off of his hips, his underthings sliding down his thick, muscled legs with his trousers. With some effort, he toed off his boots and finally stood in all of his natural glory, save for his crown, in front of his gorgeous lover.

“I must have you,” he repeated, more earnestly as he once again sunk to his knees in front of the throne, the hobbit’s bare legs bracketing his waist as he leaned forward for another heated kiss.

Bilbo whimpered into the hungry kiss. His tongue felt heavy from the leaf, and as Thorin's dense muscle f*cked into his mouth Bilbo simply relaxed and let his lover take what he wanted. To be honest he loved this the most, when his dwarf was so needy for him he was brazen and bold and claimed what he desired.

"Take me darling," he replied breathlessly as he slid down in the throne further still and spayed his thighs wide. With one hand resting lazily over his weeping erection and the other moving to brush his curly blonde locks from his skin, he bared his neck to his lover as an invitation. "I am for you, my king."

A deep snarl ripped from Thorin’s chest as his mouth descended on the hobbit’s bared throat, teeth sinking into the flesh as he suckled a brilliant bruise there. He had been careful not to mark up his lover since Laketown after the little man complained lightly about the discomfort of turning his head. Bilbo hadn’t meant for Thorin to hear, but the dwarf had still heeded the halfling’s wish to heal. Now lost in passion as he was, all thought of Bilbo’s later comfort was the farthest thing from his mind. Right now he just needed inside his lover.

Reaching up, Thorin slid three fingers into his lover’s mouth, stroking the hobbit’s tongue lightly and shuddering at the way that clever tongue cradled the digits and slicked them with spit, readying them to be slipped into his greedy hole.

Thorin was vicious in his pursuit, his thick digits filling Bilbo's mouth which earned him a happy mewl. It always felt so good for his mouth to be filled, regardless of how, and Bilbo's tongue lathed and swirled around the wide fingers. He was lazily palming at himself, causing little jolts of dull pleasure. He tried to speak, his efforts thwarted by Thorin’s fingers and the trembling that Thorin's teeth on his bare neck caused.

Eventually he was thrusting into the circle of his fist, the movements slow, and it had his head buzzing with pleasure. What he wouldn't do for the king, if only to achieve his release.

With his free hand, Thorin pulled the hobbit closer to the edge of the throne so that his pert little bottom almost hung off. Grabbing one of Bilbo’s ankles, Thorin lifted the halfling’s leg to drape over his shoulder as he removed his fingers from his lover’s mouth. The slick digits found Bilbo’s hole, and he slid two inside slowly, his hobbit still being a bit loose from their coupling the night before in their bedroll. He immediately found Bilbo’s sweet spot, easing any burn there might have been with his initial intrusion, but Thorin didn’t have to afford his lust-addled mind too much room to be concerned. He vaguely remembered how relaxed his hobbit was when he was this intoxicated by his leaf.

The third finger followed the first two, thrusting against Bilbo’s prostate and scissoring him open and pulling needy little sounds from his lover. “Oh, my treasure, you’re perfect,” he groaned as he reclaimed Bilbo’s mouth, their tongues sliding together and battling slightly before the hobbit yielded to him. “If you could see yourself spread out and so open for me,” he trailed off as he spread his fingers a fraction inside his lover’s core, then pressing his fingertips into the sensitive bundle of nerves with unrelenting pressure.

Bilbo did his best to impale himself of on questing fingers, his hips rolling down to meet each push inward. Any pain was dulled by his intoxicating purple smoke, and in turn it heightened his pleasure. He was incredibly aware of how each slide over his sweet spot pulsed from his core and spread through his loins like wildfire. And Thorin's hungry gaze was enough to get him gagging for it.

"Darling," the halfling hummed breathily, releasing his shaft and bringing his hand up to rest on Thorin's cheek once more, his thumb gliding over the king’s lower lip. As he had their first coupling he recalled the words that had ignited Thorin and had resulted in the most incredibly earth-shaking org*sm the hobbit had ever witnessed. So with his leaf-addled mind forgetting the harm that could be done to a hobbit when a dwarf lost his control and a sultry smile Bilbo said, "f*ck me open."

For a few short moments, Thorin was frozen, blue eyes locked with hazel as he panted up at his lover. The next conscious moment, he was slicking himself with spit and then buried to the hilt within his lover. A snarl was ripped from the king’s throat as the angle was all wrong, the leverage wasn’t enough. Wrapping an arm around his mewling lover’s waist, he half climbed up onto the throne, standing with one foot planted firmly on the ground and a knee on the seat. Thorin leaned forward, pinning Bilbo against the high back of the throne.

With the new angle, and the leverage it granted him, he set a savage pace, the sounds of their slapping skin echoing through the cavernous room, overshadowing the desperate pleasure-soaked sounds the hobbit was making. Thorin was lost in the heat of the frenzied f*cking, his co*ck striking deep within his lover’s core, the friction of each vicious slide igniting the dwarven king even further. Another animalistic sound and he was ravaging Bilbo’s throat and shoulders, biting him till he bruised and even in some places bled. Even in the state though, he lapped at the open wounds he created, soothing the stinging and moaning his apologies into his hobbit’s flesh.

Thorin couldn’t even form words, his mindless plundering of his lover’s hole all that he was able to do. Rearing back, he crashed their lips together, his free hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of his hobbit’s head and holding Bilbo there, forcing him to accept his questing tongue.

And accept he did as the King Under the Mountain ravished him like a man starved. It was intoxicating, the rhythm cruel and oh so wickedly good. Bilbo tried his best to compete with Thorin’s demanding tongue, each stroke into his body regardless of where from sending him reeling, but eventually he yielded completely to the king and allowed him to have his way. And this was going to be theirs, this passion, this wild and reckless love, and Bilbo could feel his chest tighten with indescribable emotions at the thought.

When Thorin finally wrenched himself from Bilbo's mouth, tongue linger to duel in the open for a few delicious moments, the hobbit caught his darkened gaze flickering briefly over his face and then to the mithril shirt he wore. It was a shining, kingly raiment that, and it seemed to have the king enraptured at the moment. Through his haze Bilbo took note of the sight, the way the king focused on the glittering vest and seemed to pound into him all the harder. It, along with the stinging from Thorin's abandoned bite marks on his neck and shoulders, pulled him from his stupor just enough to make him worry over the change.

"My love," he gasped out, catching his eye again and not hiding the concern in his expression.

Thorin was lost in the sight of pale silver meeting milky flesh. ‘My treasure,’ he thought, and for several moments it wasn’t clear which he was thinking about, his consort or the vest. He f*cked into the body beneath him with a new ferocity, deep growls rumbling in his chest as he bared his teeth, lips pulled back tightly as his release bubbled so close beneath the surface. Once again he found it frustratingly far away despite it being so close to snapping through him. Somehow he pistoned his hips even harder against the warmth he held in his arms, his sac slapping noisily against the arsecheeks of his lover.

Finally he tore his gaze away from the mithril shirt and met hazel eyes, a palpable sense of worry emanating from the creature against him despite the twist of pleasure in his brow. Suddenly his release was right there, only a few shifts into his hobbit away, and Thorin’s mouth fell open with what could only be described as a whine. He felt heat in his cheeks and he pressed forward for a kiss, tongue licking into Bilbo’s mouth hungrily.

“So close, my love,” he whispered, eyes shut and brow furrowed with the effort of staving it off. He released his grip on Bilbo’s tawny curls to lower his hand to the halfling’s co*ck, pumping it in time with his deep and frantic thrusts. “Come with me, Bilbo,” he ordered, moaning brokenly as the first pulse of his org*sm threatening to wash over him.

Bilbo flung his arms around Thorin, tugging him closer and deeper, the union of their bodies blurring the line of where the hobbit stopped and the dwarf began. It was only a few more thrusts before he felt Thorin pulsing inside of him, spilling his seed, and Bilbo fell into oblivion at the same moment. He cried out Thorin's name, hugging him close as he bit down into his lower lip to contain his scream. He was vaguely aware of a searing pain at the crook of his neck, something warm trickling down his collar bone and chest, before he realized the king had sunk his teeth into him yet again. The searing pain mixed with the resounding pleasure, pulling distressed whimpers and full on moans from the burglar as he spent himself in Thorin's grip.

As cum spilled over his fingers and slicked his grip on Bilbo’s co*ck, the dwarf released a shattered noise in the back of his throat as the taste of copper filled his mouth. The world snapped back into awareness, clarity slamming into him as he realized he was tasting blood and he pulled back to observe the merciless wound he had left on the nape of his lover’s throat. Blood was dripping down the hobbit’s chest in slow lines, meeting the mithril vest and tainting it’s pristine shine. Guilt flashed through him as dazedly lifted a hand to wipe at his mouth, and look back into Bilbo’s eyes.

“I got carried away,” he gasped, voice ragged as he panted for breath, and for a long while he let those words hang in the air. The deep red against pale white had him licking his lips, collecting the metallic liquid he hadn’t quite wiped away. “I—I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

Bilbo shut his eyes, drawing deep panting breaths as he tried his hardest to focus on the dwindling pleasure. The concern in Thorin's voice, the way his brow was knit with worry when Bilbo's eyes finally fluttered open had a weak smile tugging at his lips.

"It's alright darling, I'm fine." He waved a hand dismissively, shaking his head as he forced himself up. The sting was rather persistent, but nothing he couldn't ignore. He had many worse injuries, from this trip alone, and besides the blood in the hobbit's mind there was little harm done. Just another reminder of one of their many romps. "It's just a scratch."

“It’s a little more than a scratch, my hobbit,” Thorin chuckled, leaning forward to lick the stripe of blood off of Bilbo’s chest, mostly just smearing the sticky liquid than doing anything to clean his lover. Observing the wound in the faint light, he furrowed his brow deeper. “I fear this may scar, my love.”

Though he enjoyed marking up his lover as often as possible, the idea of a permanent mark on his fair skin was less appealing. It was a sign of him causing more pain than necessary, of losing his control too completely. But Bilbo had waved it off, dismissed it completely, so Thorin wouldn’t make a fuss of it.

Slowly he pulled out of Bilbo with a wet sound, wincing at the sensation before he settled his lover back down on the furs that covered his throne. Lowering back onto his knees at the hobbit’s feet, he wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist and rested his forehead against his lover’s chest.

“Mahal, you’re far too good to me, indulging this,” he murmured, gesturing vaguely at the two of them naked (well, mostly naked) and resting on the throne they had just f*cked like rabbits on.

Bilbo carefully took the crown from Thorin's head, resting it on the wide armrest of the throne, so that he could comb through his hair. With the niceties afforded them by occupying the kingdom and being well left alone by the fire drake, the party as a whole was well-rested, relatively well-fed and bathed, and over all better taken care of than they had their entire journey. On days prior to these, not only would their frequent couplings be entirely impossible, but even intimate little moments like this, stolen away in each other’s arms for comfort and relaxation, were equally as improbable. Bilbo cherished these moments of contented peace.

His fingers ran through the thick raven tresses slowly, enjoying the luxurious feel of it running between each tapered digit, the delicate pads coming to a rest occasionally to indulge the dwarf and massage his scalp. "I would give you more if I could. I'd give you everything."

His eyes sparkled as a warm laugh bubbled up from his chest. His fingers, gently swirling in place and stimulating the sensitive scalp of the dwarf, drifted away, one finding the mussed braid he had woven there. "But you've already got everything you could ever want. What are you supposed to get someone who has everything they could ever possibly want?"

Thorin had almost melted to the floor with the lovely sensations pulsing through his scalp, but at Bilbo’s words, he was focused once again. He lifted up on his knees to catch Bilbo’s reddened lips in a firm kiss. “You’ve given me everything I want,” the king whispered against the hobbit’s lips before pulling back to meet his eyes. “And far more than I deserve, at that. I couldn’t possibly ask for more than what you choose to give me.”

With a shake of his head, he silenced any argument or flustered babbling that had risen to Bilbo’s lips at that and reached up to undo the hobbit’s own mussed up braid. Thorin took his time fixing the tiny plait, eyes glancing at his lover and smirking lightly at him as he tied it off. He fingered it lightly, chest swelling in pride. “My treasure,” he murmured, slightly dazed as he took in his lover sitting on his throne in naught but a vest of precious silver links. Smiling lazily, he pressed forward for another kiss.

It was a tender, slow slide of lips, nothing nearly as demanding as they had shared naught five minutes earlier. Before they had even separated Bilbo was tugging at the thin leather chord that held Thorin's plait and began rewinding it in return. He barely had to afford his work a glance, the pattern his fingers followed now well memorized and always precise.

One the plait was tied off, the burglar ran his fingers over his handy-work, smiling gently as his gaze drifted between his lover’s and the braid. It was many moments of contented silence, smiling at each other like a pair of love-struck fools, before the distant sound of boisterous laughter and merrymaking could be heard from the treasury. Slowly music began to rise, the heavenly thrumming chords of a harp resonating to where they lounged silently in the throne room.

"I don't suppose we can just stay like this, can we?" Bilbo groused, the warmth of the fur and Thorin's firm body making him want to do no more than claim some well-deserved rest in his lovers embrace.

"Mm," the king hummed thoughtfully, dropping his forehead to rest against Bilbo's, sleep licking at the frayed edges of his consciousness. He was completely exhausted, though in a pleasantly sated way. "I don't see a reason why we couldn't. We are not needed if they have begun to play. We can move these furs to the floor here and lay in for a few hours."

The idea sounded even more appealing when he said it aloud, imagining lying naked with his lover at the base of his throne, wrapped in furs, smoking a bowl of tobacco at some point, perhaps. It sounded divine. With that image in mind, Thorin stripped his hobbit of his final item of clothing as he added, "No one should enter this room, and it would only be my nephews if any did."

Bilbo couldn't fight off the light blush that still touched his cheeks. He'd never been completely barren of clothes, leave for behind closed doors in the private quarters they shared at Beorn’s and in Laketown. Any other time he was well covered and his timid nature protected. But with Thorin's reassurance, he settled in at the base of throne naked as the day he was born. The king wrapped them in the heavy fur, staving off the chill that seemed to be a very part of the living rock that surrounded them, and he rested at Thorin's side with his head tucked against his broad shoulder.

It was in this way, curled at Thorin's ancestral throne wrapped in a beast’s hide, relaxing against each other, that the king and his consort spent the rest of their day. They slept peacefully in each other’s arms, and even when they woke did not stray from the privacy of the throne room until two mischievous princes came up to check on where their uncle had gotten to.

By a fortnight’s end, Thorin was in a right state.

The search for the Arkenstone grew ever more futile as each day they came up empty-handed. Piles upon piles of gold was sifted through, yet still no sign of the luminescent gem that had long lingered in the back of the king’s mind, even before disembarking on his journey. By now, Thorin never left the treasury, and he barely slept now that he’d taken to walking through his hoard in the small hours of the night, just basking in the shards of colored light that bounced off of gems and coin alike, his eyes hungry as he took in his wealth.

As the days wore on, and the dwarves grew more and more frustrated, Bilbo grew distant and was often found searching in his own corner out of everyone’s way. It was understandable of course, Thorin thought, as dwarves with short tempers were often better left alone. His gentle hobbit was wise to keep to himself, lest a brawl start and he got caught in the crossfire.

No such thing happened, but then news came on the wings of a raven, news of armies of Men and Elves marching on Erebor, looking to snatch what they assumed to be an unguarded and unclaimed hoard. Hearing that Smaug was dead did little to please Thorin as a black rage filled him. He would not allow what was his to fall into the hands of filth that had never raised a finger to help them. The very idea that the elvenking Thranduil sought any claim to even a single gold piece had Thorin almost laughing.

As it was, he merely ordered his men to build a wall to block off the entrance to his kingdom and continued his search in earnest, thick rage and possessiveness rolling off of him in waves.

Many hours later, the company returned, strained laughter and song filling the silence of the treasury, and Thorin had to leave, lest his aggravation lead to him striking someone. Still holding an interesting coin he had found in his pursuit of the Arkenstone, he stormed off to the throne room, leaving the happy sounds behind to brood in silence.

Bilbo was at the fringes of the rowdy company of dwarves, their laughter and song tinged with their nerves. Armies were going to march on Erebor, of men and of elves, and the threat was wearing on everyone. They all knew that if the wall was breached they stood no chance, but they put on brave faces in fear of their king's wrath. While they preoccupied themselves with their strained merrymaking, sifting through the treasure now in pursuit of armor and weapons, Bilbo watched as his raven-haired dwarf skulked away to the safety of his throne room.

He made a move to go but was halted by a companionable arm gripping him tight around the shoulders. When he turned to the source he was met with Kíli’s forced smile, his face worry-worn as everyone's. "I wouldn't tonight Bilbo. He's in one'a his black moods." Kíli kept his voice low, glancing nervously at the rest of the party behind them as Fíli slid up to his brother’s side. The blonde seemed particularly on edge, be it the news of impending devastating battle or his uncle's sour mood, Bilbo could not tell.

"I only go to ease his worries," Bilbo replied, back stiffening as he defended his actions. While the brothers had known their uncle their whole lives, the hobbit felt he knew his beloved well enough to assume he was always a welcomed presence. "And I will be going up there, whether you say so or not," Bilbo affirmed by leaning in the direction of the corridor that led to the throne room, the corners of his mouth dipping in a frown. Thorin was his lover, and black mood or not, he was going to be there and share in the quiet or whatever else was asked of him. He was fiercely loyal to the king, a bond that would have formed over the course of this journey regardless of their passion and trysts. He would be damned if he left Thorin alone when it was obvious (to the hobbit's eyes at least) that he needed companionship.

Kíli looked to his brother, each sharing one of those meaningful looks that spoke without words. They each shared a frown, Fíli finally conceding to whatever it was they were 'discussing' before Kíli returned his gaze to Bilbo with a small smile. "Then we'll accompany you." The archer left no room for argument. Though he doubted that Thorin would ever do anything to harm or lash out against Bilbo, the company as a whole (and the brothers in particular) had taken note of the savage mark Thorin had left on the delicate creature with his teeth. It had bruised angrily around the edges, purple and blue and where Thorin had applied the most pressure a sickly green, and it had them all slightly concerned for their king’s restraint. No one question him or accuse him or call him out, but it was foolish to think they hadn't taken notice when they all valued Bilbo so dearly.

The three of them made their way to the throne room in silence, leaving the bustling party behind them.

As they entered the cavernous room, the tension in the air was palpable, and Fíli was already regretting allowing the hobbit and his brother come up here. There was something definitely more off about Thorin than a ‘black mood,’ as Kíli had put it, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something swam at the fringes of his memory, just out of reach, and he could vaguely hear his mother’s voice telling him of something, but it was lost the moment he thought too hard on it.

The trio found Thorin, seated on his throne, crown next to him on the pedestal, and a coin in his hand. He was watching it as he rolled it along his fingers, eyes enraptured by it as he lounged against the arm of his regal seat, thighs spread. The king was the perfect picture of haughty indifference, and something very close to dread stabbed through Fíli’s gut. When his uncle looked up at their entrance however, something ever so slight shifted and he was almost the man they knew him to be, save for the hardness to his brow.

“Mm, all three of you have come to see me?” Thorin asked as he straightened, the muscles in his back and neck tight as he looked upon them. His lover lead the group, and it was obvious Bilbo had intended to come alone, if the half-annoyed, half-smug look he flashed back at his nephews was anything to go by. Closing his fingers around the coin in his hand, he beckoned his hobbit closer with his free hand with a smile he hoped appeared lazy and relax. At Fíli and Kíli’s concerned frowns, he wagered he failed spectacularly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he continued, trying to drain the iron from his voice.

"Well there's no reason to be left alone, is there?" Bilbo replied quickly, a smile tugging at his lips. Thorin had been brooding for weeks now over the precious item for which they searched, the Arkenstone. The hobbit had an inkling that the gem he had found, that he kept hidden away in his pack, that sparkled so brilliantly and swirled with iridescent light might indeed be it. While he had craved to relieve his lovers worry over the gem he could not bring himself to relinquish it quite yet. The heart of the mountain seemed to have some sort of hold over his lover and though retaining it had the gem possessing Thorin's thoughts most of the day Bilbo feared just how much more possessed he would be if he had the stone in his hands.

Bilbo easily made his way over to the throne, leaning close to press a chaste kiss to the king’s lips before settling himself against the armrest between Thorin's legs. "And your nephews shared my sentiment. No need to be left alone when there's plenty of company to go around," he added with a smile, casting his gaze to the boys. They still looked ill at ease, but were visibly trying to relax in their uncle’s presence.

"Aye!" Kíli finally chimed in, a bit to cheerfully to be entirely convincing. "We've barely seen hide nor hair of ye' since we started the hunt for the stone uncle." The archer sauntered forward, his co*cky defense mechanism the cause for the way he so confidently carried himself in front of the king's throne. "We missed ye'," he quipped with a shrug, coming to rest at Bilbo’s side and resting his chin on top of the hobbit's head affectionately.

Though he twitched at Kíli’s familiar gesture with Bilbo, Thorin afforded the cheeky youth a tight smile before turning his attention to his lover. Fíli still hung back a few paces away, but the king paid him no mind. If the blond was going to act a skittish horse, then so be it.

Leaning forward, Thorin sealed his mouth against Bilbo’s, more firmly than the quick peck the hobbit had given him upon walking up to the throne. Slipping his tongue inside the moist cavern of his lover’s mouth, he let out a groan as his body awakened. At first, he had the urge to pull away as they were far from alone, but his hazy mind caught up and reminded him of their audience being welcome bed partners. Perhaps a bit of play would calm his mind a bit, and as king it shouldn’t matter who was present when he showed affection to his intended. Kings and consorts did not steal kisses, did not sneak tender moments, and most definitely did not hide their activities like common whor*s being bedded by noblemen.

Bilbo accepted the kiss slowly, tongue sliding against the kings hesitantly as he was aware of Kíli so close and suddenly quite tense. He stole a glance, greeted with Thorin's eyes sealed shut, his gaze searching out Fíli who was still closer to the exit. He looked as tense as Kíli felt at his side. Bilbo broke the kiss slowly, his tongue darting out to chase his lover’s taste on his lips, a nervous smile quirking his lips. He was never going to be able to fully suppress his timid nature, though to be in the brother’s presence was much more comfortable than it would be with anyone else witnessing their outward acts of affection.

Bilbo smoothed Thorin's hair, the thick tresses seemingly as heavy as Thorin's expression, in a move he hoped was comforting to his dwarf. "Is there anything you need? You seem rather," Bilbo paused, eyes scanning the ceiling momentarily as he searched for the right word. "Well, you seem rather stressed as of late."

“Mm,” Thorin murmured as he opened his eyes to meet Bilbo’s before glancing at his tense nephews. They were beginning to grate on his nerves, especially since their growing concern coincided with his touching his consort. Clamping down on a biting remark to send them from the room so he could have Bilbo to himself, he turned a pleasant smile to his lover. “I could think of a few things to help with my stress, my treasure,” he all but growled, pulling the hobbit down into his lap so the creature could feel his need.

Without realizing it, Fíli had taken a step forward when the halfling let out a startled squeak at his sudden change in position, but stopped when it seemed Bilbo wasn’t in any danger. It would have appeared to be playful by anyone else’s eyes, but to the heir’s he could see the stiffness in Thorin’s movements, the barely-leashed wildness in pale eyes that went beyond simple arousal. If there was one thing Fíli knew for sure, despite the way his mind floundered for a memory that niggled at the back of his mind, it was that the hobbit was not safe in the king’s arms this night.

“What about a show?” the blond suggested suddenly, keeping his tone light and seductive and barely managing not to flinch when Thorin’s iron gaze fell on him. As Kíli looked back at him in slight confusion, a slow hunger filling those chocolate depths, Fíli continued quickly, “I mean, you treated Master Baggins here to a lovely show all those weeks ago. I simply think it’s only fair that he returns the favor, yes?”

Bilbo felt heat rise to his cheeks, the telling way the king's eyes seemed to flick over his face at the change confirming they had become a lovely shade of pink. He could feel Thorin grinding up against his backside impatiently and it left the halfling blushing all the harder, albeit with a playful smile. When Fíli cut in, a sway in his hips and voice softly seductive he had Bilbo's full attention. A show like they had given him? Well that would've been in Laketown...

As it dawned on him, the show they had in mind, that telling blush spread to the tips of his ears and down his neck. Bilbo's heart thumped wildly in his chest at the suggestion. To the burglar's dismay, his co*ck twitched with interest as well.

Kíli’s mouth went dry at the suggestion, his gaze joining Thorin and Bilbo's as they locked on the heir-apparent. Once again as Fíli’s eyes found him they shared their secret, silent conversation. Kíli’s eyes followed Fíli’s gaze and then he finally noticed the way Thorin was baring his teeth ever so slightly, the way his pale orbs seemed to glint dangerously. They had all indeed feared for their burglar, but seeing his uncle behaving this way so outwardly frightened him. He immediately stepped forward, forcing another bright smile with a sultry gaze, all of his weight resting on one hip as he agreed. "Aye, I'm sure he'd be happy to put your mind at ease with a show of his own."

Despite the rise of possessiveness in his chest (mine), arousal surged through him as he looked down at his lover. He recalled a fantasy he had ages ago, an imagining of his hobbit bracketed by honey and chocolate and writhing between them, opening his mouth to cry out ‘Thorin!’ despite who’s co*ck it was that plundered his depth. Then he recalled what exactly he had shown his hobbit that night in Laketown, and how much the halfling had enjoyed it regardless of his achy exhaustion.

Turning a wolfish smile on his lover, he leaned down to lick at the shell of Bilbo’s ear, a low rumble emanating from his chest. “Would that be agreeable to you, my treasure?” he whispered, though it was loud enough for the other two in the room to hear. Thorin had half a mind to demand he be given such a show, but reigned in his greedy want.

Fíli was only minutes away from bodily removing Bilbo from his uncle’s lap, somehow managing to keep his tense concern from his face as he watched the feral expression that overcame Thorin’s. Taking another step forward, eyeing the furs that were still laid out on the floor before the throne, he held a hand out to Bilbo. “As long as Bilbo consents, we will do whatever it is you would like,” he said to his uncle, begging the gods for some luck, and maybe even a little mercy.

Bilbo worried his bottom lip, unable to meet Thorin's gaze for long before he would glance away. Such a suggestion had set his nerves aflame, made his skin tingle and had him aching suddenly to be filled. When he had witnessed Fíli and Thorin f*ck into Kíli, and the look of absolute wanton bliss on the archers face...it had him nodding his head in consent.

Fíli and Kíli each moved forward as soon as he agreed, pulling him slowly from Thorin's lap, moving carefully as if they were pulling a bone from a starved dog. As soon as he stood on his own though, they stood awkwardly for a moment, the archer behind him and the swordsman at his front. Their hands roamed over his body in tandem, and Bilbo noticed as Fíli’s wandering gaze paused at the evidence of Thorin's wild passion at the crook of his neck. Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, to reassure the heir, but the tiny motion caught Fíli’s attention and his mouth was delicately brushing Bilbo's.

The pressure was soft and sweet, incredibly gentle, as if Bilbo were made of glass. With a soft whimper the hobbit was chasing those lips, the dangling braids of Fíli’s moustache tickling either side of his mouth as Bilbo slotted their lips further together.

Kíli moaned quietly, containing the sounds as he felt his trousers tighten uncomfortably around the bulge that was beginning to take shape. While Kíli had always been one to nip and suck when involved in bedsport, with the angry purple dashed so viciously across Bilbo's pale skin, he was careful to drag his lips across the hobbit's neck and lathe with his tongue.

Fíli succumbed to the kiss, good intentions fading away to the back of his mind as he deepened the molten kiss with Bilbo, tongue delving in as a hungry growl escaped him. It had been so long since he shared this with the hobbit, this press and slide of lips and tongue. Was it Beorn’s they had last embraced like this? Either way, he somehow had forgotten how perfectly pliant the creature was beneath his lips, how agreeable he was. Only rarely would Kíli submit this fully, and even then he was all teeth and needy hands.

Bilbo fairly melted against him, boneless and whimpering, as the archer set to work stripping the hobbit and that worked just fine for the blond. He had no intentions of relinquishing this delicious kiss any time soon, and would gladly leave the act of removing Bilbo’s clothes to Kíli.

As Thorin watched, hand palming himself through his trousers, he was struck by how perfect it looked, how close to his fantasy it all appeared, and decided this was definitely a sight he would need to see once again in the very near future. Soon Bilbo stood naked between them and they were lowering to the floor, and Thorin let out a displeased sound. Three pairs of eyes were instantly on him, the hazel pair a bit slower than the first two, and Thorin very nearly preened under the attention. He tutted lightly in the back of his throat and said darkly, “All of you are to be naked. I want to see everything.”

Kíli gulped, something about his uncle’s demeanor, the way the older dwarf looked down his nose at them from his throne made his bristle. He complied quickly enough though, removing the garments without hesitation. The cold, stagnant air of the mountain pulled a shiver from him and the archer was gravitating instantly into Bilbo's warmth. It was then he noticed, tongue tracing slow circlets at the base of Bilbo's neck that the hobbit was helping his brother from his clothes. The little creature’s fingers trembled, presumably with anticipation, his lips seeking the blonde’s occasionally to steal a kiss.

Bilbo was in a fog, his mind dazed and buzzing with the warmth at his front and back. The way the brothers knew how to slide in tandem, how their hands seldom overlapped and were perfectly in sync as they wandered over his flesh, had him quivering with need. When he made to lift Fíli’s tunic over his head he stole another kiss, something private and sultry, his tongue luring Fíli’s into his mouth hungrily as the cloth shielded them from Thorin's gaze for those brief moments. It was far too great a temptation with the eldest prince being a fantastic kisser in the hobbit's opinion, but even as they dropped their curtain Bilbo remained in the lip-lock, little mewls pouring into the blonde’s mouth.

The swordsman was swiftly losing himself and had to pull away slightly to regain some of his composure as well as root around in his discarded clothing for a flask of oil. There wasn’t much left, but there should be enough to do what they had planned. Briefly some clarity came back to him and he met Bilbo’s eyes, worry creasing his brow as he suddenly doubted himself. Perhaps he should have somehow pulled the hobbit from the room? Lured the topic away from such sexual things? Was he only aiding in damaging the halfling?

When the hobbit surged forward for another kiss, he let those thoughts fall back and passed the flagon of oil around to Kíli, groaning into the soft mouth on his.

The eldest dwarf watched on with intense heat, gaze heavy as he freed his rigid co*ck and began to stroke it lazily. He was very close to ordering Bilbo to face Kíli as his kisses with the blond grew far more passionate than strictly necessary. The way they were lost in the lip-lock was almost as if they had forgotten the rest of the room and that was decidedly not acceptable. As he opened his mouth to demand that Bilbo turn around, hazel eyes flickered up to meet his, the hobbit turning his head slightly so he could maintain eye contact as the boys kissed and prepared him. Thorin settled in his seat, a slow smirk splitting his face as he fell under the hot gaze of his lover, those eyes falling to watch him fist his own co*ck with firm, leisurely strokes.

At the sight of Thorin measuredly stroking his thick co*ck and staring him down, eyes burning with some sort of wicked desire, the hobbit's breath hitched in his throat. It was nearly painful, watching his lover tugging at his member so leisurely, the very object of his desire when these passions were kindled within him. The burglar drew his eyes away only momentarily as Kíli pressed close from behind.

The dark glint in his uncle eyes as Fíli and Bilbo woven themselves closer and deepened their lasting kiss warned Kíli it was time to distract the hobbit himself. There was something warning there, like a snake pulling back as if to strike, and the archer heeded it. He pressed up against the hobbit, his fingers now thoroughly slick and pushing into the creature as he passed the flagon back to the blond. He pressed a teasing kiss to Bilbo's ear, whispering huskily, "Might I steal a kiss little one?" Kíli had already worked two fingers into Bilbo's core, need rocketing through him as the hobbit twisted his head around and sealed their lips together.

Kíli’s co*ck gave a mighty throb at the mewls and whimpers he was pulling from the hobbit, and now that Fíli was preparing himself as well, he occupied his free hand by gently caressing up Bilbo's side and cupping his cheek softly. The way the halfling shivered under the touch, like it was something his body was unaccustomed to had the archer eager to please, and he delved into Bilbo's mouth with long, languid strokes of his tongue. Bilbo all but melted against the brunette, his eyes fluttering shut as the archer worked in a third finger, and then a fourth. The feeling of the hobbit's channel, squeezing his fingers so tightly had him keening, his hips thrusting forward hopelessly.

Fíli pressed close to Bilbo’s front, slick hand sliding down between the hobbit’s legs and pressing his fingertips to the stretched hole. He snuck one in, spreading the hobbit even further and Kíli stopped moving his digits, allowing the hobbit some time to adjust. With his other hand, Fíli began stroking the halfling’s co*ck, helping Bilbo to relax as he slid in another finger. Slowly, the brothers began to move their questing digits until the hobbit was whimpering his need against Kíli’s mouth. Adding his third finger, the blond watched Bilbo’s face as it contorted for only a second before it dissolved back into desperate pleasure.

An impatient sound from the throne had Fíli glancing at their uncle and found him slowly masturbating, eyes wild and sweat dripping slowly down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard. In the eldest dwarf’s free hand was a gold coin, absently twirling around his fingers as he watched the three of them on the floor with a greedy gaze. Fíli turned his attention back to the other two in their threesome and coaxed them to look at him.

“Lie back, Kíli,” he said thickly, slowly removing his fingers from Bilbo’s core and pulling the hobbit toward him as Kíli did the same and followed the light order.

“Straddle him, little burglar, but don’t lower yourself,” Fíli continued to Bilbo, voice soft and tender, lightly guiding the whining creature to follow his command. The swordsman made a pleased sound in his throat at Bilbo’s compliance, and the hobbit seemed content enough with his approval to steal yet another kiss. “Lean back, Bilbo, and brace yourself on my brother’s chest.”

As the halfling followed that order just as swiftly, Fíli moved forward and lifted Kíli’s hips slightly before stuffing a wad of clothes beneath the brunette’s pelvis to hold him level. With that accomplished, Fíli sought out the oil, pouring the rest of it out over his and Kíli’s co*cks. It was excessive, extremely so, and much of it pooled in the furs and rolled down Kíli’s torso, but in this case there was never too much lube.

Taking them both in on hand, Fíli grabbed Bilbo’s hip with the other and guided him so that his loosened entrance nudged down against the heads of their co*cks. “Lower yourself. Take your time,” Fíli gasped out, rubbing soothing circles on the hobbit’s shaking hip.

Nearly every muscle in Bilbo's body locked up as he was breached. The stretch was intense, the burn making him hiss lightly between whimpers, and his eyes were impossibly wide, locked with Fíli’s dark sapphire gaze. His mouth fell open, his jaw working uselessly. He lowered himself ever so slowly, the invasion of his body so completely mind-wiping that garbled sobs were escaping him. He felt as if everything was melting away, as if the world was turning to dust all around him, and everything narrowed to the searing pain of being skewered by the princes.

The archer was entirely incapacitated beneath Bilbo, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he gnashed his teeth, willing the release that was already working its way down his spine and into his loins away. The heat, the friction, the delicious little noises the burglar on top of him made....it was all too much. He was thankful then that Bilbo was facing Fíli, as he feared he looked just as wreaked as he felt.

Bilbo had reached out to Fíli, his hand tangling in the blonde’s hair as every part of him quivered and clenched around the girth of the princes. He tried to form words, tried to put words to the sensations of violent pleasure and pain that were warring with each other and felt as if they were going to tear him apart at the seams. He felt someone inside of him slip just the tiniest bit deeper and then his world was washed in white, a scream of utter wanton delight being torn from his slack mouth, his eyes screwing shut as pleasure rocketed through him and someone nudged his prostate. It left him shivering, desperate, and craving more. As he felt Fíli beginning his carefully drawn thrusts in and out of his core, Bilbo sought out Thorin. His hazel eyes were glassy with tears, his face flushed and hair slicked to his face.

A sob was ripped from Fíli as he began moving inside that tight heat, his co*ck sliding between the clenching rim of Bilbo’s hole and the hard underside of Kíli’s length. It felt different than that time in Laketown, tighter and hotter, and the hands grappling for purchase and wrenching at his braids were so much sweeter and gentler. His head had fallen forward as he began to thrust, his gasping breaths almost sounding pained as the thick pleasure overwhelmed him. The blond could hear Kíli, whispering babbled pleas that barely made sense. Bilbo was taking it perfectly, his cries of ecstasy filling the hall and echoing around them, and Fíli moaned his praise against the halfling’s shoulders and throat and chest. “So good, you’re doing so good, Bilbo,” he whimpered as he sped up, pulling a ragged squeal from the small creature.

On the throne, Thorin watched his gaze stuck on Bilbo’s face as it twisted with the mind-numbing pleasure that was rocking his system with each thrust of Fíli’s co*ck. He maintained eye contact with his lover, the hand on his own prick speeding up as his release hovered deep inside his gut and inched forward.

The sight and sound and smell of it all was intoxicating, his heirs f*cking his consort with abandon in his throne room in his kingdom. This was all his. He was King Under the Mountain, and the three men writhing on the floor at his feet were his. As the eye contact he had maintained with his treasure broke when the man threw his head back to scream his delight to the air, Thorin looked down at the coin in his hand. It gleamed at him, the trinket bright with his constant rubbing as he listened to his treasure’s screams and mewls of pleasure at his feet. The hand Thorin had on his co*ck sped up as his lust became more intense, more immediate, and his climax sped forward. This was all his, and no amount of men and elves would take this from him. That thought had him baring his teeth, lips pulled back tight as a wicked pleasure curled in his gut at his rage and hate for the armies that marched on his kingdom.

Bilbo was holding tight, his eyes staring dazedly as he concentrated with everthing he had on the nondescript ceiling that vaulted so far above them. The pleasure was incredible, the pain eased one with the oil that slicked the twin co*cks half-buried in the tight furnace of his core, and Bilbo wondered for a spilt second if this pleasure would ruin him. He could hear Kíli babbling behind him, his voice cracking at intervals, the words a slurry of Westron and Khuzdul that were entirely unintelligible. Fíli was persistent with his thrusts, his pace only increasing once he had found a steady rhythm. It was his words of praise that pulled Bilbo's attention back. Through his blissed-out haze he found the strength to tug the blonde closer, his lips brushing the swordsman's in feather-light fleeting touches with every surge forward.

But Bilbo wanted more. He so desperately wanted his lover, the taste, the scent, the feel of his skin. As it was he simply appeased himself with the sight. He turned his bleary hazel orbs to behold the visage of his lover, his one in the world. He had expected the eyes he had fallen in love with, those gorgeous blue and grey orbs that were always so intense and held a sadness that Bilbo used to think was unfathomable, the eyes that reminded him of stormy seas and rainy days, to be staring right back at him.

But Thorin was consumed with another sight.

He rolled a gold coin over his knuckles deftly, and his dark and lusty gaze was settled on the trinkets path. He was in the grips of pure rapture, entirely consumed with passion as Bilbo had seen him in the past when in his arms. But Thorin was not in Bilbo's arms. As he had before, Bilbo felt entirely not there. The king cared not for who was in his throne room, did not even seem to remember that the hobbit, his hobbit, was laying at his feet and being debauched for him. Bilbo reached out, whispering Thorin's name.

The king still did not meet Bilbo's eyes. The hobbit tried again, louder than before, and again, and again, loud enough that he could feel the brother's eyes on him now. The sound of Bilbo's broken voice bounced off the walls around them, too loud to ignore, and still Thorin focused on the golden coin.

Something in Bilbo's mind snapped. The pleasure seemed to vanish and the pain of the act they were committing consumed him. His chest heaved with the effort as he tried to move against them, try to get himself free and over to his lover, to grab Thorin by the face and be sure he was still the dwarf he knew. But when he found himself to be pinned panic like nothing else he had ever experienced welled up within him. He began pushing against Fíli’s chest, broken desperate sobs escaping him as tears stung his eyes and threatened to pour over, and then he remembered. He remembered his word.

"S-Stars!" he cried out in his panic. Fíli came to an immediate halt and Kíli stiffened beneath him, scrambling to push up on his elbows and withdraw from the hobbit as Bilbo continued to scream out, "Stars! Stars, s-stars!"

It was as if a bucket of cold water was splashed across him, and Thorin was immediately on the floor next to Bilbo and his nephews. “Get off of him,” the king ordered, panic breaking through his voice as he lifted the hobbit off of Kíli once the blond had pulled out as gently as he could. Thorin pulled his lover against his chest, yanking the furs off of the floor to wrap around the naked creature and held Bilbo as he choked on frantic sobs. The eldest dwarf didn’t even pay attention to his nephews, didn’t care whether they were still in the room. All he cared about was his consort, shaking like a leaf in his arms as he pressed kisses into the hobbit’s hair. “I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured, his throat tightening painfully as he screwed his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have pushed you, I’m so sorry, my love.”

Fíli already had his clothes back on and was standing a few feet away, watching his uncle fret over Bilbo, seeing the man they had all known him to be and trying to reconcile it with the wild animal that had been in his place. Once again, something he knew he’d heard his mother say niggled at his mind, a distant memory he had dismissed, or he had been told to dismiss it. ‘You will understand when you are older,’ he could remember his mother saying.

“C’mon, Kee. Let’s give them some space,” Fíli said softly, retreating to the entrance of the room, but not leaving it, keeping Thorin in his sight at all times.

Kíli followed bewildered his trousers barely laced and his over coat draped over his shoulders. The archer kept glancing backward, unable to tare his eyes from the crying hobbit. Guilt filled him at the sight of the tears that streaked the burglar's cheeks. He scrubbed his hand over his stubbled chin, brow furrowed and eyes still wide at what had just occurred. "Oh Aulë, we didn't hurt him, did we?" he whispered, voice hoarse with his concern as he remained by Fíli’s side at the doorway.

Bilbo clung to the dwarf like he was a life line, like if he let go Thorin might forget all about him again. A thick lump had formed in his throat that refused to be swallowed, his choked sobs breaking around it as he buried his face against Thorin's chest. They stayed like this, Thorin's hand soothing as he rubbed small circles against Bilbo's back. The hobbit could feel his lips, surrounded by his thick beard, pressed gently into his unruly wavy locks, gentle kisses and words whispering through a voice thick with emotion.

Bilbo pulled back to appraise his dwarf, eyes darting frantically over the king's familiar features and wide with fear, as his hands moved to cup either sides of Thorin's face. He was trembling hard, each and every muscle still affected by what had disturbed Bilbo so thoroughly. "I-I'm s-sorry, I'm s-so sorry—" Bilbo began babbling, new tears creating hot, wet streaks down his cheeks. "You just—you weren't—" but before Bilbo could finish his voice cracked painfully, and he dissolved into tears again against the Thorin's chest.

“Never apologize for using the word,” the dwarf said firmly, holding his lover tightly to his chest, bewildered by the raw emotion coming from his hobbit. Shutting his eyes, he began rocking back and forth, humming lightly against the top of Bilbo’s head. He would discuss what happened when his hobbit was in a better state of mind, and as soon as he calmed down, Thorin was determined to check his lover for injury. The king was vaguely aware of his nephews lingering by the door, but didn’t look up at them as he held his hobbit. “Never apologize for that, my love.”

At the entrance, Fíli watched with a furrowed brow and absently shook his head at Kíli’s question. “I don’t think we hurt him,” the blond murmured, reaching out to touch Kíli’s shoulder briefly, hoping his touch calmed his younger brother. With a sigh, he sat down against the wall, settling in to watch the two lovers.

With Thorin's efforts at calming him, the supportive words and deep thrum of his rich voice humming lightly, soon enough Bilbo's breathing evened and he was still. The only sounds from the hobbit now were the light puffs of air as he was rocked into a restless, crying induced sleep, the tears streaking his red cheeks a stark visible reminder of what he had suffered, though Thorin hadn't a clue and the boys could only give their best guess. He shifted closer into Thorin's embrace, both fists balled in the king's midnight blue tunic, and he would stay that way until he was forced from his slumber.

While Fíli watched Thorin shift so he was lying on the floor with his sleeping hobbit, he let his mind drift and suddenly the memory hit him as if it were a raging bull.

He was young, it was in Ered Luin and he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hugging the jamb as he watched Dís and Thorin rage at each other. His mother was in a right state, slamming the knife she was using down on whatever vegetable she was chopping for dinner as Thorin seemed to be pleading his case about something.

“See, that’s just it Thorin, you aren’t doing this for ‘your people’!” Dís had shouted, turning on Thorin. Fíli could remember there were tears in her eyes and that had almost had him running into the room to grip at her skirts and hold her tightly. “If you were thinking about ‘your people’ even just a little bit you wouldn’t even consider going near that damned mountain!”

“What are you saying, Dís?” his uncle had asked, voice deadly calm as he looked on his sister.

“You’re sick, just as Grandfather and Father were before you, and if you even try to deny it, you’re a liar, too,” she had bit out.

“It is our home, Dís—”

“No! This is, Thorin. This is our home, right here. I barely even remember your precious Erebor, and pursuing ‘what is rightfully ours’ has only ended in pain for this family!” she cried, putting the knife down so she could scrub her hands over her face, as if she could stop the tears.

“Wasn’t Moria enough, Thorin?” Her voice had been weak when she asked it. “Was losing everyone—Grandfather, Father, Frerin—not enough to show you that reclaiming what we had lost for good reason is a fool’s errant?”

“Good reason? A dragon attacking our home—”

“Stop making this about ‘home’ and ‘family’, Thorin!” she bellowed, and Thorin had actually gone silent. “Do not let it claim you, Thorin. The sickness. I’ve lost enough to it, I will not lose you or my boys to it as well.”

At the time, the words meant nothing to him, and even since he had heard the words ‘goldsickness’ and ‘goldlust’, that that was what had addled his great-grandfather’s mind and had led them in their attempt at reclaiming Moria. It had been lost on him, and he swiftly let all mention of it slip by him because it seemed unimportant. Thorin didn’t look or act sick, so for years he had only seen it as his mother being a fretful widow, well-intentioned as her worries were.

Now, in the darkness of Erebor, watching his uncle begin to fiddle with that blasted gold coin again, he could taste bile rising in his throat, his stomach churning violently as cold realization washed over him. He looked over at his brother, finding him chewing his thumbnail nervously as he too watched their uncle.

“We have a problem,” Fíli murmured, voice meek and he suddenly felt terribly young and afraid.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The next day had found them with elves and men on Thorin’s doorstep, armed no less. They had come to negotiate, peacefully they had claimed, but there was an edge of threat to their words. Their audacity, and having the elvenking in their presence, had Thorin’s hackles up, dark and possessive rage burning in his eyes. Without much further discussion, he sent them away.

When he turned back to his company, he could see the disapproving stares of his nephews and merely sneered at them. Turning from their stunned faces, he stormed down the steps and into the grand hall, his destination being the treasury. Thorin would find the damned Arkenstone himself, since all but Dwalin had given up helping him sift through the hoard.

The men and elves dared to come armed, intending to take his hoard for themselves, to his kingdom and then play at making peace upon discovering they were alive? The fact that the man—Bard, Thorin remembered his name being—had taken down Smaug brought little compassion to the man’s cause. They lead armies against him, and he would respond in kind. Ordering Balin to send word to Dain briefly, he holed himself up in the treasury once again.

A fortnight was spent like this, men and elves appearing every few days to negotiate, despite Thorin’s orders that the elven scum go home if they wished to see any of his gold, and the king spending every waking hour up to his knees in treasure. He barely saw his consort, though he only truly noticed it when he fell into their bedroll when he was simply too exhausted to continue his search, or do anything else.

On the fourteenth day, when the company was all hungry and tired, and the camping armies grew ever more restless, it became clear in the tones of the troops that came to speak that negotiations were nearing their end, Thorin felt a sense of mild relief that Dain and his armies should be close. If he just held the aggressors on his doorstep off just for a few days more, all would be well.

After the most recent argument with Bard and his troop (that ended with Thorin spouting something along the lines of “over my dead body”), the king was in a black rage as he left the tower. He would dig through his gold, search for his Arkenstone, and he would wait for his cousin. Balin’s raven was positive that Dain was close, only two days more at most.

As he passed through the throne room, however, his gaze found Bilbo leaning one of the arms of the throne and cleaning out his pipe. Something throbbed in his chest and a smile twisted his lips. Their last coupling, if you could call it that, had ended disastrously and since then they hadn’t found the time to discuss it. The hobbit seemed relaxed, barely a wrinkle to his brow as he tapped out old ash. Heat filled the dwarf’s blood, a hunger filling his gut and pooling in his loins.

With a new path of distraction decided, he strode over to Bilbo and loomed over the smaller man, bringing his mouth down to breathe hotly against the hobbit’s ear. “I’ve missed you, my treasure,” he groaned, pressing his pelvis and the evidence of his desire against Bilbo’s front.

The hobbit was lost to his thoughts. He thought of the Shire, of west farthing woods where he would search for elves, of his mother's smile, of his father's chiding when he would stay out past the sunset to chase twinkling fireflies, of his garden and books and feathery pillow. He thought of home. His home.

It was nearly all that Bilbo allowed himself to think about lately. Since that time in the throne room, his body bracketed by Fíli and Kíli, and Thorin forgetting their presence in lieu of a gold coin, Bilbo had forced it from his mind. He did not want to think on what he had seen, what had frightened him so thoroughly. His Baggins and Took sensibilities for once seemed to come to an agreement in his mind, that something was wrong, that he should be wary, but it was Thorin; his dwarf. Surely there was nothing to fear. Surely he was only imagining things.

The hobbit startled from his thoughts, sputtering as Thorin seemed to appear from nowhere and encroach on his personal space. Bilbo met his gaze and plastered a smile to his face, but there was something there, something that lingered in those pale eyes that made the burglar hold himself in place. It was almost like watching an animal in a cage, he could almost see the ghostly visage of a mad beast pacing in those orbs, foam at its mouth and gaze wild.

"You've been busy lately," Bilbo replied, trying his best to keep his voice in check and his features in schooled calmness. somewhat afraid to move into the king's warmth. He had not spent any amount of time with Thorin since the incident with the brothers. It was partly his own doing as he wanted time to clear his head, but it was also the dwarf's as he tended to keep himself amongst his piles of treasure.

“I’m never too busy for you,” he said thickly, lips brushing along the hobbit’s soft cheeks before pressing more insistently against Bilbo’s throat. As the halfling did nothing to stop him, Thorin wrapped his arms around him, pulling them tightly together as he licked at the creature’s throat. He kept his teeth clear of the pale flesh, for now, and only suckled lightly. Letting out a sigh, his breath puffed across Bilbo’s spit-damp skin. “The last time we were so intimate, it ended badly. I wish make it up to you, my treasure,” he whispered, beginning to lazily rut against his consort.

Bilbo stiffened in Thorin's grip, his eyes darting around the room as if they could tell him what to do. When he felt the hard line of Thorin co*ck pressing so insistently and firm against him, his tongue and lips sliding along his neck with the occasional accidental scrape of teeth, he felt somewhat threatened. Thorin was absolutely right, it had ended badly, but the king seemed to forget that there was barely anything intimate between them Had he really been so focused on that bloody coin?

Bilbo shrugged away from him, a hand reaching up between him to gently push back against his chest, ensuring their bodies were a half-foot apart. He went to meet Thorin's eyes, but the darkness there was different than it had been in the past. No, before when his pupils swallowed the rich blue hue, it was with passion and need for Bilbo alone. Now it seemed much more sinister to the hobbit. Now it only seemed to be the way the dwarf looked at his possessions. "I-I do not think I'm terribly...in the mood."

At first a thick curl of rage punched through the dwarf, that he would be denied this from his consort. That it was even a request that was thought to be denied. But Thorin pushed it down and forced a smile on his lips, eyeing his hobbit hungrily. If he had to coax the man, he would do it. Reaching up, he held his lover’s hands lightly while leaning his head down close to Bilbo’s. “Moods can change,” he whispered lowly, moving forward to press their lips together with enough passion that it couldn’t be confused as chaste.

“Uncle,” a voice called from the entrance of the throne room, and Thorin was tearing his mouth away from his consort to glare.

Fíli marched into the room, heart pounding as he saw the way Bilbo was huddled back against the mighty throne with Thorin towering over him. The halfling didn’t look scared, per se, but it was not the stance of a willing partner. Thanking the stars for his foresight to tail his uncle, the blond glanced back at Kíli with a small sigh of release. They couldn’t stand to watch their uncle do anything unforgivable, and they would definitely not allow Bilbo to do anything just to keep some peace between himself and the mad king.

“The enemies will be back on your doorstep tomorrow no doubt to renegotiate once they learn of Dain’s approach,” Fíli said quickly as Thorin made no move to step away from the hobbit. The air was electrified with the eldest dwarf’s annoyance, causing the heir to halt several feet away. As he felt his brother come up behind him, Fíli continued, “Should you not prepare for the possibility they turn violent?”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at his princes before turn to look down at the hobbit he had nearly pinned to the throne. His anger toward the armies that besieged them outweighed his hunger for his consort’s warmth, and he stepped away despite the aching need tenting his trousers. Finding the Arkenstone was of the utmost importance, and he could not afford to be distracted, not even by his lover. With a low growl in Fíli’s direction, Thorin exited the room, his heavy footfalls echoing through the cavernous hall before they faded completely.

Bilbo sighed, sagging against the arm of the throne as Thorin pulled away and stalked off in the direction of the treasury. The hobbit watched after him, his fingers raking through his honey curls, his pipe still clutched in his grasp. All was silent, and it wasn't until the distant footfalls of the king evaporated that the boys turned back to Bilbo.

They moved in tandem, both clearly concerned. Any time before now their expressions would confuse the hobbit, but Thorin's brazen move, how he had begun to force himself on Bilbo...it had left the halfling stunned. Thorin had never behaved that way. He was always the first to ask if it was too fast, did the hobbit need time to think or breathe. Even the first night under the stars that they shared together all those moons ago, he hadn't dared to kiss Bilbo until the burglar initiated it.

Kíli was bold enough to move close, a hand coming to rest on Bilbo shoulder as he met the hobbit's eyes. "Ye' alright?" the archer rushed out before he could think better of it, but as the hobbit didn't seemed surprised by his question, his delicate shoulders slouching just an inch lower, Kíli feared he indeed wasn't alright. "Are ye' alright Bilbo?"

The bearing with which Thorin carried himself when he left struck something deep in Fíli. The blond was truly and deeply afraid of what he saw, the barely leashed animal his uncle had become, and the way Bilbo was being targeted. He was terrified of what might happen if they weren’t there to stop it, and Fíli began to feel incredibly young. He wanted his mother’s advice, but as it was, the swordsman would just have to deal with this on his own.

He stepped closer to Bilbo and Kíli, watching as the hobbit quietly brushed of the brunette’s fretting, before clearing his throat. “Bilbo,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. His chest ached as sad, hazel eyes lifted to meet his. The lack of food and Thorin’s growing insanity wore on all of them, but on none more than the hobbit. Fíli kept his hands to himself, having slightly more control than his younger brother and cleared his throat again. “There’s something we need to tell you. It’s about Thorin,” he began slowly, glancing at Kíli for the briefest of moments before continuing, “we need you to be careful around him.”

Down in the treasury, Thorin was pacing like a wild cat while his mind raced, trying to calm his body as he thought on where the damned Arkenstone could be. It felt as though he had searched every pile of the hoard, and he was fit to shout from the sheer frustration of it all.

“Ye alright, my king?” he heard Dwalin intone behind him and Thorin turned on him, eyes narrowed.

There were a few thick moments of silence, tension rising between them until the warrior glanced down at the obviousness of the younger dwarf’s arousal. At the brief, but bright flash of want in Dwalin’s eyes, Thorin allowed a smirk to cross his lips.

He was the king, and this was a man under his command. Though Bilbo denied him, and as Thorin’s consort he could, there was nothing this man before him could do but comply. And by the way Dwalin was returning the expression, it wouldn’t have to come down to Thorin giving his loyal companion an order. He would have his treasure later, if the halfling was in a more agreeable mood, but at this moment he required his need be addressed.

“I seem to have a very distracting problem,” Thorin began as he sat down on a burnt chair that one of the company members had brought in for him days ago. He motioned down at the tent in his trousers with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could assist me with it.”

“There’s something we need to tell you. It’s about Thorin,” Fíli began slowly, glancing at Kíli for the briefest of moments before continuing, “we need you to be careful around him.”

"Why in Eru's name for?" The hobbit asked incredulously, his brow furrowing as the pair before him seemed stiffen. Lines were drawn into their faces from their exhaustion and worry. They looked tired, and much older than they had just a few weeks ago in Laketown.

"Uncle," Kíli replied shortly, drawing back from the halfling as he noticed Fíli’s reluctance to stand so close. He found himself agreeing with the gesture. It was best to give their hobbit some space. He folded his arms over his chest in turn, one hand coming up to scrub over his stubbled chin. "You must have noticed how he's...changed."

Bilbo immediately shook his head. His lips drew into a thin line and he closed his eyes as if to will the conversation away. "No. No, you're wrong," he affirmed, his voice shaking slightly as that ever present and annoying voice in the back of his head, now a chorus of his practical Baggins father and adventurous Took mother, cried out, 'No Bilbo, do not deny it.' But he would not, could not admit the evidence of his own eyes, or the evidence of his mind and heart. "He is no different than before. He's merely stressed."

Kíli rubbed the back of his neck with a frustrated sigh, his eyes darting around, from wall to wall and ceiling to floor, as if the words he needed to say were scribbled all over them. "Bilbo, you must understand, this is not a change that is welcome but," Kíli hesitated, looking to his brother for an instant to heave another sigh. "It is not a change that was unexpected, Bilbo."

Fíli decided then to take over for the moment, noticing his brother’s growing frustration and Bilbo’s distress. Another sharp ache punched through his chest as he furrowed his brow in thought, trying to gather the right words to explain to the hobbit the illness that he himself barely understood.

“He is sick, Bilbo, with the same illness that led to the downfall of Erebor,” he said, and winced as Bilbo’s features shuttered with a fierce defensiveness. “It is an illness of greed, the same illness that led to Thror and Thrain, our uncle Frerin, to die on the battlefield at Moria.”

Glancing once more at his brother, the blond took a deep breath. It was harder to say it aloud to the gentle halfling than it was between themselves, but Fíli had to push through. He owed Bilbo this explanation, as he had been kept in the dark about far too many things as it was.

“It is a goldsickness,” he said earnestly as the hobbit opened his mouth to speak, to defend Thorin against what he perceived to be slanderous words, it would seem. “It drove our grandfather, and our great-grandfather before him insane with his lust for gold. Surely…surely you have noticed…”

"No," Bilbo's voice cracked on the word, his chest heaving as he drew in fierce breaths through his nose, his lower lip trembling as he willing the tears stinging his eyes away.

The term itself, goldsickness, seemed to fit so perfectly in the most disgusting way. How Thorin would tread through his sea of treasure late at night when he thought no one knew, how his eyes would glint at the sight of gems, how he had completely forgotten Bilbo was even in the room as a gold coin rolled over his knuckles. But Bilbo could not bear the thought.

His head hadn't stopped shaking, and he couldn't meet the brother's gazes. He turned his eyes downward, focusing on the tops of his feet and the curled fur that guarded them so. "No, I won't hear any more of this, it's not true."

Kíli cut in, reaching out with, "But Bilbo--"

"It's not true, do you hear me!" Bilbo stamped his foot, the force making his bones ache as they came into contact with the floor, and his eyes flashed up to lock on the boys. The ferocity was there, but it was the anger of a hurt man.

Kíli stuttered for a moment, drawing back at the usually timid creature’s sudden snap of contained rage, but he pressed forward again. "We understand what you're feeling right now Bilbo Baggins! Better than anyone else in this company!"

As the words left him and the hobbit recoiled Kíli felt guilt flood him and he cursed his temper. He raked his fingers through his thick brunette tresses, heaving a heavy, rattling sigh before he continued. "We know you have seen it Bilbo. You have seen the sickness in him, we all have."

He spoke much more gently now, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt so lost, so frightened, and he wanted nothing more than for his mother's embrace and reassurances. The boys’ mother always seemed to know the answers, was always able to placate their worries and soothe them when they ached. "You know it to be true, Bilbo."

Bilbo remained curled against himself, shoulders having shot up to his ears and eyes flicking away as soon as Kíli raised his voice just a decimal to high. He pondered their words for a moment, trying to keep his head clear. After a few moments more thought he straightened himself, rolling his shoulders as he set his determined gaze on the princes.

"I'm sure if we just spoke to him we would find that we're all just over-reacting." He could tell by the princes’ expressions that is not what they wanted to hear. Even he wasn't entirely sure he was thinking on this clearly, that his feelings for the dwarf were muddling his clarity. But it was his decision, and as he stepped forward it was obvious to Fíli and Kíli that the hobbit intended to do so right now.

Fíli grabbed the hobbit's arm, stopping the man from continuing past them. He needed Bilbo to listen to them, to hear their words. "You've seen the way he looks at his treasure, Bilbo," the blond insisted, and cold dread stabbed through him as realization crashed against him.

"Mahal, it is even the name he has given you! You cannot stay blind to this!" Fíli said with a firmness he had never possessed before, his grip a band of iron around Bilbo's arm.

Bilbo locked eyes with the blonde and for many breathless moments they were quiet. The silence was palpable, swelling between them and hanging thick in the air. All Bilbo could do was try and swallow the lump that had jumped into his throat. But his parents’ voices, each side of his extensive family tree was screaming at him that Fíli was right. He knew it to be true.

"I cannot say I have not seen a change. I know I have," Bilbo whispered slowly, his voice thick with emotion. "Is there a cure?" He was answered with the princes’ ominous twin gazes of sadness and fear.

"If there was one we knew of, he would already be free of this demon," Kíli replied softly. Fíli seemed to be struggling with something since the realization of Thorin's pet-name for the company burglar had been brought into perspective.

Bilbo pulled a deep breath through his nose, exhaling shakily as he tried to calm himself. "You are certain?"

Fíli wished he wasn't. By the gods, he wished they were overreacting, that Thorin was just stressed and tired. "I am certain," he said weakly, flinching as his childish fear broke through in his tone. "We are more than certain."

Bilbo's shoulders sagged in defeat, his featured pinched as he pressed the palm of his free hand against his forehead. He could not hide from this any longer. He had done enough hiding over the past few weeks with his vehement denial and fears of awaking to a lust-crazed dwarf rousing him from his sleep for a quick, loveless f*ck.

"I must go speak him Fíli," Bilbo said after he had regained enough of his composure to look the blonde in the eyes. It was not so much a statement of what he needed to do, but more an affirmation that he was going whether or not the brothers wanted him to. "I must. I must have faith in that dwarf, because Eru help me if I don't—" he cut himself off, his voice hoarse and cracking around the syllables of his dying words.

The blond looked at his brother, their gazes meeting as they both mulled over Bilbo’s words. It warmed Fíli slightly that Bilbo wasn’t turning around and running from this, but then again the hobbit had no idea the true gravity of this situation. To even attempt to reason with their uncle could potentially send him into a rage. But there was a determination in Bilbo that could not be stopped without force, and neither Fíli or Kíli wanted to upset him any further.

The brothers nodded, seeming to come to the same agreement silently, and the blond released Bilbo’s arm. “We will accompany you, then,” he said, and his tone was hard again, leaving no room for argument.

Bilbo nodded, a shaking sigh escaping him. "Right then," he replied curtly with a little nod. He hesitated for an instant, giving them each a strained grin, before he turned on his heels and made his way for the door. The walk to the treasury from the throne room was not a long one but it was excruciating. The pair of dwarves were just behind him, shoulder to shoulder and tense as Bilbo had ever seen them.

They made their way into the treasury, eyes scanning the piles of gold for any sign of the King Under the Mountain, when a familiar sound reached Bilbo's ears. He felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of his dwarf, sighs mixing with growls in satisfaction that was all too familiar to the hobbit. The brothers seemed just as wary. Very carefully they padded their way towards the sounds, and before they rounded a bend to Bilbo's horror he heard a moan in return to a few growled words of Khuzdul. A pair of voices.

When the trio peeked around the mound of gold, barely stepping into view, Bilbo's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped slack at the sight they were greeted with. Dwalin, on all fours as Thorin lounged in a cinder chair, his thighs splayed wide and head rolling back as the warrior eagerly sucked the king’s member. Bilbo's jaw worked uselessly, his brow furrowing in his confusion as another violent and much more dark emotion twisted in his gut at the sight. "Th-Thorin, what're you—?"

Behind Bilbo, Fíli was frozen in shock at the sight, stunned disbelief crossing his features as Thorin lifted his head to look the hobbit in the eyes. There was a vague look of annoyance in those pale eyes, and also smugness, as if he meant to rub this in Bilbo’s face. Opening his mouth to pant for a moment, he swallowed thickly and asked, with a tone dripping in utter indifference, “is there something I can help you with, halfling? I’m a bit, ah, busy at the moment.”

Fíli’s hand was instantly on Bilbo’s arm, tugging him lightly in the direction of the exit. It would only lead to violence if they had a row right then. “This isn’t him, Bilbo,” the prince whispered earnestly into the halfling’s ear. “Remember that, Bilbo. Hold on to your conviction from not even five minutes ago.”

On the chair, Thorin was clearly frustrated with the interruption, especially with the way Dwalin seemed to pull off at the king’s words. “Why did you stop?” he snarled down at the warrior between his knees, and Fíli began tugging at Bilbo’s arm even harder.

Bilbo could barely breathe at the sight. His throat ached and there was this blinding pain in his chest. He could feel the rush of tears stinging his eyes, and his features contorted in shocked betrayal. He wanted to lash out, wanted to demand this be stopped, he wanted no more than to stomp right over to the dwarf and slap him full on across the face. It would have been appropriate being a lover scorned, who had walked in on a disturbingly open tryst.

Fíli’s grip and words pulled him back and they were retreating. Everything seemed to slow down, the obscene sounds and rhythms resuming once more. He could hear Thorin growl out again, something fiercely pleased and tantalized by what the tattooed brute was doing to him, and Bilbo felt a dagger of self-doubt sink into him. It caused a roiling anger, something that bubbled just beneath the surface, but his self-hatred far outweighed anything else he was feeling.

He walked forward with unseeing eyes, retracing his steps as he had walked them before, to the secret hallway that had allowed them all to infiltrate the mountain. He had kept his bed roll nearer to the entrance as of late, preferring to sit out in the open air while he partook in a bowl of his favorite pipe-weed, but now he felt suffocated by the stagnant oxygen in the mountain halls. He was stumbling out into the noonday sun with chest heaving as he stared out into the world. Somewhere, just over that hill and many moons away was his shire, his garden, his Bag End. And he had left it all for this.

Bilbo had spent many hours seated on a rock, his hands in a white knuckle grip as he just stared at the sky. It was a brilliant blue, with white clouds that were just barely tinged with gray. It was likely to rain later. The brothers had sat with him in silence, and when Bilbo made his way back to his bed roll and fished through his pack to retrieve that mystical gem he had found, a plan now set in stone in his mind and a resolve that was unshakeable, the brother's begged him to 'see reason'. Bilbo barely spared them a glance, only giving them a half-hearted smile as he strode out of the mountain, boldly walking down to the no-man’s land of what he feared would soon be a battlefield. That is exactly what Bilbo intended to prevent.

After speaking with their aides, Bard and Thranduil both agreed to meet him in the lee of a great stone. They were shielded from any prying eyes in the tower or anywhere else on the mountain, and it was here that he would make his bargain.

"I know it is not much," he began as he retrieved the heavy gem. He carefully folded back the linen he had wrapped the iridescent jewel in and he noted as the elvenking stepped forward with eyes widening just a fraction, enough to betray his interest. "This is my portion of the treasure. It is my share," he explained before extending it to them.

They stared back in disbelief, elf and man alike, and Thranduil reached forward with carefully schooled features to accept the stone. The elvenking, of course, recognized the Arkenstone as soon as it had been revealed. "Do you know what this is hobbit?"

"It doesn't matter," Bilbo made his reply instantly, his tone dreadfully cold and to the point. He hesitated, looking between the two with a frightened and determined gaze. "I will not suffer to see these dwarves lose their lives, and that is where Thorin is leading us all." He took note as the unlikely pair once again eyed him with curiosity.

They found it odd that a creature such as a halfling would refer to a king so familiarly. It was then that Thranduil, his bright blue eyes taking in all he saw, noticed the braid that framed and ran down one side of Bilbo's face. He followed its path from the hobbit's crown to the lobe of his ear, his eyes finding the burglar's once the gravity of the situation finally rested on him. "You are very brave, little hobbit. That you would be willing to risk so much for the sake of your companions is truly admirable."

Bilbo shook his head, his lips pursed. "Just use it to bargain with Thorin. Please, m'lord. He will listen."

That had all transpired naught but an hour ago and he had made the trek back up the mountain, his magic ring equipped to hide him as he reentered the mountain. As soon as he breached the threshold he worked the band from his finger before slipping it back into his trouser pocket for safe keeping. Now that he was back however, he had no desire to go anywhere. He could not even fathom laying eyes on the raven haired dwarf at the moment. He thought he could recall Ori gushing on a musty library he had discovered days ago, and he decided it was a good of a destination as any to be left well enough alone.

Thorin had been pacing the halls for hours, searching for his consort and getting angrier every minute he couldn’t find the little thing. Erebor was a large city, capable of hiding someone away for many days, but the hobbit did not know it as well as Thorin. After his third pass of the same dark hallway, the dwarf was snarling at his lack of success. His torch was burning down, and he would have to return back to the others to see if Bilbo had turned up.

A part of him registered the worry, but the aggravation overruled it. His org*sm earlier had been unfulfilling and left him still wanting. Thorin could hardly remember if he had dealt with Dwalin’s pleasure or not, but he had found himself searching the treasury once again, and alone, angrier than ever. When the company began filing in to help him for a time, there was no sign of the hobbit, and that was when he began his search.

Somehow, he ended up at the library, and Thorin realized that this was one place the halfling was sure to visit, as the hobbit had made it endlessly clear how much he enjoyed books. Stepping into the dimly lit room, he found the hobbit huddled in a corner, hunched over a thick book with a look of heavy concentration on his face.

“Where have you been, halfling?” he barked as he crossed the space to loom over the halfling. “I have been searching for you most of the day.”

Bilbo froze, something akin to dread worming its way down his spine and into his gut. It made his stomach churn, made him almost sick, especially with the bite in Thorin's voice. Bilbo however merely turned the page and continued scanning the text, his eyes never rising to meet Thorin's. "I had business to attend to," he replied curtly.

The hobbit’s tone rankled Thorin’s nerves, a thick wave of new anger flooding him. With a condescending noise, he crouched in front of Bilbo. “And what kind of business would your kind have?” he asked, voice low and dark. “In my kingdom, no less?”

Bilbo swallowed hard, his lips set in a thin line as he bit back a whimper. He could feel the contempt the king's words held for him in this instant, and for the first time since their stay in Rivendell he was wishing to be anywhere but in the dwarf's presence.

"It's personal," Bilbo quipped, his eyes darting from one page to the next. He couldn't take in any of the words his eyes flitted over, not with his uncomfortably frightened feeling that Thorin's tone was bringing up in him.

"And what happened to 'our kingdom'? Am I not in those plans anymore?" Bilbo muttered spitefully as the sight and sounds of Thorin and Dwalin's tryst in the treasury were still fresh in his mind and stinging his heart.

“I seem to recall you denouncing your claim to any part of my kingdom,” the dwarf growled, further displeased with Bilbo’s insubordinate tone. He bit back as much of his annoyance as he could as he continued, “Now, tell me where you have been, my treasure, and we can be done with this silly discussion.”

"I told you," Bilbo replied instantly, his voice soft and tone in practiced calmness, "Personal business." He had scanned over another page with no hopes of reading much, so he simply placed the marking ribbon, it's spot nestled between the heavy parchment, and snapped it shut. He was setting the book gently to his side, as he had found the subject matter quite interesting, and was reaching for another tome to his opposite side.

Thorin snatched the book before the halfling could grab it and shipped it across the room, the heavy thing hitting the ground and sliding several more feet. Rage burned in him as he turned back to look at Bilbo, pale gaze meeting the hobbit’s. “I am the king, I am the throne, I am the morning and evening star of my people, and you will know your place, Halfing!” he snarled, leaning closer to Bilbo’s face. “You will show me the respect and behave with obedience as my station deserves! If I say run, you run! If I say stop, you stop! If I say crawl and beg at my feet, then you do as you are told! And be grateful I allow one of your breeding in my presence!”

Panting as his rant came to an end, Thorin curled his lips up, baring his teeth for a moment as he caught his breath. “Now, I will ask one more time,” he said in a deadly calm voice. “Where have you been?

Bilbo sat wide eyed at the dwarf's reaction, his mouth falling open in his shock. He could hear his blood pounding through him as his heart rate picked up, the only sound louder than his pulse pounding in his ears was the raging dwarf before him. But now all his feelings of self-doubt and sadness from what he had seen earlier began to boil away and be consumed by anger, something that the hobbit wasn't terribly accustomed to. It wasn't like anger he had felt when a group of dwarves let themselves into his home, or when Thorin had been so cold and cast him away, no. It was anger that stemmed from heartache, and he would be damned to be walked all over.

"It's none of your concern," he finally replied, his voice hard as stone as he met the dwarf's deadly gaze head-on, his own usually warm and loving hazel orbs glinting dangerously. "And I wouldn't think to share anything openly with you at the moment, Thorin Oakenshield, as you happen to be behaving like a fantastic arse."

“Perhaps I would be in a more agreeable mood, had you not been itching for a row before this even began,” the king snapped, threadbare patience wearing even thinner with each rebuff he was paid. “Enough with this baseless sour mood of yours!”

Bilbo felt something internally snap, and he huffed and spluttered. Color rose to his face, his brow furrowing and nostrils flaring, the edges of his mouth and just under his eyes twitching as anger like he had never felt before pounded through his veins. "I cannot believe you!" he shouted, pushing up to his feet and leaning over the king with a fearsome scowl.

"I should not have to fear denying you intimacies, Thorin. I shouldn't have to think that if I say no, even just once, that you'll just go elsewhere to get your bloody rocks off!" Bilbo was fuming mad now, and somewhere in the back of his mind he swore he could hear footfalls, pounding against the stone as if running, were creeping closer. "I shouldn't be finding my lover getting his bloody dick sucked because I wasn't in the mood!"

Something akin to guilt flashed through Thorin, but he pushed it aside in favor of his rage, standing up to tower over the hobbit once more. “You’ve let others use you your whole life for their pleasures, and you think to lecture me on this?” he growled out, hands clenching into fists as his anger grew. “I will not suffer to listen to a halfling, of all things, tell me what I can and cannot do with what belongs to me.”

"With what belongs to you?" Bilbo gasped out incredulously, his eyes wide and jaw clenching. "And I suppose I'm just one more thing that belongs to you?"

But slowly Thorin's other words registered in his mind, how he had the nerve to prod at something he knew hurt Bilbo deeply. Thorin was behaving this way purposely. He wanted to hurt him. And as the hobbit realized this he felt the most heart-wrenching, twisting pain of betrayal in his gut, something made him feel as if he were going to vomit. With a shaky breath and eyes now glassy with tears he rattled out, "How dare you—"

“I dare!” Thorin bellowed, eyes wild, and absently he registered the sounds of someone bursting into the room. With barely a glance, he saw his nephews standing in the doorway. “You forget yourself, halfling. You are a guest in my mountain, I could throw you out whenever I see fit, so I recommend you start treating the king with the attitude his station deserves!”

Behind him, the young princes were watching on with mute horror as Bilbo’s face crumbled beneath Thorin’s ire. The king was panting, and from their vantage point he seemed to suddenly deflate and stumble back a step.

Thorin was blinking, stunned at the words that had just left his mouth, at everything he had said and done, and a terrible nausea filled his gut. Looking upon his hobbit, he saw wetness appear on the halfling’s lashes, his gaze empty as he looked up at Thorin. “Bilbo,” the dwarf began, voice brittle with guilt. “Bilbo, I didn’t—”

"No," Bilbo cut him off instantly as he tried to furiously blink back the tears in his eyes. They fell unbidden from him now, creating hot trails down he cheeks that refused to stop. There was a lump in his throat that refused to be swallowed down and his Adams apple bobbed with his efforts, short and nearly silent whimpering sobs bubbling up from him. "No you are right," Bilbo conceded, his features crumbling as his anger was consumed by the most profound feelings of hurt the dwarf had inflicted on him since their stay in Rivendell.

"It seems I have forgotten my role in all of this. Forgive me, Master Dwarf, I can assure you I shall not forget my place again." Each word was a battle in its own to say, each syllable feeling thick and heavy on his tongue and the pain that consumed him so wholly was nearly impossible to give in to. "I won't bother you again," he said, horrified as he sobbed out the words.

He ducked his head, focusing on the ground and tops of his feet, his vision blurry with his seemingly endless tears. He flinched away from Thorin when he thought he heard the dwarf reaching for him, the ruffle of fabric setting him on edge once more. With his gaze still so resolutely set on the ground another sob broke from the hobbit and he was moving forward, quite careful to dodge around the dwarf and well away from him before he broke into a run and pushed passed the shocked heirs. He immediately heard footsteps following him and Kíli’s voice muttering "Mahal, no," but he didn't stop to look back.

Fíli hung back, mouth gaping as he watched his uncle stand there and do nothing. “How could you?” he asked quietly, voice almost weak with his confusion and sadness. The young dwarf had never witnessed someone descend this far into goldlust, had never seen it this bad. Hearing all of the stories and the mutterings of his mother did nothing to prepare him for this shattering disappointment, this aching pity and fear as all his efforts to fix the mighty king blew up in his face. If not even Bilbo could snap him out of this, what hope would he and Kíli have? Now he placed his prayers in Bilbo’s last plan, but a sickening twist of terror curled in his gut at the thought of it.

In front of him, Thorin grasped at the air his lover had once occupied, eyes wide and stinging. There was a nauseating clarity in his mind, where he was able to see what he had been doing, what he had been saying, and knew what it was. He knew what was happening, but he could not break free of it. Already, he felt the haze of gold and power swimming forward.

Turning around, he stepped up to Fíli and put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Keep him safe,” he said firmly and left the library, his destination the treasury.

Sucking in a breath around a sob, Fíli shut his eyes and collected himself. He was a prince, the heir to the throne, and he had to be strong. Bilbo needed him to be strong, Kíli would need him to be strong with their uncle’s compromised mental health, and it helped no one if he lost his mind as well. People were depending on him, even the diminishing sane corner of Thorin’s mind, and with that he hurried after the hobbit and his brother.

He caught up to them fast, as it seemed Kíli had stopped the halfling at an alcove to try to calm the creature. Fíli stepped up and grabbed Bilbo’s shoulders, turning the hobbit to face him as he said, “That wasn’t Thorin, Bilbo, and you know it. That was the sickness talking, you have to believe that.”

Swallowing down a thick lump in his throat, the heir shut his eyes against a wave of tears that threatened to overcome him. “Have faith in him. Remember what you said earlier, Bilbo, about having faith. Don’t forget that. If we have any hope in helping our uncle,” his voice broke and he swallowed again. “We need you, too. I know it is a terrible burden, and it’s a lot for us to ask of you, but we can’t do this alone. Have faith.”

"B-But he—" Bilbo chocked on a sob, coughing as a new wave of tears poured from his reddening eyes. "But h-he said—oh, Fíli, the th-things he said—"

He grasped one of Fíli’s hands that had been resting on his shoulder in both of his, squeezing and holding tight as if it were the only thing that could keep him anchored, lest the ground swallow him whole.

Fíli leaned his forehead against Bilbo’s, jaw clenching as his eyes began to sting and his heart clenched painfully. “Remember the dwarf that gave you this,” he murmured, lifting a hand to touch Bilbo’s braid lightly before returning it to the hobbit’s shoulder. He needed the grounding as much as the halfling did, and he felt the heat of Kíli’s body against his side as the younger dwarf stepped closer to the pair of them. “Remember him, because that was Thorin. This…mockery of him is the gold speaking, the power. Do not falter in your love or your faith in him.”

As a dwarf, his loyalty to Thorin was unshakeable, even in the face of this madness that has overcome him. Fíli couldn’t imagine abandoning the elder dwarf for any reason. That was why so many of their people allowed Thror and Thrain to lead them to their deaths at Moria. But Bilbo was not one of them, was not a dwarf at all, and they could only expect his love to extend so far. Even as the blond knew this, he wasn’t above begging Bilbo, even if it was for his own comfort.

To himself, he would completely admit that he was terrified and had no idea what to do, that he desperately needed guidance. But his mother was so far away, and his uncle was insane, and Bilbo was breaking. With a strong, steady breath, he pulled the hobbit into a hug. “Please, Bilbo, we’ll fix him. We’ll make it right.”

Bilbo returned the hug and buried his face in the folds of his tunic as he had all those weeks ago when Thorin had felt so distant. But this...this was much worse, much more severe, than anything he had experienced with his lover before. Fíli’s words, however, had him nodding fiercely, even as tears continued to spill down his cheeks.

"I-I won't," he stuttered as he felt Kíli wrap an arm around each of them and tightened the hug. They all seemed to be shaking, be it from fear or apprehension or sadness, but they were all just as determined to see Fíli’s words ring true.

"How could I?" Bilbo finally admitted, pulling back to regard the brother's with a smile, he face red and eyes puffy. "He is my One."

The relief that washed over Fíli was so profound, he almost sagged to the floor. There was a wrench of fear at Bilbo’s final words, an added weight to their need to save Thorin from himself. He wasn’t sure if this was a phrase commonly used with hobbits, but it definitely wasn’t something to be used lightly for dwarves. The blond figured Bilbo knew this, and that was why he had said it like that. The halfling’s love and loyalty to Thorin was absolute, despite the dwarf’s transgressions and terrible words.

“Thank you,” Fíli said finally, his voice about to break as he let down a little bit of his control. Why did he have to be so damnably young and childish? He cursed his waning restraint and pulled Bilbo back into the hug, sucking in a shaky breath. “Aulë willing, your mad plan will work tomorrow.”

~~~

Dawn came with news of Dain approaching and that he should be arriving in the afternoon, but also of Bard approaching the wall once again. After a sleepless night, Thorin’s mood was already foul and black when he climbed atop the wall, followed by Dwalin and Balin, and behind them Fíli and Kíli. With a curl of guilt, he saw Bilbo trail the princes, but pushed it aside.

“Negotiations again, and so soon?” he called down to the man, eyes narrowing upon seeing Thranduil. The past few meetings, the elvenking hadn’t deigned them worth his time, but with the fair creature in attendance this time, it had Thorin on guard.

“We are here to bargain with you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bard replied, and even from this distance the king could see the man was wary.

“Bargain? With what? You have been insisting everything you own was destroyed in the battle against Smaug!” Thorin scoffed, shaking his head. “What would you have that I could possibly want in return for the gold you’ve been requesting?”

“This, I should think,” the serious man replied, reaching into his pack and pulling out a luminescent gem, easily half the size of his wide palm, and it was obvious what is was on sight. Thorin’s nostrils flared as he saw it before his mouth fell open.

“How came you by it?” Thorin shouted, rage unfurling in his chest, but even as he asked the question he knew the answer. He knew it the second he saw the Arkenstone, and he figured out just where his hobbit had gotten off to the day before, and as he turned and saw the way Bilbo shifted nervously, everything was confirmed.

“You,” he said softly at first, betrayal hitting him hard in the chest and almost winding him. Bilbo’s thick swallow, but unrepentant stare back at him had his ire rushing back to him and he stormed forward to grab the lapels of his coat and shake him viciously. “You! You miserable halfling! Curse Gandalf for his choice of you!”

Thorin lifted the halfling, vehemence warring with his guilt and his hurt, that his lover would betray him so deeply, knowing what that had meant to him. That Bilbo would give the most prized treasure of his family to elves, to Thranduil, to the very creature that had betrayed his grandfather. The Arkenstone was his and that was all he had wanted from his whole damned hoard. Did Bilbo have it the entire time? Hidden it away? No doubt that was exactly what had happened. The gravity of this revelation almost had him fainting, lightheaded as he was with his fury.

He was dangling Bilbo over the edge, fire snapping in his eyes as he took in the fear in the hobbit’s own, the devastation written in the lines of his face as his furred feet kicked wildly in the open air. “As for you I will throw you to the rocks!” he snarled, and for one terrifying moment, he fully intended to drop his hobbit. Reason returned to him, just before he heard a great booming voice from the group below.

“Stay your hand, Thorin Oakenshield!” Gandalf said, throwing off his hood and revealing himself. “If you don’t like my Burglar, please don’t damage him. Put him down and listen first to what he has to say!”

Thorin was already putting the hobbit down, releasing the creature from his grip as if it burned to touch him, a sneer coming to his face. “Never again will I have dealings with any wizard or his friends,” he spat, spite rolling off of him in thick waves as he looked upon Bilbo. “There is nothing he can say that will sway me to his favor. I am betrayed.”

Turning back to the men on the ground, he glared darkly at them. “You will have your payment, one-fourteenth of my gold and silver, the agreed upon share for this traitors assistance on our journey, in exchange for my Arkenstone. Give of it what you will to him, as I’m sure he will receive a handsome reward from you.”

It took everything he had not to strike the halfling, his anger spiking dangerously as he looked back at the glassy-eyed traitor. He looked back out over the wall once more and said, “Take him, if you wish him to live; and no friendship of mine goes with him.”

When he turned back to Bilbo, he sneered, hurt and guilt and wrath spiking through his gut, but he ignored the tears that began to spill down those round cheeks he used to kiss with endless affection. There was a moment where he almost took back his words, but he could still see the brightness of the Arkenstone out of the corner of his eye, reminding him of the traitor’s actions. “Get down to your friends, Betrayer, and may we never meet again,” he spat venomously.

Bilbo had feared for his life many times before on this journey. When Thorin dangled him from the wall, his grip punishing and those hands he loved so very dearly now leaving the most painful bruises against his flesh, he felt fear like he had never known before. Thorin was his beloved, his protector, the one who would never lay a finger against him, and he was about to end Bilbo's life. Gandalf was the one to stay the king's hand, and he mercilessly tossed Bilbo away from him when he set him back down. Bilbo stumbled backwards, his eyes locking with those blue orbs he had stared into so many times before, the blue orbs he had fallen so deeply in love with, as he received a new name from Thorin.

Betrayer.

Bilbo could feel his world dissolving, could feel it crumbling all around him, and surely this grief would swallow him whole. He couldn't make a noise, couldn't stand to blink, couldn't stop the twin streams of tears that instantly began to flow down his face. Time seemed to stop. And once again, Bilbo's eyes lost their light and luster, as if he had receded in on himself and all that was left was this empty husk of a hobbit. The life was gone from his eyes with Thorin's final decree. He hesitated only for a moment before he began stumbling backward, a hand flying to his chest as if he were mortally wounded, then up to touch the promise braid Thorin had woven there. The plait was loose and coming apart, and Bilbo knew once it was unwound there would be no one there to replace it.

"You put too much stock in these fairy tales, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo took another step away, seeming unable to turn from the eyes that now dripped with absolute hatred and contempt for him. The eyes that he had first seen love in.

"He doesn't love you anymore. He never did in the first place, fool of a Took."

Bilbo could feel himself slipping into a void, his all-consuming loss easing him out of his mind and presence in the world. The Bilbo Baggins all of these dwarves had come to know was leaving now. Whether he ever met them again or not, regardless of how they felt about the hobbit, he would not be the same. No more companionable thumps on the back, no sharing stories of a pint, no more tinkling laughter and stories to be told. That Bilbo was being put to death as he took another stumbled step backward, and Bilbo would be damned to let him that portion of his soul live any longer. He would not suffer this useless heart and this absolutely meaningless love.

"It's time to remember who you are. And that this was never meant to be."

He turned from them then, his feet heavy as he trudged forward, unseeing, tears still streaming as he passed faces he hoped to never see again, but hoped his sacrificial actions had saved them all from useless bloodshed. Though those thoughts were there they did not overpower all of his self-hatred, and even when he reached Gandalf, the wizard's face instantly crumpling at the sight of Bilbo so utterly shattered, he could still not get one thought out of his mind.

"He never loved you. It was only a dream. And you, Bilbo Baggins, are a fool for ever believing otherwise."

When Bilbo was well out of sight, along with the troupe of men and elves, Thorin turned to the dwarves on the wall with him. His pale gaze met Fíli and Kíli’s, his glare faltering for half of a second at the devastation he found there. Seconds later, his fury was back and he growled at them. “Do you wish to join him in exile? If so, leave,” he ground out.

Kíli shook his head quickly, chewing on the inside of his lip as he stepped closer to his older brother, fear of their uncle’s growing madness showing plainly on his face. The blond was a bit more reserved, but only just, and if you were to touch him you would feel he was quaking where he stood. “Of course not, Uncle,” Fíli said as steadily as he could, which didn’t actually say much.

Thorin nodded, pleased with his heirs’ response, made for the stairs with Dwalin and Balin falling in on his flanks. “So, my king,” Balin began, tone measured and calm. “Shall we organize the payment—?”

“No,” Thorin interrupted, not even looking down at the shorter dwarf. “We prepare for battle instead.”

“I don’t think that would be wise, Thorin,” Balin said thoughtfully, and though he didn’t say it to be insubordinate, it still rankled the king to be questioned so.

“With Dain and his army arriving in a few short hours, we can be rid of this nuisance by morning!” Thorin snarled as he whirled on his closest advisor. “Not a single gold piece will fall into the hands of Man or Elf, and I will reclaim my Arkenstone the proper way. Not bargaining for it like a simple beggar.”

None of the dwarves argued with him and eventually they all found themselves in the treasury, fitting themselves with armor and weapons and readying for battle.

It was many hours later when Thorin stood atop the wall, eyes watching the valley leading to the wilds beyond the footprint of his mountain. There was no sign of movement, and Balin had received word from Dain that they had been stopped by the Elves, and would not be allowed through until Thorin put aside his pride and paid them their due reward for laying waste to Smaug.

Balin had been very vocal in favor of just paying the Menfolk for the damages caused, which had sent Thorin into a rampage, his temper flaring wildly. “They. Are not. Getting a single. Piece. Of copper from this vault!” he snarled, and the tension that settled between the two friends was palpable. “Tell Dain to cut his way through if need be.”

The dwarf nodded shortly, mouth set in a firm line as he left the treasury with his raven, relaying the message quietly to the creature in muttered tones. Thorin followed shortly after, finding the cavernous room to be stuffy and even claustrophobic. It caused him to think too much, and at the moment, it was that was the last thing he wished to do.

So he found himself on the tower, watching and waiting, until he saw a blackness on the horizon. A thick, dark cloud that moved far too fast to be anything natural. Thorin had seen such darkness before, in the battle at the mines of Moria. This was a sign of an incoming horde of filth, and Thorin would be damned if he didn’t meet them for battle.

“To arms!” he bellowed as he descended the stairs in a hurry, blood racing as adrenaline pumped through him. The prospect of glorious battle had a smile on his lips and a hunger in his belly, and he could see a similar expression upon Dwalin’s face as well. “We have an incoming army of Orcs and Goblins. We wait until they engage the Men and Elves, and then move in to aide Dain.”

“Bilbo’s out there!” Ori burst out, wringing his hands around the handle of a large battleax. Thorin turned his pale eyes on the young dwarf, something like dread twisting his gut as rage clenched hard in his chest. The scribe seemed to realize himself and dropped his gaze, glancing at his brother nervously when the king didn’t look away immediately.

“Aye, he is,” Thorin began slowly, finally looking away to investigate a strap on his golden armor. “He has his clever ring, and a mithril vest. Surely even he is smart enough to make it out of this unharmed. That is the last I will hear about the Betrayer.”

It was then that the sound of armies moving were audible through the wall, as the elves, men, and dwarves alike moving into the valley to prepare for the incoming storm. There were shouts and the unsheathing of swords and the screeches of Orcs and the howls of Wargs on the wind, and once the screams and battle cries began, it was almost time for Thorin and his company to enter the fray.

He looked to his nephews and found them right behind him, faces solemn, but with determination. The king felt pride for them, and he reached out to grasp Fíli’s shoulder, meeting the young dwarf’s eyes before looking at the brunette. “Watch each other,” Thorin said firmly, squeezing the blonde’s shoulder and releasing him. Sudden doubt washed over him as he watched his heir nod shakily, and Kíli suck in a deep, calming breath. They were so young, and they had been so blessedly naïve.

As the battle outside grew louder though, Thorin knew it was too late to back out of this. They had to join the bloodshed. And as he backed away and turned toward the small, hidden door they had put in the wall, he saw everyone in the company ready their weapons for the charge.

Under the black cloud, it was impossible to tell how long they had been fighting, but Thorin was drenched in sweat, his armor rent, and his tunic and blade soaked in blood. He battled furiously, putting down Wargs, and Orcs, and Goblins alike as he cut through the field. There was no organization to the fray, and he’d lost sight of most of the company as soon as they fell into the swarm out on the doorstep of his kingdom.

When he was afforded a short breather, not an Orc near enough to cause him worry, he searched the blood-drenched field for his nephews, eyes desperate as he hadn’t seen them for quite some time. He found Fíli, his blond hair saturated with blood and swinging his blades wildly and carving his way through a pod of Goblins that grabbed at him. Kíli wasn’t in his brother’s shadow, which sent a spike of worry through Thorin, but he was descended upon by a Warg, his distraction with looking for his youngest nephew serving the enemy in catching him off guard.

The beast was on top of him, claws tearing at him and teeth chomping, the only thing saving him from being mauled was his shield. With a loud shout, he drove his blade through the throat of the snarling animal, blood pouring out and splashing across him. Squealing pitifully, the Warg went limp, trapping Thorin beneath its dead weight. Growling in frustration, Thorin tried to push the creature off of himself, not wishing to be pinned when an Orc or Goblin eventually came along.

“Kíli, no!”

The voice of Thorin’s heir rose above the din of battle, and icy fear washed through him as he craned his neck, trying to twist around to see—‘Please, Aulë, not Kíli.’—and wriggle out from beneath the dead Warg. What he saw had a desperate cry ripping from his throat.

Kíli, the impulsive and co*cky—stupid—dwarf that he is, was standing on a boulder, bow drawn taut as he took aim at Azog, his gaze determined despite the ale Orc’s rapid approach. Thorin could hear the Defiler’s dark laughter, even as the young prince loosed his arrow and it sunk into Azog’s shoulder. Kíli reached for another arrow and fumbled in his haste, and Thorin knew he had to get there now, lest he lose his youngest nephew.

“Do not let it claim you, Thorin. The sickness. I’ve lost enough to it, I will not lose you or my boys to it as well.”

He remembered Dís’ words with a nauseated twist of his belly, an aching sense of failure seeping into his bones as he watched Fíli hack away at his enemies in front of him, desperate to get to his brother’s side before it was too late. The blond was soaked in blood, his left leg savaged, yet he ran as if he were unhindered by pain, his blue eyes wild and terrifying to behold amidst the crimson on his face.

With renewed strength, Thorin let out a throaty bellow, his struggles to break free more vigorous and finally he felt himself slipping out from beneath the felled beast. Panting, sword in hand and without his shield, he stood to run to his nephews’ aide just as Azog brought his mighty mace down on Kíli’s outstretched arm and catching the boy’s ribs as the Orc rode past the boulder.

The young dwarf went down, a cry of pain barely leaving his throat before his head hit the boulder he stood upon with a wet thud. Thorin was bolting across the open space, unable to even shout as Azog turned on the young dwarf once again, evil words tumbling from the filth’s mouth, the white Warg a rode opening its mouth wide as it approached the boulder.

A goblin was upon Thorin, twisted sword catching him along his side and pulling a shattered, enraged sound from the dwarf as his attention was pulled away from his unconscious nephew. ‘Fíli will get there, Fíli will save him, please, Mahal, save them.’

The goblin was dead before Thorin could even register turning to fight it, it’s head rolling across the battlefield. Thorin was already turning back to run to Kíli’s aide before the creature’s body hit the ground.

Relief flew through the king as he saw Fíli, straddling the white warg’s thick throat, his blades buried to the hilt in the beast’s skull, the creature falling dead beneath him. The relief turned to a deeper fear as Thorin realized that not only was his heir within the clawed reach of the Pale Orc, but his back was to the creature.

“Fíli!” the king shouted, slicing through any creature that came between him and his kin, whether they be ally or foe.

As he watched his prince bare his teeth with the effort to pull his blade free, and saw with nauseating horror as Azog raised his deadly mace, he realized that this was exactly what Dís had spoken of. That this was where his quest would lead, where it was destined to lead from the beginning. That this journey’s roots rested in greet and goldlust, and that his nephews were about to pay for his madness.

Fíli freed his weapon with a desperate laugh that Thorin was finally close enough to hear, but when the blond twisted around, legs trapped astride the beast’s wide neck, Azog brought the mace down in a wide sweep, catching the side of the blonde’s head.

Blood sprayed and Fíli was thrown sideways with the force of the hit, his body hitting the ground heavily where he did not stir.

Thorin froze as he stared down at his heir’s still body lying face down in the mud of the battlefield, broken and bleeding, blond hair dark with filth and gore. This wasn’t what he had meant for Fíli, and seeing Kíli sprawled on the boulder with his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him had Thorin’s eyes stinging. His boys were shattered and about to die at the hands of Thorin’s enemy, their short lives ending in a battle that was never theirs.

Erebor was not their home, this was not their battle, and this creature was not their enemy. Everything fell on Thorin and his sickness, the savage drive to reclaim his wealth and his status. And now here were his princes, his nephews, his boys, the young dwarves he would call his sons, lying vulnerable in growing pools of their own blood.

Azog cackled, dismounting its dead warg and looming over the two young Durins. The Defiler looked up then, a twisted grin spreading across its face as its pale gaze landed on Thorin, taunting words rolling out of it in its hateful language. The filthy creature raised its mace then, readying to bring it down on Kíli’s head.

Thorin let loose a ragged shout and barreled forward, surging forward to knock the orc back, blade swinging and catching the hook imbedded in Azog’s stump with a resounding ring. The creature stumbled back, a snarl raising its hackles as it turned its pale gaze on Thorin with renewed wrath. Before the king could even whirl back around, searing pain ripped through his back as Azog stabbed its rusted hook into him, lifting the dwarf several feet off the ground and throwing him back down.

His head cracked against the boulder, stars blooming across his vision as he laid on the ground. Thorin knew he had to get up, that he had to get back on his feet right now or he would be dead, and his nephews would die, and this would all be for naught.

They would die here, and it will all have been in vain. They will have traveled so far, disrupted so many people’s lives, ruined a gentle hobbit’s peaceful existence—Bilbo. A deep sadness filled Thorin as he thought on their last words, and the spiteful name he had given his One in his madness. He only prayed that the soft man had been spared this bloodshed, had been escorted away to safety before this pointless battle began.

The stars receded from his vision, but he couldn’t yet stand. He felt a large hand twist mercilessly in his hair, pulling his head up so sharp spikes could press against his throat.

“Any last words, Durin-scum?” he heard the hateful voice in his ear, the Westron halting and barely intelligible.

Thorin’s tongue felt thick in his mouth, and no words came to him as he tried to will his limbs to move, to do something, to not roll over for his enemy. But he was swimming through a fog, his reactions sluggish. He could feel his senses returning to him, the blasted ringing in his ears dissipating, but it was too late. Only death waited for him now.

Bilbo had been held at bay by Gandalf until the battle ventured too close, and the hobbit had laid eyes on his company very few times. The sounds of death, the pungent scent of blood, the sight of pure carnage...this was not the things a creature like him were meant to see. Rolling green hills, a well-tended garden, a warmth hearth and full pantry...amongst all of this senseless death it was so distant and desperately missed, but the grief that filled his entire being and what he had bore witness to this day had ruined him for any hopes of returning to such a peaceful existence.

He was in the middle of the fray. Sting was like a smoldering blue flame that he wielded, flashing with speed that he did not know he possessed. Terror was his greatest motivator. The mithril undershirt protected him, but that did not save his hands and face from the occasional close call of an arrow or twisted orc blade.

He fought with a ferocity only spurred on by his utter panic until he found the magical ring and slipped it onto his finger, vanishing without a trace. He weaved his way to the outskirts of the battle, finding a place high enough above the carnage to observe. He scanned the battle searching through the growing piles of bodies and still fighting creatures, looking desperately for his dwarves.

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, but when he finally spotted them against impossible odds he felt his heart stutter in his chest. Kíli stood atop a boulder and took aim at the familiar bulky pale form of Azog, his arrow flying true and sinking into the beasts shoulder. But before Bilbo could register what he was seeing he was already flying back into battle as he watched Kíli fall, the ring flying off of his blood slicked digit and into his pocket. He dodged with ease through the taller beings, relatively unnoticed, with single-minded purpose; Get to his dwarves.

He could see him now, the Defiler, as he stared down upon a dwarf.

His dwarf.

Bilbo had no thought in his mind as he charged forward, the Pale Orc’s mace raised on high and prepared to strike, and the hobbit charged full on into the muscular orc's side. He swung his elvish blade wildly, a horizontal slash that seemed far to practiced for a halfling. His aim was true and the deep gash it left in Azog's side along with his momentum had the orc howling in pain and falling away. Azog seemed to launch backward, his mace falling from his massive hand as he clutched at the wound, and crumpled to the ground.

With chest heaving and eyes wild Bilbo turned instantly to Thorin. A pair of stunned blue eyes met him. He was sure he looked quite a mess, his face and legs bloodied, hair matted with dirt, his mithril shirt rucked up the right side of his body and sitting lopsided and awkward on his lithe frame, but when Thorin met his gaze Bilbo felt relief like nothing he had ever experienced rush through him. He smiled weakly, still panting for breath, and he willed back the stinging tears. He had made it in time.

He had saved his dwarf.

The world came to a screeching halt. A searing, white hot pain shot through him and stopped him dead. He felt his body seize up, and suddenly his mouth was far too full of saliva. He looked down to the source of his pain, to the expanse of bare flesh on his right side where the mithril shirt had been out of place, and he was greeted with the sight of a three gnarled spikes protruding from his pale flesh.

Suddenly, the hobbit was being hoisted into the air, a shattered gasp escaping him as Azog's hook of an arm had skewered him through. His eyes opened wide against his command, and he was greeted with the sky. It was pale blue mixed with grey, like just before or after a rainstorm. Just like Thorin's eyes.

'It was only ever a dream...this hopeless love...'

He felt the world shift on its axis and he collided with the ground, a hoarse grunt ripping through him. He had landed on his side, and he could hear shuffling from somewhere near him. His eyes still refused to close as he spluttered and gasped. Then, just barely in his line of sight, he could make out the Defiler’s twisted, enraged face, and the orc raised his gnarled mace above his head. There was no one to stop him, no one to save Bilbo Baggins. But with the sky such a beautiful color, a color that had tears running down his cheeks, he had to think it would be a fine way to die.

'But, at least...'

Azog's mace came crashing down. The impact against his chest was resounding and he could swear he heard his own bones cracking inside of his body. The pain was unbearable. As the mace's journey ended against his chest, Bilbo spluttered once more, blood spewing from his mouth and flowing freely down his chin. And as the world faded around him the only thing on Bilbo's mind were five little words.

'It was a good dream.'

There was a ringing in Thorin’s ears, tears wide and a wetness slicking his cheeks. His mind still swam, and for a few desperate moments he prayed that he was hallucinating this, that his hobbit wasn’t bleeding out in the mud in front of him, that the entire battle was nothing but a fever dream and he would awaken any moment. But no matter how long he stared, the sight did not change.

The orc was laughing, though Thorin could not hear it, he could hear nothing but the memory of his lover’s hummed tunes as he toiled away at some little task, the sound of his pleased laughter, his scandalized gasps, his muffled sighs, and everything crashed against the dwarf as clarity returned. He might never hear those again, he might never see those blood-soaked lips smile or those eyes open blearily in the pale light of early damn ever again.

Somehow he found himself standing, sword in hand and charging the beast as it raised its weapon again to destroy the hobbit at its feet. The king could feel thick rivulets of blood pouring down his back, lightheadedness coming over him, but he pushed on. He fairly tackled the Pale Orc, pinning the bulky beast beneath his sturdy frame. Azog was quick to react, a snarl rumbling through it as it rolled them, plunging its hook into Thorin’s gut and twisting, blood soaking the dwarf’s tunic and spilling thickly, and Thorin couldn’t help the pained sob that left his lips as white-hot agony split through him.

Azog laughed above him, and it threw its head back in its arrogance and overconfidence. In this battle against him, Thorin hadn’t lost his blade, and despite the crippling torment and the floating feeling in his head, he swung his sword blindly. He felt a heavy thump on his chest and choked, coughing up a mouthful of blood and looked down, his vision swimming to find Azog’s head resting on top of him.

It felt empty to have this foe, this sworn enemy dead. It meant nothing with his heirs, and his One dead or dying in the mud next to him. There was no satisfaction to be had, even with the sounds of battle around him calming down.

The sky was clearing, the clear blue breaking through the dark clouds and Thorin could feel tears on his cheeks as he rolled onto his side. The effort was excruciating, and his one leg was pinned by Azog’s body. For a few breathless moments, he was ready to give up trying to move from his spot, but he couldn’t die there. He just couldn’t.

He dragged himself across the ground, sobbing raggedly as each new movement grew ever more sluggish, dark circles overcoming his vision. The world was narrowing, and it was as if he were inside a barrel, everything sounding tinny and distant. But finally, he was next to Bilbo and looking down at his beautiful hobbit, and briefly he was relieved to see him breathing. It was a tiny movement of his chest, but it was there.

“Bilbo,” Thorin gasped out, his body shaking with the effort to hold his head up, his back and gut on fire from the jagged wounds. “It’s done now.”

His head dropped, for the dwarf no long had the strength or the willpower to keep it up, and he looked toward his nephews. Dwalin was there, lifting Kíli and motioning desperately toward Fíli. Thorin absently noted Bofur and Balin rushing over to get Fíli. He heard Dwalin’s shout, and Thorin knew he and Bilbo had been found, but it was too late. It had to be.

This did not feel like falling asleep, or losing consciousness as the last time this darkness had overcome him. This felt final, his heart slowing and his breathing rattling wetly with each inhale. Thorin blinked once, twice, and as hands wrapped around his arms, he closed them completely and succumbed to the abyss.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

When Thorin’s eyes opened, and his gaze was met with the high-domed ceiling of his chambers from his youth, the familiar web of golden veins bringing him comfort. For three delirious moments, he was sure everything had been a terrible nightmare. Smaug attacking, his years in exile, meeting and breaking Bilbo, watching his nephews fall in battle—everything just a figment of his imagination.

But then the pain set in, his body screaming at the dulled flames that raged through his nerves. And with the pain came the fresh wave of hazy worry and desperation. Everything felt thick, his body weighed down by medicinal herbs. With a grimace, he realized this agony was only a fraction of what the real pain was, despite being unable to remember sustaining such overall injury. Smoke rose from an incense burner on the bedside table, the effects of that heady and appreciated.

Groaning loudly, he swallowed around the cotton feeling in his mouth and looked around. Balin was scrambling across the room, eyes wide as he leaned against the cot Thorin rested on. “You’ve awaken!” he gasped, relief plain on his face.

“’ow long?” the king muttered, brow furrowing. “’ow long’ave I been out?”

“About a month, my king,” Balin replied solemnly, grabbing a mug from the table and coaxing Thorin to drink deeply of it. The liquid was thick and disgusting, but Thorin was grateful to note that it was more of the numbing tea that would bring him relief. “With the infections that set in, we feared you would never wake.”

“Infections?” Thorin questioned, already feeling the effects of the drug washing over him.

“Your wounds were great and deep, and your body weakened substantially. The elves’ healing abilities are powerful, but even they have limits,” the old dwarf said quietly. “There is concern that you may not yet make it to the next full moon.”

The king stared dumbly at his oldest friend, and most trusted confidant before nodding, eyes stinging. “My nephews?” he asked in barely a whisper, mind straying to another person, but unable to face it quite yet.

“Kíli is well enough. A broken arm and several broken ribs being his worst affliction, that is. He knocked his skull, and it had been a concern for a few days that his brains might have been damaged,” Balin responded bluntly, eyes solemn, but he had a relaxed air about him that eased Thorin’s worry. “But he awoke and is responsive, with not much memory loss. He forgets the battle, is all, which is a blessing I would say.”

“And Fíli. ‘Saw’im go down,” Thorin mumbled, noticing the way Balin purposefully babbled on about Kíli. It was enough to know the youth was alive, he need not know the details of his wellbeing at this moment.

Balin paused, his brow creasing, the lines in his face growing deeper. “He is alive, and that is all the elves are telling us,” he said slowly.

“Telling you? ‘Ave ye’not seen’im?” the king gasped out, eyes stinging at the implications.

“Thranduil insists his men are doing their best. That it’s best no one sees him until he makes a significant change,” the gray dwarf responded just as slowly, voice suddenly brittle.

Thorin twitched at that, wanting to argue that trusting an elf’s opinion was beyond stupid, but unable to gather the energy. His heir’s life was hanging so much in the balance, he wasn’t available for visitors, and it was all over a pile of metal. A single tear escaped Thorin’s eyes as he turned his face away from his friend. There was only one other being whose injuries were even more meaningless than his nephew’s.

“And…Bilbo?” he asked quietly, his voice barely coming to him as another wave of sorrow came over him.

“He lives,” Balin responded shortly, expression tight with disapproval and Thorin felt shame stab through him. “Considering the lack of fight we saw him with last, it was a surprise when he was awake and moving on his own before you. The hobbit has spent most of his time in here with you, waiting for you to rouse. I will send for him.”

“You’ave m’thanks—”

“Don’t you thank me just yet, laddie,” Balin interrupted, his voice stern before he strode from the room and left Thorin alone in the emptiness of his chambers.

Looking down at himself, he grimaced again, seeing his torso wrapped in thick gauze that was stained with blood. He was clad only in his smalls, he saw, and with surprise he noticed one of his arms, as well as one of his legs, was splinted. The dwarf could remember being brought down by a warg, but he had barely registered any injury with his body so pumped with adrenaline and desperation.

At the time his only concern had been his nephews.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly as the door pushed open and Thorin sucked in a breath, turning his head sluggishly toward the portal, expression softening as his eyes lighted on his One. “Bilbo,” he murmured, feeling relief wash through him as he saw the man before him, standing and alive, a healthy blush to his cheeks, and a determined frown to his brow. The halfling’s movements were stiff as he shuffled across the room, and arm wrapped around his middle, but he was alive and that was all that mattered to Thorin in this moment.

Bilbo’s face was expressionless, his voice gritty from disuse as he replied, “Your Majesty.”

Bilbo hobbled his way into the king’s bedroom chamber. He had gotten to know the space quite well. The ceiling swirled above with veins of gold spiraling through the rock. However, there was something about gold and jewels as of late that utterly repulsed him. The hobbit kept his eyes locked on Thorin’s and managed to shuffle his way to the end of the king’s bed. Thorin seemed to be lightly propped up by thick, bushy pillows that cradled him softly. Silence hung about them, thick and palpable, as if you could reach out and feel the tension rising in the air. The halfling had made his decision days ago, and no amount of pleading or reason from the wise old Balin or any other member of the company could persuade him to change his mind. Thorin Oakenshield was staring back him; Thorin Oakenshield was alive.

It was all Bilbo needed to live out the rest of his days in peace.

Bilbo cleared his throat gently, his expression just as stony and impassive as it had been when he entered the room. There was no brilliant sparkling light in his once cheery hazel orbs. They were cold, empty, and void of all emotion. Bilbo Baggins looked upon his dwarf now, not in the panic of battle, but in constant reminder of those hands that had gripped his throat and dangled him from a tower-top, how those eyes seethed with indignant rage when Bilbo denied him, how those perfectly kissable lips curled back in an ugly sneer to bare teeth like a wild beast and call him “Betrayer”.

Bilbo had resigned himself to death on the battlefield that day. He nearly hoped for it, as it would mean their story would not have to end so disastrously. The foolish little hobbit that had fallen in love with a king and died saving his beloved’s life. He would’ve been the stuff of great tales and songs. That was little solace however for the great injury Thorin had inflicted, and he would have rather breathed his last, amongst the blood and grime and terribleness of battle, than face that reality the rest of his life.

‘It had only been a dream.’

With spine resolutely straight, and lifeless gaze fixed on Thorin’s eyes, Bilbo finally spoke once more. His voice was cool and calm, faultless in its utter confidence with each word he uttered, “As it stands, Your Majesty, the quest has come to an end with a fortuitous goal. As per the contract that was agreed upon and signed prior to my departure from Bag End my services as your burglar are now completed.”

He did not falter once in his words, each syllable matter-of-fact, nor did his unphased expression leave his usually soft and bubbly warm features.

“Therefore, I am terminating my services henceforth and shall be returning home come the morning.” Once again the silence hung like a thick fog all around them.

Bilbo could not find it in him to process any emotions, not when he felt so utterly destroyed inside. What Thorin had said and done, all for a pile of gold and gems, not only to Bilbo but his own kin…the hobbit felt as if he had never even known the dwarf at all. Only his stormy gaze and body heat, his lips and fingers and the expanse of his muscular back; all things he could (and would in the halfling’s mind) easily find in another. He had lost all desire or need for these worthless emotions, and his foolish heart. He would never heed it’s aches or longings again. He would be damned to do so and deserve it justly.

“Bilbo, I—” Thorin felt the hobbit’s words like a punch in the gut, the finality in his lover’s—former lover’s tone winding him for a few terrible moments. He was reeling, the vague memory of Bilbo’s smile on the battlefield at the forefront of his mind, and it was in horrible dichotomy with the speech he was just delivered.

But Thorin could not possibly expect anything different. Everything after reaching the mountain was hazy to him, and not only because the herbs he was ingesting to null the pain, but he could remember clearly that he had harmed his lover, almost forced himself on him, committed a crime of infidelity against him then later belittled his pain.

And then he had—by the gods, he had actually wanted to murder Bilbo, had come so close to it and had been tempted to strike him as an afterthought. The fact that the hobbit had waited for him to wake, let alone sacrificed himself in the battle to save him, was much more than Thorin would ever deserve from the hobbit for the rest of his long and lonely life. The dwarf would settle with this, grateful for Bilbo’s final concern for him, and if there were tears about to flow, he blamed them on the heady effects of the medicinal herbs.

“I understand,” he finished, licking his dry and chapped lips, nostrils flaring with the effort to not weep in front of the halfling. If this was the last time Bilbo was to see him, he would be as dignified as he could be while bedridden and dying.

“’M dying,” he blurted, internally wincing as Bilbo’s eyes narrowed at him. Thorin shook his head softly and moaned in the shooting pain that shot through his temples at the motion before going on to explain, “What I meant to say is that, I am likely to die, and I want you to understand that I will forever regret what I’ve done to you, and I am deeply sorry for my actions.”

‘And I love you,’ he thought sadly, his throat constricting.

“I don’t ask for your forgiveness, Bilbo,” Thorin finished quietly, his body shaking with the effort not to break down completely. “I am not asking for anything from you, only that you have a safe journey home.”

If his voice cracked on the last word, Thorin only hoped that Bilbo would think it was from the incense that hung heavily in the air now. The king had once thought this to be the hobbit’s new home, that these exact chambers would be where they found comfort in each other’s warmth, and that they would rule his kingdom together. Even if Bilbo still loved him, Thorin had destroyed the hobbit beyond forgiveness, and he would have to live with that.

Bilbo stared back unmoving for many moments of silence. Thorin seemed to understand what he was saying, and yet did nothing to stop him from leaving. Had the king merely voiced what he truly felt then, perhaps that hobbit would not have gone as far as he did. That was not the case.

Bilbo reached up with numb fingers and without hesitation untied the leather strap that was used to hold his braid in place. It had already begun to fray and pull loose. He tugged his fingers through the curls and the plait unwound.

"I wish you all the best." Bilbo felt his throat constricting painfully, and wondered briefly if that searing pain in his chest was from his juries or his shattered heart. His life would never be the same, not now that he had found the one person who could make it meaningful. But Bilbo Baggins was not made for happy endings or a life full of passion and love. He was meant for peace and quiet, meant to be left alone and to stay that way. "And I hope you're happy in your new home."

Bilbo took a step back from the bed, allowing his eyes to meet Thorin's for the last time. He was selfish in this way. He knew how dearly he would miss those eyes, and he committed every hue within them to his memory, committed everything he was seeing before him to memory. It would be the last time he would gaze on the face of his beloved dwarf, and even though it really wasn't fine, it was something he could live with.

"I hope you found what you were looking for here in Erebor." And with that said Bilbo turned from the king under the mountain and left for his own tent outside.

Alone once more, Thorin’s fingers twitched at his sides, eyes wide and blank as a wretched sound escaped his chest. Absently, he realized it was a sob and soon he found himself with cheeks red and wet, his body on fire with agony as his sorrow wracked his broken frame. The king was helpless, barely able to move with his lethargy and pain, and stared up at the hateful gold in the ceiling.

Bilbo did not love him. The crimes Thorin had committed had beaten the hobbit’s spirit so badly, the man had forsaken everything they had shared. In one simple movement, his former lover had put an end to any silly thoughts of eternal love, despite their differences. Bilbo would likely return home, take a wife, and move on without Thorin, and the king couldn’t stop it. He had no right, and what good would it do.

Bilbo did not love him. The halfling’s final words were kind, as everything else the gentle creature would say and do, and that hurt Thorin even deeper and pulled another embarrassingly pathetic noise from his chest. If Bilbo had left in a rage, yelling and breaking furniture as a scorned dwarven lover would have, this would have been easier to bear. The kindness was torture. The soft look as Bilbo met his eyes would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, which he hoped was truly as short as Balin feared.

Bilbo did not love him. By now Thorin was a mess, moaning from both the pain in his body and the agony in his heart. The last time he had been this distraught was after the battle at Moria, with his grandfather and brother dead, and his father missing, and this pain was just as raw. Thorin was to live his life alone, never to find the passion and contentedness as he had with Bilbo in his arms, and only taking pleasure in the flesh of another to sooth an ache.

He was unsure how long he had been lying in his bed, sobbing into the empty room, when he felt the weight of another person on the cot next to him. Turning his eyes, he found Kíli looking down at him, tears in his dark eyes and a barely-there quiver to his lower lip. The young dwarf was holding it in, the heartbreak and the desperate worry, and that was when Thorin found the strength to lift his good arm and pull the youth down to lie next to him.

Many hours later of clinging to his nephew and crying, he succumbed to sleep when his throat was torn and ragged, his tears dried out, and his mind numb. He found the energy, just before falling off into the oblivion of dreamless sleep that came from such exhausting sorrow, to pray that he did not wake again.

The next few weeks, Thorin spent drifting in and out of consciousness, the sorrow in his heart heavy and smothering. His infection was improving slowly, and he was swaying more toward the likelihood of a full recovery, much to his company’s delight. Mentally however, he was shattered and unresponsive. The shame of his actions was crippling, and the agony of losing—

He couldn’t even think the name without a fresh wave of mourning. Every now and then, he would wake to find Balin sitting next to his cot, and the older dwarf would tell him the news of his kingdom.

Thranduil and Dain had come to a tentative truce in Thorin’s place, and it only awaited the King Under the Mountain to be well enough to confirm. The elvenking had as many of his people he could afford helping the dwarves rebuild and fix Erebor, and from what Balin said, the elf was far more polite than they probably deserved. Kíli was recovering quite nicely, and the elves expected him to have full use of his arm in a few months’ time without even a trace of injury. The youth’s memories of the battle slowly returned to him, but it was fortunate that he hadn’t been conscious to witness his brother fall.

Fíli was still kept away from everyone, his room barred to anyone who was not an elven healer. The reasons they were given ranged from his compromised defenses made him susceptible to illness and that the risk of infection was too great. Balin was under the impression that the fairfolk didn’t wish them to see the young dwarf in his sorry state. Thorin was inclined to agree, and a deep pang of regret shot through him at that. As each day passed with no improvement, the likelihood of them ever seeing Fíli alive again grew slimmer and slimmer.

Memories of the wide fan of blood that sprayed through the air as his nephew was stuck visited many of Thorin’s nightmares over the weeks, imaginings of the boy’s head crushed rousing him from his slumber with a cry on his lips. He knew it couldn’t possibly be that bad if the elves were still attempting to heal him, but he had no basis for the boy’s injuries. Balin had seen him before the blond was hidden away from everyone, but he refused to say anything about the damage.

It was about a month after Bilbo left when Dís arrived. Thorin had woken up to find her sitting in the chair next to his cot, face expressionless as she repaired the fine embroidery on a tunic, presumably Kíli’s, and he felt relief wash through him at the sight of her.

She looked well, her raven hair pulled back in one braid down her back. She must have just arrived, for her hair to still be styled as such, and clad as she was in her riding leathers. Leaning against the side of her chair was her bow and quiver, and her boots were covered in muck that had yet to dry completely.

“Dís,” he murmured, and her pale eyes snapped up to meet his with such ferocity, Thorin suddenly wished he hadn’t alerted her to his wakefulness.

“Can you sit up?” she asked, voice deadly low and she placed the tunic she was fixing on the bedside table. Thorin nodded minutely before struggling to do just that, keeping a wary eye on her.

“Ah, much better. The angle is easier,” Dís said pleasantly before rising and backhanding the king so hard he fell back down onto his bed, hissing as he landed on his still-healing arm. “You know what that is for, Thorin Oakenshield, and you’re bloody lucky I didn’t think to borrow Dwalin’s knuckle dusters. You hear me?”

Thorin nodded slightly as he tasted copper in his mouth, not even wasting the energy to sit back up. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry with his younger sister, knowing full well the wrath of a dwarven mother. He would be lucky to make it out of this alive. As it was, he was praying that his sister would be so merciful, but alas she was of the line of Durin.

“My son, your heir, is dying because of you and your ridiculous quest for the throne and your gold!” she bellowed, dragging the older dwarf back up by his hair to hit him again and again, and Thorin didn’t put up a fight.

“Those boys are all I have left, you useless pile of Warg scat,” she snarled in his face before shoving him back down onto the bed. “And you almost killed them both with your stupidity and your greed.”

“Do you wish to take my life, sister?” he asked quietly, eyes meeting hers. “It is something I would willingly give.”

Dís let out a sound of disgust before stepping away from the bed to pick up her weapons and the tunic she was fixing. “Get better quickly, Thorin. There is no honor in killing a dying man,” she said darkly before leaving the room, moving out of an elven healer’s way as the man hurried inside to check on Thorin.

~~~

The weeks continued like that, though with much less physical violence from Dís. She would be sitting in his room when he awoke and would stay there for the morning, taunting him and insulting him, calling him terrible names until she grew bored at midday. Eventually, her tactics took on a concerned edge as Thorin refused to react to anything she said, that he only laid there on the bed and took whatever she said or did.

It was four months after the battle when Thorin began hobbling about his chambers with the use of a crutch. He was able to bathe himself, as his arm had gained quite a bit more of its former usefulness, though he lacked his fine motor skills. Braiding his hair became such a challenge, he only did one braid when he bathed. Thorin’s heart ached every day as he put it in, his arm thrumming with a dull agony the entire time but he did it nonetheless. It was a daily punishment for his crimes.

One day, Dís stepped into Thorin’s quarters and shut the door, and there was an expression of such pity on her face that he knew she had found out about the hobbit.

“You can take your pity elsewhere, Dís,” he said darkly as he returned to skimming a scroll Balin had brought him earlier that morning. With his healing coming along nicely, Dain had begun delegating more and more tasks to the rightful King Under the Mountain.

“I do not pity you,” she said sternly, tone disapproving as she sat down. “But I must say, that is the most passionate response you’ve given since I have arrived.”

Thorin didn’t bother to respond, pointedly ignoring her as he continued to read.

“Why didn’t you tell me—?”

“Why should I have?” the king interrupted, turning a glare on his younger sister. “Would you have been kinder to me? If that is the case, then I am glad I said nothing. I don’t deserve kindness from anyone after what I have done, least of all from you.”

“Well, that’s really touching,” Dís said with a shrug, her voice dripping with condescension. “Truthfully, that little speech brought tears to my eyes.”

When Thorin turned a glare on her, his sister laughed with a shake of her head. “I wouldn’t have been kinder, no. At first, that is. But I have wasted a lot of my time trying to get something out of you,” the princess continued, reaching across the space to put her hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Brother, I understand losing someone you care about, and perhaps I should have seen the braid sooner, or figured it out, but you know I understand.”

“I did not lose him. For all intents and purposes, I sent him away,” the king said shortly, voice steady and eyes never leaving Dís’. “And he does not love me. Not anymore.”

“Mm, Kíli would disagree,” his sister said instantly, her face mockingly thoughtful. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“He removed his braid—”

“And he is a hobbit who probably did not know the gravity of such an action!” Dís interrupted, rolling her eyes and Thorin felt a headache building behind his eyes. He couldn’t deny that she had a very good point, one that he had contemplated several times put pushed aside quickly for fear of getting his hopes up too high. “Why do you still wear your braid?” she asked before he could think too much longer.

Thorin was startled by the question, and he stared at her with open bewilderment. Deciding this conversation was better ended sooner rather than later, he folded. “I love him. He is my One. I,” he paused and looked down at the scroll in his lap as he furrowed his brow. “I cannot love another, and to remove my braid would only lead any dwarf angling to be my consort false hopes.”

“Thorin, the gods are many things, but they are not needlessly cruel,” Dís began, voice sympathetic and eyes sad. “They would not make it your fate to fall so deeply for someone who did not have the capacity to feel the same in return.”

The king scoffed at that, but turned to look at his sister once again. “You’re a romantic, Dís. And what have you to say about your own husband. Was that a necessary cruelty of the gods?”

“They were not cruel in taking him from me,” she stated quietly, her tone going wistful. “He gave me a love I had never thought possible, he gave me two sons, and he gave me happiness. Though I miss him dearly every day, I do not begrudge his death. There is no point to it.”

“Then, by your logic, I have simply lost Bilbo for a reason, and there is no further purpose to this discussion,” the king said firmly, and Dís huffed a heavy sigh and stood.

“Your One still lives, Thorin Oakenshield,” she said, her face pinched with annoyance. “Perhaps the gods wish for you to let go of your pride and go bring him home.”

She turned to leave and Thorin said quickly, “it isn’t pride that keeps me here, Dís.”

“Fear is just another name for pride, Brother,” the princess replied, not even looking back as she left the room.

~~~

The first day Thorin left his chambers, he found himself at the door of Fili’s sickroom. Kíli was fast asleep in a chair just outside the door, set up so that anyone attempting to leave or enter would have to rouse him to do so.

It had been months since Thorin had seen the lad, the young dwarf refusing to leave his spot even for meals. Dís said that most of the time, it was Ori that would deliver the archer his meals, and occasionally Dwalin. The boy was looking far too thin, and even more tired. It was a small consolation that his arm was now merely wrapped in thick layers of gauze rather than a splint and a sling.

The king heard an exasperated sigh behind him, and he turned to find an elf standing several feet down the corridor, holding a washbasin and cloth.

“I suppose you are here to camp outside the door as well?” the man said with another slight huff. The elf’s features barely moved, but he fairly oozed annoyance and frustration.

Thorin merely grunted at the elf and almost sneered before he remembered his manners. “I came to ask that myself and my kin be allowed into that room,” he said as politely as he could, choosing at the last moment to say ‘ask’ rather than ‘demand.’ “It would be easier on everyone involved, as you wouldn’t be tripping over a young prince.”

“We believe it would be far too stressful for the prince—”

“Fíli is my heir, and I will break the door down to see him if I must, elf,” Thorin ground out. “It has been torture for my sister and youngest nephew to be barred from seeing him. Look at the lad.”

The elf did turn his eyes to Kíli, his mouth taking a downward turn at the corners and his brow furrowing lightly. It was impossible to ignore the signs of personal neglect the boy had been inflicting on himself. The healer thought for a few long minutes, long enough for Thorin to wonder if he was being deliberately ignored, before the elf gave a short nod.

“Only your kin, and you say nothing about his condition to any others,” he said firmly, and Thorin quickly agreed to those terms.

“We’re allowed in?”

They both turned their attention to the no longer sleeping youth, finding chocolate eyes wide and hopeful staring back at them. Kíli was so pale, his hair a frightful mess and his clothing rumpled. Thorin limped over to the boy and smiled softly at the lad.

“Yes, but first I must find your mother, and you must go clean yourself up,” Thorin said sternly, narrowing his eyes as the boy seemed to be about to argue. “What do you think your brother would say if he saw you like this, Kíli?”

The youth looked sufficiently cowed and immediately stood, nodding slightly sheepishly.

When Thorin returned to Fíli’s sickroom with a very stiff Dís, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, Kíli was standing there in fresh clothes and his hair at the very least brushed. That was enough of an improvement that could be expected of the boy, so the king nodded his approval.

When they entered the room, Thorin wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Part of him thought he would still see his heir bloodied and still, leg torn to shreds and blood matted in his braids. Most of him expected to see part of Fíli’s head collapsed, face half torn off, something much more gruesome than what they were met with.

A nasty gash cut down the left side of the blonde’s head, starting from an inch behind his ear, which was mostly torn off, and ended near the corner of his mouth. The part of the wound that was on the youth’s face was significantly more healed, already a puckered pinkish-white line whereas the rest of it was still an angry red. It was a thick knot of still healing flesh, and obviously the point of impact.

The dwarf’s leg was wrapped with thick layers of gauze, but it was reassuring to Thorin that it was at least there. Looking back at the events of the battle, he had feared that the boy would have lost the appendage.

Fíli’s chest rose and fell steadily and his face was peaceful, further comforting the king as he deliberately ignored the head wound.

“His hair,” Kíli said mournfully, falling to his knees next to the bed. Fíli’s hair and mustache had indeed been destroyed, sheered to the skin around the wound. It was for cleanliness of course, but it was still such a shock to see the lad with only half of his mane. “Fíli will be devastated when he wakes.”

“His waking is not guaranteed, Master Dwarf,” the healer said, his voice tinged with some sadness.

“He will wake,” Dís snapped, her voice a whip in the near silence. “He is of the line of Durin, and we do not die so easily.”

“This has hardly been easy for the prince,” the elf responded, not a bit intimidated by the dwarven woman. It was a terrible mistake on the elf’s part, or it would have been if the woman hadn’t been so distraught over her son.

“Bifur lived through his wound,” Kíli murmured, mostly to his brother on the bed than anyone else. “Fíli can survive this. He will wake.”

The elf met Thorin’s eyes, as if looking for a sympathizer, but when he found the same stubborn, fierce determination there, he expelled a small breath through his nose and moved toward the bed. “I must check his wounds now,” the healer said flatly.

“Teach me,” Kíli said quickly, standing and moving away from the bed just enough for the elf to get in. “So I can do it.”

When the elf gave him a deadpan look, Kíli quickly added, “Please.”

The weeks went on like this, Kíli and Dís eventually taking over the blonde’s care completely, feeding, bathing and checking the blonde’s wounds. The elven healer, who never offered his name and they had never asked, only stayed to observe and help the process along. The three of them spent most of their waking hours in that sickroom, Kíli most often found lying on the bed next to his older brother, talking quietly into Fíli’s ear and holding the dwarf’s unresponsive hand. If it hadn’t been for the healer’s insistence that there had been a notable improvement in Fíli’s condition, Thorin would be inclined to reverse his faith in the blonde’s health.

It was two months after they had begun spending their time at Fíli’s bedside when the dwarf awoke. It had been a rare moment when Kíli hadn’t been in the room, having been bodily removed by his mother to bathe and change. Thorin remained behind, though he too was sorely in need of a bath, and was going over the figures Dain and Thranduil had given him for the project to rebuild Dale. The king couldn’t possibly care less where that pile of metal went at this point, but he was expected to at the very least pretend.

The first thing he heard was a dry rasp of breath, a distinctive change from the metronome-esque quality of Fíli’s breathing. It was enough to have Thorin rising from his seat and marching to the side of the bed, his scroll and crutch lying forgotten on the floor. Fíli’s blue eyes were wide for a moment, searching the room desperately for something before he sagged against the bed. When Thorin came into his sight, a weak smile came to the boy’s scarred face and he tried to speak, grimacing at the amount of effort that seemed to take.

Thorin was yelling for the healer, fumbling for the jug of water on the bedside and filling a mug with the liquid for Fíli to drink from. The blonde’s arms refused to work properly, so the king had to help him quite a bit. The healer rushed in, his face set in a stony mask as he bent over the bed to check the prince over.

“Can you speak?” the elf asked.

Fíli struggled for a moment, still wetting his parched mouth. “A little, I think,” he responded slowly, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The elf sagged in relief, or as much as Thorin had ever seen one of his kind ‘sag’. “That concerned us most, your verbal recovery. You were gravely injured in battle, young prince,” the healer said softly, comfortingly.

At Fíli’s stricken look, Thorin turned on the elf with a growl. “By Aulë, he has just awoken! This all can wait until he’s eaten a proper meal,” the king said sternly, eyes dark and glaring.

“Oh, and now he is delicate?” the healer snarked back, a fine eyebrow raised ever so slightly, communicating just how fed up he was with the king.

“Is Kíli alright?” the prince asked quickly, voice barely audible.

“Kíli is fine and on his way to a full recovery. How much do you remember, lad?” Thorin asked, referring to the battle.

“I’m not…sure,” the blond replied, suddenly looking very vulnerable there on the bed, his face pale and remaining hair hanging limp around him. He was impossibly skinny, his cheekbones and jaw sharp around the hollows of his cheeks.

“Tell us the last thing you remember clearly, then,” the healer said soothingly, but keeping his distance from the bed.

“Everything’s so muddled,” Fíli said, frustration lacing the words. “I don’t know which memories come first. The first, clearest memory that comes to mind was dinner. Mother was crying silently. You’d had a row I think, and Kíli was comforting her but still being stubborn.”

Thorin realized with a start that his nephew was speaking of the night he had decided to make this journey. It was well over a year and a half ago. The king grew nervous as the blond continued, giving his fuzzy accounts of what he could remember, realizing the huge gaps in his heir’s memory. Fíli was missing most of the journey, it would seem, and remembered nothing past Laketown as far as they could tell. Even Laketown, he recalled with only sensory memories mostly. Thorin only pegged them as memories of their brief stay in Laketown as Fíli described it as “feeling good, and I think Mister Dwalin was there.”

After several more minutes of the semi-interrogation, Fíli said, “I remember Bilbo.”

Thorin sucked in a breath, and the blond looked up at him with a slightly bewildered expression.

“Did he…?” Fíli began, but trailed off.

“He returned home, as per our agreement upon departing Bag End,” the dwarf responded evenly, impressed by the lack of emotion he managed. “By now, he should almost be there.”

Fortunately, that was when Kíli arrived and there were no more talks of memories and hobbits. The younger dwarf was crying, deep-chested, body wracking sobs as he climbed into the bed with his brother and clung to the blond, their mouths slotted together shamelessly and sloppily. Fíli was making pained noises, but clung to his brother and keeping the brunette where he was, not letting him back away.

The king backed out of the room, the healer following suit to give the brothers their private moment together.

“I had not realized the princes were so close,” the elf said, no judgment in his tone as he looked down at Thorin.

Thorin didn’t comment on that, just bid his farewell and searched for his sister to deliver the news. When he found her, she was in the royal kitchens, helping the few dwarven ladies that had arrived already. Dís would hear nothing of what was considered the proper behavior of a princess, no matter how many times Dain would chase her from the kitchens.

“He is awake,” Thorin said quietly as he stepped up beside her, a calming hand on her back. “He is well.”

Teary eyes met his as Dís dropped the dough she was kneading. Propriety out the window, she was embracing the king with a sob. “I can forgive you now,” she murmured into his hair, shaking violently.

“Don’t,” he replied, shaking his head. “I do not deserve your forgiveness.”

“It is mine to give, Brother. It is your choice to accept it,” Dís said as she pulled out of the hug and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s cheek. She was hurrying away from him before he could even think to respond.

~~~

In the following months, Fíli made a slow recovery that impressed the healer. The prince gained his weight back quickly enough after finally eating solid foods again, and by the next Durin’s day, he was hobbling around the royal quarters with the use of a cane. He was even beginning to venture out into the great hall to sit by Thorin as the king held court from his throne.

Erebor grew rapidly, and as more dwarves returned to its empty halls, the resurrection of its former glory sped up. The mines had been reopened and most of the homes were once again livable.

With Thorin fully recovered, for all intents and purposes, he took over from Dain and was now overseeing everything firsthand. After the day Fíli awoke, he had stopped using the crutch completely, and now he was able to move about with dignity.

There was only one place he would not enter, for fear of losing himself again. Dís gladly took on the responsibility of watching over the treasury and keeping the accounts, pleased that Thorin was taking measures against falling to the sickness once again. He remembered her words, and how sympathetic they were.

“It saddens me that you still cannot trust yourself, but I will happily take this burden from your shoulders.”

It was shortly after that when Thorin received his tattoos, symbols of honor and strength. Each knot of scar tissue was surrounded by black, thick knotwork, runic Khuzdul interwoven to tell the tale of how each wound was received. The first scar that was tattooed was the first he received on the journey, the one given to him by the warg, was to protect his people. The nasty scar on his back, the first wound from Azog’s gnarled hook, was marked as him protecting his kin. The scar in the middle of his torso, the widest and ugliest web of raised skin…the runes read, “To avenge my One.”

During the day, as Thorin sat in his throne or made his rounds, held court or dined with his kin, he was the perfect picture of a king; compassionate, but aloof, firm when he needed to be, but relaxed enough to keep his people at ease. Alone in his rooms however, it was all he could do not to succumb to his smothering depression. He had once considered opening his throat and letting himself bleed out, but the mere imagining of Dís or, worse, Kíli walking in and finding him like that…it stayed his hand and for a few days he was snapped out of his crushing sadness.

It was difficult, though, living like this with only half of his soul on the other side of the world, knowing he would never find happiness in the arms of another. If the halfling hadn’t been his One, this all would be so much easier, and he would spend the hours he was meant to be sleeping, wide awake and staring blankly at the high-domed ceiling above him.

Thorin took to writing in thick journals, partially in Khuzdul, most of the time in Westron. A few times, rare as they were, he would draw. Eventually everything began to revolve around the halfling, and though they weren’t really letters, Thorin began writing as if it was the hobbit who would read them later. Most of it was every possible way one could apologize, then every way one could confess their love. As the weeks wore on, he began writing about his daily routine, repeating the same words verbatim if his schedule was the same. And after a while, he began to write about the things that made him smile during the day, of his trips into Dale, few as they were, and his reluctant friendliness with Thranduil.

Eventually, Thorin became numb to the weight of sadness, and with the numbness came restful nights.

He had thought about taking a lover, but when he went to proposition an acquaintance, the dwarf had been so compliant and submissive, saying “of course, my king. Anything for the King under the Mountain!” Thorin had tasted bile in his mouth and sent the man away.

After that, he threw away any thoughts of satisfying any need he may find in the flesh of another. He didn’t want this to be another thing given to him as king. The last thing he wanted to be was the King under the Mountain in his bedchambers. He didn’t want to be served, not in that way.

He wrote about this in his journal.

Dís hadn’t let go of the idea that Thorin should go to the Shire and bring the hobbit back.

“He loves you!” she insisted, exasperated and tired as another screaming argument about this topic was winding down.

“You didn’t even know the halfling,” Thorin snapped, eyes on fire.

“No, but my boys did, and they tell me—”

“I’ve had enough of this, Dís!” he interrupted, and as the woman raged at him some more, he pointedly ignored her.

It was about four months after the first Durin’s day after the battle, almost the anniversary of the day Thorin first saw the halfling when Fíli came to his room. The blond looked serious, and he was almost as fully healed as he would ever be. The elves doubted he would ever walk without a cane, but everyone was just happy that Fíli was alive and mentally strong.

His hair had long since been fixed, though he now wore it in a long, thick Mohawk that was braided in one loose plait down the center, showing off his scar proudly. Fíli had long since evened out his mustache and beard, back to sporting the two braids that were so customary on his face.

“Is he not worth it?” the blond asked, voice blunt and eyes hard. Thorin knew immediately what Fíli spoke of, or more accurately who.

“He is worth everything and more. There is no price I could put on him,” the king responded honestly, not bothering with the denial he kept up in the face of his sister.

“Yet, your pride and your fear keep you from going to him. I would say that is putting a price on Bilbo’s worth,” the young dwarf shot back easily. “You risk returning a failure and unwanted, so you would prefer to hole yourself up in your mountain and wallow.”

Thorin raised a skeptical brow at the youth, to which Fíli motioned to the piles upon piles of leather-bound journals and stacks of parchment he had scribbled on.

“I could not leave while you were injured,” the king responded truthfully, as the urge to leave for Hobbiton had crossed his mind hundreds of times, only for him to remind himself that Fíli was still recovering and needed Thorin there. He could not just leave his heir in charge while he was still barely healed.

“I am as healed as I will ever be, Uncle. I have Mother, and my brother to guide me. Not to mention Balin to help in matters that Mother cannot. The kingdom is stable enough to handle your absence, and as this is a courting matter, you have every right to go.”

Fíli’s words hung in the air for several minutes, Thorin silently turning them over in his mind. Eventually, the blond moved over to the bed to sit, grimacing slightly as he massaged his leg. As the king finally mulled the words over and came to his decision, he sent his nephew a wry look.

“Your mother would not be pleased to find out it was you who finally got through,” he said with a chuckle, exhaustion overwhelming him as he accepted it. That he loved Bilbo, and that he could not abide by his One being so far away and believing himself to be hated. Thorin could not continue on with his former lover hating him, and knew that as he came to accept this, he would be unable to stay away.

“She had actually sent me,” Fíli laughed. “Though my sentiments remain the same, we just knew it was a matter of time before you admitted we were right.”

Despite his decision, it took several more weeks before the king could finally depart on his journey. A lot of that time was spent arguing with Dís over his decision in traveling companions, mostly his decision to bring Dwalin along. Her insistence that it would be beyond insensitive to show up on Bilbo’s doorstep with the man he had been unfaithful with was met by Thorin challenging her to find him a better bodyguard.

That having been briefly settled, Dís and her boys began insisting that he leave all ‘honor’ and ‘duty’ talk behind and express his bare emotion. This seemed a given, Thorin agreed easily to that plan.

When Thorin raised his concern about the journey back and its treacherous potential, it had been Kíli’s idea to send an invitation to Elves in Rivendell to Thorin’s wedding, which would be held in the next year. The idea was that Thorin and his consort would meet with the Elves and travel with their company back to Erebor. It was a confident plan, overconfident in Thorin’s opinion as it would lead to further humiliation should Bilbo not forgive him. But it was a sound idea, and he gave his approval to this as well.

Finally, the day came for Thorin to leave for the Shire, and his stomach was in knots. Dís saw him off in the hazy pre-dawn light, and he left with his small company of guards without much of any ceremony. Even as king, his right to court was a private thing until he had his consort secured. If Bilbo returned with him to the mountain, then the kingdom would be privy to the goings on between them.

Travel was hard, and they were only met with a few skirmishes with unsavory creatures. Thorin’s former injuries, though healed as they were, would still give him trouble after weeks of hard travel. They kept an easier pace because of this, stopping along the way for several days at a time even. It took close to six months for them to reach Bree, and from there Thorin knew it was only a few days more until he was in the Shire.

When they reached the Shire, and found themselves at the inn, so close to Bag End that Thorin felt his heart about to hammer straight out of his chest. He spent the day washing, scrubbing the grime of travel out of his hair and off of his skin and out of his clothes. Then, as his station would require, he dressed in his finest clothes and donned his crown once again.

Thorin felt sick to his stomach, his gut doing painful backflips as he stepped out of the baths and found Dwalin leaning on a wall nearby.

“Good luck,” Dwalin said, his tone reassuring, though it did nothing to ease his nausea.

With a brief nod, Thorin left the inn and marched down the path, a stab of dread spiking through his chest. Though he wanted to flee before too many hobbits saw him, he knew he would have to at least see Bilbo, know the man was alive and well, and perhaps even happy. That would be enough for Thorin if it had to be.

It was no time at all before he found himself on the doorstep of a very familiar hobbit hole. The mark was still on the door, and somehow that just caused more agonizing guilt to flash through him. He began to doubt this whole plan once again, but he knew he would not be able to turn tail and run. He had been seen by too many of Bilbo’s kin, and his former lover would know he had been here by the next day.

So with a deep, calming breath, he lifted his hand and rapped the door with three resounding knocks with the side of his fist.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

The same night, after Bilbo had removed his promising braid at the end of the king’s bed with a hobbit’s broken heart still beating in his chest, he had returned to the tent within the impromptu camps that were set up at the foot of the mountain and requested to have his hair trimmed. The Halfling had intended to grow it longer, but now that there were clearly to be no braids, beads, or flowers woven into his coppery curls he felt no need to leave it as it way.

A few members of the company had come to see them off, all battered and worse for wear as everyone was. Among them was Bofur, a crutch under one arm with his legs wound in gauze and a bandage peeking out from under his cap, and he had embraced the hobbit a particularly long time. Bilbo returned what he could with one arm slung across his front.

“I’ll be seein’ ye’ again Bilbo, ye’ can count on that.”

“I doubt I’ll ever be returning to the Lonely Mountain.” While the reply had been expected from the hobbit, the small gathering of dwarves still wore expressions tight with sadness and a distant disapproval. The toymaker however just gave him a nod and his smile only grew brighter.

“Then I’ll come to ye’ then, as long as I’m welcome.”

At this Ori chimmed in with “me too!”, with Balin and Oin nodding their agreement. Bilbo’s aching heart swelled with his friends affections for him. They had all assured their kin would have been there as well to see him off if they hadn’t all been so laid up, and that brought another wave of tears to sting at his eyes.

“Of course you are welcome. You are always welcome at Bag End.”

With that sad he received another hug from the toy maker. Balin stepped forward and gave him a sad smile. “It was good of you to stay as long as you did, laddie.” The warrior left it at that, giving him a nod. “I’m sure we’ll meet again someday Bilbo Baggin’s. “

Next to step forward was Oin. He drawled out a few words of wisdom before he pushed a leather pouch into Bilbo’s hand. “It’s’a salve for yer wounds, lad. “ The elderly dwarf gave Bilbo a smile, wrinkles set deep in his face exaggerated by the battles bumps and bruises. He wished Bilbo well, and then meek little Ori stepped forward. In his other a tightly bound leather rucksack which he had already began attaching to the back of Bilbo’s saddle.

“Kili asked me to give it to you.”, he explained quickly as the hobbit gave him a curious look. “He said you’re not to open it until you miss us all. It’ll bring you comfort when you need it most, he said.” Once the scribe was satisfied that it was well attached to the ponies saddle he turned back to Bilbo, his pale brown eyes darting to-and-fro. “He wished he could be here, he really did.”

“I wished so too.” Bilbo replied as he reached out with his good arm and patted Ori’s shoulder reassuringly. He glanced over his shoulder to his companions for the journey, both astride their horses and waiting for him. He bid his final farewells as Bofur limped over and helped him onto his pony. “I’ll look forward to the next time we meet, my friends.” To this they all agreed wholeheartedly, and with the small group waving them off, Bilbo began his journey back home.

The journey back to the Shire was not nearly as trying as the journey for the Lonely Mountain had been. Gandalf and Bilbo, accompanied as well by the elvenking’s son Legolas, set out at first light the day after Bilbo had formally terminated his services to the king. Bilbo had taken almost immediately to how odd it felt to be without his braid. He took dragging those locks off to the side and tucking them behind his ear, but they would always fall back down against his forehead and annoying him endlessly. It was a constant reminder of the significant change, and of what he had lost.

Gandalf rode with them to the edge of Mirkwood before he had to break away from their small party. He bid the hobbit farewell with a firm hug. “I shall visit you as soon as I am able my dear Bilbo. Once you have returned to the Shire.”, and then there were two.

Bilbo and Legolas became fast friends on this trip. The archer had swiftly waved him off when Bilbo had continued to address him as ‘prince’. And with that wall dropped all that was left was Bilbo’s Tookish curiosity and wonder at such a being as an elf. Even in if it was only because the archer was courteous he asked many questions about Bilbo’s people, the Hobbit’s of the Shire, and his home. And Bilbo would just gush about everything he was returning to, about how hobbit’s had the best of parties, and nearly every other thing he could think of. Legolas would do the same, and it became common place for them to discuss their cultures and learn about another for hours on end. The bowman seemed to have the uncanny ability to tell when the silence went on to long and Bilbo dark thoughts would return, for it seemed when Bilbo could feel himself slipping into depression Legolas would always have a question to ask or story to tell.

The elven prince was to accompany Bilbo to the valley of Imladris, and this surprised the hobbit. One night over their dinner of lembas bread the subject had come up, and instantly the hobbit was on the defensive. “On no, I’d hate to impose, there no need to accompany me for so long!”

“It is not only to ensure your safety and recovery Bilbo. My father beseeched me to go to Rivendell. I am to hold council with Lord Elrond on his behalf while he remains at the lonely mountain.” Legolas replied as he fiddled with the hobbit sized bow he was crafting. Just before they escaped the dim forests of Mirkwood the elven archer had found a long branch and had been whittling it down around their camp fire every night. Occasionally he would take it to a stream and soak the wood, bending it slowly until it made a rather graceful curve. Once Bilbo had worked out what the final result was going to be he teased Legolas with “That bow will turn out nice, though a mite small for an elf I would think.” The archer grinned back, his platinum blonde hair shining in the light of their as he responded, “I suppose you are right. Though, I do believe it will be just the right size for a hobbit.” Bilbo spluttered and nearly spat out his supper at the implications that the elf was crafting him a weapon. A elf, a prince even! Making a bow for a Baggins hobbit. It seemed to the Halfling that though he was no longer engaged to a dwarf his days of impropriety were far from over.

Their travel through the misty mountains had not been nearly as thrilling as it had with the company of thirteen. In fact there was not a day that the sun wasn’t shining, and there was never a night that they needed to be wary. It was nearly a holiday considering Bilbo’s last trek across these paths. Once the hobbit sized bow had been crafted and make shift arrows fletched Legolas took it upon himself to begin teaching the hobbit how to survive on his own. The archer knew that even if Lord Elrond could spare an escort, now that Bilbo’s wounds were well healed the hobbit would be expected to fend for himself. Granted Bilbo expected this much of himself already, but to be able to hunt and defend himself with any semblance of actual efficacy would require training. With the adequate time they had on their hands when they would make camp for the day and enough energy to burn once dinner had been eaten the archer would have Bilbo taking aim at nearby trees and guiding his movements from over the halfling’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before Bilbo Baggins became quite the dead-eye, and he was improving every. Legolas would let the hobbit join him on hunts, and always gave him the sort of silent praise that his timid hobbit nature could appreciate.

They were within a few days of reaching Rivendell when Legolas began sparring with Bilbo, all of which had to be done on his knees. He taught the Halfling how to slip out from under your enemy if you were pinned, how to deflect a sword and deliver an efficient blow, and began to cultivate a fighters instinct within Bilbo. Just as he had practiced diligently with his bow, he practiced with Sting ever evening before they would lay down to rest for the night.

During their days, once they had run out of stories and customs to share with one another, Legolas began teaching Bilbo snippets of his beautiful language. This thrilled Bilbo to no end as he had always had an infatuation with elves in general. It started out with a few kind words on a particularly grueling morning.

“We are nearly there,mellon nîn, just a bit further now to Imladris.” Bilbo paused at the sentence. Legolas had addressed him in elvish, something that had never happened before between them. The words were soft as silk and tickled the hobbits fancy. “What does that mean?” “What?”, Legolas stopped, glancing to his traveling companion. Bilbo would never tire of the elf and how he could adopt the most genuinely perplexed expressions. Must be some sort of hidden talent the princeling wasn’t aware of. “What you called me, mela—mallo—“ “Mellon nîn.” “Yes, yes that!”, the hobbit exclaimed with a nod. He repeated the words slowly, his lips over-exaggerating the sounds as he repeated, “Mellon nîn. What does it mean?” Legolas was silent for a few moments; an uncannily warm smile spread across is otherworldly face. “In the common tongue it is said ‘my friend’.” The Halfling paused again and the flushed with happiness, an easy smile spreading of his own to match the archers. And that is how in the last few days before they reached their destination of Rivendell Bilbo Baggins began to learn the wondrous tongue of the elves.

Rivendell was just as beautiful as Bilbo remembered. Not that it was truly all that long ago he had the privilege of spending a fortnight in the elven safe-haven, though those weeks had been tortuous at the time. At the time, though, Bilbo thought the worst Thorin could do was demand a kiss ten paces away from the company and ignore him. Legolas had nearly immediately met with the elven leader, Elrond, speaking quickly as they strode away. The tall-folk paid Bilbo very little mind. All but one, that was. She was possibly the most beautiful being the hobbit had ever seen, and she approached him with single-minded purpose. Bilbo straightened and did his very best to smile; a smile which she returned radiantly.

“Welcome, Bilbo Baggins.”, she spoke softly with a voice that was cool and crisp like fresh water. Bilbo ducked his head in a slight bow, and when he met the elf-maidens eyes again her smile seemed all the kinder. They introduced themselves (though Bilbo it seemed was already well known for whatever reason), and the hobbit found swiftly that he had a friend in Arwen Evenstar. She was Elrond’s daughter and was more than happy to accompany the hobbit through her home. She sat with him at dinner and listened politely to his stories, only asking questions of their journey back and avoiding the events that led up to them altogether. Bilbo began to get the feeling that she knew; she knew without asking. She had seen into his very soul and saw the heartache and utter brokenness there.

It was the first night in Rivendell. Ironically enough Bilbo was in the same room he had shared with Fili and Kili on their initial trip to reclaim Erebor. It dredged up memories he had forced into the dark corners of his mind, but they were determined now not to be forgotten. He could remember it, the way even then, even the very first time Thorin had kept space between them and been so terribly cold. Bilbo could remember the thought: He doesn’t love you. Now that statement (and it was a statement) was to be changed, ever so slightly.

He never loved you.

For the first time in far too many weeks Bilbo allowed a broken sob to slip past his tightly sealed lips. It was horrendous, this feeling of utter abandonment. He had never felt so alone in the world, but then again he had never thought to fall in love. He cursed the word, cursed it’s existence, and cursed himself for ever allowing such a foolish notion to rule his heart and his head. Bilbo remembered then the package Ori had given him from Kili; “It’ll give you comfort when you need it most, he said.”

Bilbo glanced at his small pile of belongings that consisted of a large, heavy rucksack and the smaller bag from the prince. He certainly needed the comfort. He wished fiercely that the princes were with him once more, here in the haven of Rivendell to hold him and soothe him and protect him from himself. What he wouldn’t give to have the brothers bracketing him and shielding him from the world and the painful truth. But no, Bilbo Baggins was very truly alone.

He pulled the package onto his bed and began meticulously peeling back each layer. His fingers were slow, as if this were a tender moment to be cherished between lovers, when in reality he was opening a parting gift. The first he felt was something incredibly soft. It was thick like an animal pelt. Bilbo reflected on the furs they would wrap up in to keep warm on the long, cold nights, and was indeed comforted by the thought of having one of those furs for himself.

Then he pulled back the final layers of wrapping and his eyes went wide. He could hear the earth in motion all around him as silence was his only company and he stared at Thorin’s coat. It was the same coat the dwarf had always worn, trimmed with fur and made of dark leather. The tears had begun to flow without Bilbo’s consent and the burned his tired eyes. He brought the garment close hesitantly, as if the coat were Thorin and the king would lash out, push him away, yell and hit and be every bit as goldsick as he had been when Bilbo left Erebor. The scent was thick with pine and the forge, fresh cracked granite and entirely the dwarf.

His dwarf.

Bilbo wasn’t sure when he started choking on his sobs, but he was buried in the coat and pulling it close like a lifeline. He knew then how he would never let go. Bilbo was fated to live alone for the rest of his days, pining after a being that would never see him as more than a possession. Thorin had never loved him, and Bilbo had decided to accept that as fact, but the hobbit also knew how desperately he loved Thorin. It was a burning, aching, wonderful, terrible love that he loathed.

“He wasmine.”, Bilbo whispered into the silence, speaking to no one and the world all at the same time. “I don’t give adamnif he doesn’t love me or if it meantnothing to him. He wasmineand I love him.” The words were the truth, and the truth to the Halfling was poison. He spat the venomous words, tears still flowing freely, like if he contained them any longer they would do their dastardly work and kill him. Bilbo cried for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in Thorin’s old traveling coat, before he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Bilbo spent a week in Rivendell, spending his days with a false smile and his nights wrapped into his former lovers coat. Before long though, with a slightly heavy heart, he was bidding fare-well’s to his elven friends. Legolas shared many beautiful words in Sindarin as he pushed a parting gift into Bilbo’s hands. It was traditional decoration for elves, a shining woven strand of glittering silver that the prince had always had used to bind his small plaits. “Navaer, Bilbo Baggins. Harthon gerithach lend vaer.” , to which Bilbo responded fluently (as Legolas had been an excellent teacher and Bilbo a diligent student) “Navaer mellon nîn. Suil vain.”

Arwen embraced the hobbit for quite some time, holding him close and finally confided that “all is not lost. Your heart shall heal and be all the stronger for it, Bilbo Baggins.”, and that had the hobbits eyes growing glassy. He willed the tears away and smiled for his beautiful friend, and as always, Arwen returned the smile in kind. “You shall always have friends here, Bilbo, and you are welcome. Until we meet again.”

Elrond assigned one of his guards to the hobbit, and together Bilbo traveled with the elf he came to know as Nihacaar. They were cordial and became fast friends, and by the time Bilbo made it home to the Shire he was actually sad to see the elf turn back. He bid the elf farewell (again in their beautiful tongue. Nihacaar had been a fairly decent teacher as well.), and Bilbo made the last short leg of the journey home. From Bree to Hobbiton Bilbo rode alone and soon the thick forests became the friendly, rolling green hills of the Shire.

When Bilbo stepped back in to Bag End he was greeted with the musty scent of a forgotten smial and a thick layer of dust. There had been a pile of letters and personal notes, stacked outside his door, most of which were threats from the Sacville-Bagginses. Bilbo swept them all inside unceremoniously, but one in particular caught his eye. Just as he broke the wax seal and had tossed his two packs to the floor there was a knock at his door. Bilbo froze, feeling a strange sense of dejavu, but when he followed through and opened the heavy green portal he was greeted by his gardener, Gaffer Gamgee. “Mister Baggins! Oh thank Eru, I thought I saw you comin’ up the lane! We’ve been worried sick!”

The two embraced as old friends do before they sat down on Bilbo’s garden bench and each lit up their pipes. Bilbo was grateful that the gardener didn’t ask of his adventure into the wild with a band of crazy dwarves and a beguiling wizard, but the news he was given was potentially worse than any question the Gaffer could have asked.

“I’m afraid Primula and Drogo…well, Mister Baggins, you know they had an adventurous streak like yourself—“ Bilbo had a very uncomfortable feeling sinking into his gut, settling like a rock and then that same unease seeped into his bones.

“I honestly don’t know how to tell’ye Mister Baggins, but I’m afraid they passed.” Bilbo was silent, with eyes wide and fixed on the horizon. Fate it seemed was not done torturing him. He had loved and lost, run through muck and blood and nearly lost his life, and he was fortunate enough to make it home only to be greeted with the news of dead kin. It was a hard pill to swallow and Bilbo did not think he would ever learn to properly absorb shock. He clutched his chest tightly, eyes watering as he struggled to catch his breath. His neighbor hesitantly patted his back and murmured condolences, but then Bilbo managed a single thought. “And their boy….their boy, Frodo—“ “That’s why I’ve come by. He’s alone, Mister Baggins. Sad to say, but no one wants him.”

Bilbo’s eyes shot up to the Gamgee’s, burning intensely and with the ferocity of a mother bear. Not want him? He was achild. Primula and Drogo had never been the wealthiest of hobbits, but the lack of inheritance should not be a concern when there was a fauntling without their parents. “Where is he?”, Bilbo snapped out instantly. Gaffer Gamgee smiled broadly and patted Bilbo’s shoulder once more to soothe.

“Don’t you worry mister Bilbo, my Belle made sure he came home with us. He’s staying with us for now, although it’s a bit crowded. He and my Sam are as thick as thieves now.” Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief and then went silent as he straightened himself on the bench. In retrospect Bilbo was sure in took him less than a full minute to decide to adopt his nephew. Bilbo would not pity the child (or at least that’s why he told himself), but the appeal of adopting Frodo was much more personal. Of all of his relations, this little boy had stayed brave even the sight of such adversity. He had apparently made fast friends of little Samwise Gamgee, and according to the Gaffer’s reports was an absolute joy, albeit the bouts of depression he would occasionally suffer were difficult to handle in a child of no more than seven or eight. It took very little convincing on Bilbo’s part for the Gaffer to bring him back to the Gamgee Smial so he could meet with his little cousin.

Frodo was drawn to Bilbo instantly and Bilbo in return. It was a sixth sense that they both knew they were alone in the world, and all they could have is each other. Frodo instantly agreed to adoption and Bilbo saw it done. Frodo Baggins was now his heir son and was, without a doubt, the joy of his life. For the first several weeks of their happy co-existence the pair of Bagginses shared a bed, both to lonely and in need of too much comfort to bear to be separated. Slowly, as Frodo acclimatized to his new life in Bag End, he made his way into a room all his own each night. He would occasionally wake, tear stained cheeks and a runny nose, to invade Bilbo’s bedroom chamber, which was always more than alright with the hobbit. He would accept the child with open arms and they would drift to sleep and forget their loneliness again. There were many fuzzy, snuggly mornings and nearly missed first breakfasts, until Frodo started insisting Sam come over to play during the days.

Bilbo was more than happy to oblige, and what started out as Sam coming to play become a veritable child care center being run in Bag End. His kin and neighbors would drop off their children in Bilbo would care and love them while their parents worked. It was rarely in exchange for money as Bilbo was the wealthiest hobbit in the shire, but they would often leave food with them to fill their respective fauntling’s mouths.

This is how Bilbo spent his years, and very slowly but surely his heartache was pushed aside. Nothing would ever replace Thorin’s place in Bilbo’s heart, but Frodo and the other children of the Shire had done well to mend his broken heart.

It was mid-week and Bilbo sat in his armchair while Sam and Frodo played on the floor, when all of a sudden there was a knock at the door.

Bilbo Baggins was frozen in place for a split second as his nephew wiggled down from his spot at the dining table. "I'll get it!" Frodo called as he began toddling off to the door with little Samwise on his heels. Bilbo felt an odd sense of dread at the three heavy knocks, something about it very familiar and the distant memory just out of reach. With a slight shrug, he picked up his napkin and quickly scrubbed it over his mouth before he pushed back from the table, the napkin now being tossed beside his supper plate.

It was probably just Bell Gamgee here to collect Sam for the evening, so he made no rush out of the dining room He straightened the table absently as he distantly heard the door creak open.

The pair of little hobbit's managed to pull open the heavy round portal, and expected a friendly face. Frodo with bright blue eyes wide and smile beaming was met instead with the face of a stranger. A tall, dark-haired stranger, who wore the strangest sort of hat.

The older halfling paused back at his spot in the dining room. It seemed so odd to Bilbo, to hear the children going so silent. Neither did he hear the soft voice of the Gamgee Matriarch. His brow furrowed in an instant of worry and he began padding through his halls to the front door.

"Boys? Something wrong? Frodo? Sam?" he called out as he made his way closer to his front door. As he rounded the corner to his foyer to little Shirelings threw themselves at him, and he instantly knelt down with arms circling their little bodies. They were trembling ever so slightly. "What in the world is wr--"

Bilbo's words died on his lips. The door to Bag End stood open to the world, and there in the perfectly round space stood the familiar frame of a dwarven king. Thorin Oakenshield was at his door step.

The boys were now looking to the dwarf with their own confusion. For a hobbitling, even a being like a dwarf was far too tall and imposing.

Instantly Bilbo could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his fingers shook as he hugged his Frodo and Same closer. His expression was fierce with his confusion and agony, and before he could stop himself he was blurting out, "What're you doing here?" His voice was hard and sharp, severe in his demand.

Of all the things he had not expected, children weren’t even on the list of possibilities. They were perfect and cherubic, and the dwarf felt something swell in his chest. The last time he had seen such a tiny, round little being had been when Kíli was just a small toddler, and for several long moments he was distracted with watching the little things. Finally he focused on Bilbo and almost physically recoiled.

The king wasn’t one to fool himself, and though he hadn’t expected an embrace and blubbering from the hobbit, he certainly hadn’t prepared for the iron in Bilbo’s tone or gaze. The intensity was unyielding, and very suddenly he regretted this entire journey to disrupt this man’s life, even this much. And the children certainly threw his intentions into perspective. Damn Dís and her overzealous, optimistic ideals about the gods’ mercy.

Clearing his throat, Thorin straightened his back and hung back on the doorstep. “I came to speak with you, Bilbo,” he said slowly, before glancing back over his shoulder at the hobbits on the path that had paused to stare.

“Would you mind terribly if we moved this inside? I’ve garnered quite a bit of attention,” Thorin continued to say, finding more regret in his state of dress. What he wouldn’t give to take off the heavy crown he had been so desperate to claim all those years ago, and the stuffy royal clothing had him itching for his riding clothes once again.

A thousand thoughts were racing through the hobbit's mind, and his heart and head were at war with each other. He wanted to burst into sobs, and there was even a part of him that wanted to move closer, to embrace the dwarf who had made a full recovery and had taken such a long journey just to see him. When the dwarf mentioned the amount of attention he had drawn Bilbo's shoulder slumped in defeat. He couldn't just send the king away, not when he had come so far.

Bilbo stood, scooping up Frodo in his arms and bracing the hobbitling on his hip with one arm, his free hand being insistently tugged by little Samwise. He didn't say anything, merely nodded in the direction of the dining room before he began walking his way back through his hobbit hole.

"Uncle Bilbo, who is that?" Frodo asked as he craned his neck to look over his shoulder at the dwarf who was now closing their front door.

"Are ya sure ya can let a stranger in here like that, mister Bilbo?" Samwise piped up from where he walked at the older hobbit's side, big bold eyes staring up at. "What if he tries ta hurt us?"

Bilbo contained a laugh and merely shook his head. There was something about the little ones that calmed him regardless of this somewhat unwelcomed presence in his home. "No, no boys. You remember the stories I told you? Of my adventure with the dwarves?" Both shirelings nodded as they arrived in the sitting room, the sun lowering in the sky pouring through the windows. They were thrown open to the world and looked out over a particularly well-tended flower bed, and the fresh scent of the outdoors poured in. Frodo and Sam both took their usual spots at the floor of Bilbo's arm chair as the older hobbit fished for his pipe. "He's one of the dwarves from my stories."

Frodo and Sam’s eyes gleamed and they looked back to the way they had come, a hesitant pair of feet pounding against the floor boards of Bag End.

"Which one?" Sam asked excitedly as Thorin rounded the bend.

Bilbo didn't spare a glance as the dwarf entered, keeping himself preoccupied with his pipe as he responded teasingly, "Not going to guess? Come now you two, you've made me tell you those stories far too many times not to guess."

Thorin felt wrung out already, and he had been in the hobbit hole for not even a full five minutes. The place hadn’t changed since he last saw it almost three years ago, and he could easily say the same about Bilbo. The two years since he’d last seen the hobbit had done him some good, his appearance no longer so haggard and his proper roundness back in his cheeks and tummy.

The only significant changes with the children aside, were the children’s toys spread out across the floor and how casually dressed Bilbo was. The hobbit wore only a pair of trousers and a pullover shirt that was left hanging loose around his waist. Thorin remembered back to Bilbo’s fine shirts with pearl buttons, and how the small creature had lamented about his lost brass buttons on his waistcoat.

Turning his attention to the children on the floor, who were staring up at him with wide gazes, he crouched. He had heard the brunette with the striking blue eyes call Bilbo, but he would save such questions till later if the older hobbit was willing to entertain his curiosity. The fact that the hobbit had shared tales of his adventure with the children was enough to warm Thorin’s heart, that Bilbo did walk away with fond enough memories to speak about.

“I will give you a hint, little masters,” he said with a small smile, an expression that was easily given to such precious beings, despite its disuse. While he lowered himself to a crouch, Thorin removed the crown from atop his head and held it out for the children to examine.

As their eyes slowly lit with understanding, Thorin placed the headpiece on the ground and bowed his head. “Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, at your service,” he said, raising a wide smile to the gaping little hobbits. He had a weakness for small children, as he had seen far too few of them in his lifetime, and they provided a nice distraction from his distress about intruding on Bilbo’s home again. “And your names, little ones?”

Something in Bilbo's chest tugged as he stole a glance to the little ones. Both were in wide-eyed awe as the king bowed his head and gave them a smile. Sam was the first step forward, as the dwarf's admission had made Frodo shy. The little hobbit clung now to his uncle's pant leg, his little face pressed to Bilbo’s calf.

"I'm Samwise Gamgee sir!" the shireling exclaimed. "It's good to meet ya mister dwarf king sir."

“Just ‘Thorin’, please,” the king responded with a chuckle, taking Sam’s little hand in his and shook it lightly before stealing a small look at the other little boy. Though he couldn’t see the shireling’s face, Thorin could see the tips of his pointed ears were flaming red through his brown curls. “I’m afraid I scared your friend, Master Gamgee,” the dwarf said quietly, as if speaking secretly with the child though his voice was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him.

When he saw one pale blue eye peek out at him, Thorin felt a clench in his chest. Right now he was simply pleased that the children hadn’t been immediately repulsed by his name, that apparently the elder hobbit hadn’t regaled them with tales of betrayal and murderous goldsick dwarves. Shame flooded him once more just thinking about it. When the little hobbit buried his face deeper into Bilbo’s leg with a little sound of distress however, Thorin turned his attention back to Sam. “You’re a fierce one, aren’t you Master Gamgee? A good friend for the little one there, I should think,” the king said encouragingly.

Bilbo’s hand was resting gently on Frodo's head, the repetitive motion of his fingers raking through the shireling's dark curls soothing to the little hobbit. Sam immediately drew up to the brunette’s side to tug him away from Bilbo, a move that neither hobbit put up a fight to. With his friend at his side however he found his voice long enough to mumble, "m'Frodo Baggins sir. It's nice t'meet you."

From his place in his cushy armchair, Bilbo smiled gently. He kept his gaze fixed on his pipe however; he feared that if he were to look back now he would surely so something rash. While his chest had new ache since he had laid eyes on the raven-haired dwarf, he would not suffer himself to obey the demands of his heart ever again. All it led to was broken dreams and sleepless nights, and Bilbo had enough of both to last a lifetime.

Thorin looked up at Bilbo as the young hobbit had said his name, confusion tearing through him but his former lover wasn’t looking at him. The shy boy was much too older for Bilbo to have fathered him in the time they were apart, and the child wasn’t in attendance the last time Thorin had been in Bag End. If Frodo was in the picture back then, there was no way Bilbo would have left on such a journey. If there was only one thing dwarves and hobbits had in common, it was the value they placed on family.

‘A value I threw away in favor of useless metal,’ he thought spitefully to himself before turning back to the young hobbits.

“The pleasure is all mine, Master Baggins,” he said with a light tone. He didn’t bother to stretch his hand out to the little creature, not wanting to stretch the fragile confidence Frodo had found. With a laugh, he continued, “I trust Bilbo here has overstated every small deed we did on that silly adventure, yes?”

Bilbo chuckled darkly from where he sat as he pulled out his satchel of leaf. This was already proving to be a hard night, and he was wishing now that he had just a pinch of Old Toby to soothe his frayed nerves. He hadn't indulged in a whiff of the stuff since he had adopted Frodo. Now here he was with a dwarf in his hobbit hole and wishing he could be lenient with himself, just this once. He filled his bowl with his shredded tobacco, and was just about to strike a match where there was another knock at the door.

This was a much more familiar sound, and glancing back to the window he realized the sun had dropped much than he had first noticed. "Come on now Same, that'll be your mum," Bilbo said as he rose, the little Gamgee hobbit instantly reaching for Bilbo's hand as the older hobbit passed by. Frodo followed behind as well, still warily eyeing the dwarf as the trio padded their way to the front door.

"Hello there Belle," Bilbo greeted as he pulled his door open to be greeted with the company he had indeed been expecting. The Gamgee matriarch gave him a small smile, but Bilbo noticed as the woman tried to peer around him and into his home. News and gossip always did travel fast in the Shire.

"I hope he was no trouble," she said mechanically, though her usual warmth and good nature poured through as she finally brought her eyes back to Bilbo's. The curiosity was natural, especially with someone dressed as Thorin was. Sam trotted out to his mother and began pulling at her skirts.

"He never is Missus. You have a good night, and we'll see you in the morning?"

"If it's no trouble," she said, to which Bilbo shook his head with a smile. Belle was about to stop and ask why he looked so very worn out, but thought better of it as she nodded her head. "We'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight Mister Baggins, goodnight little Frodo." And with that the Gamgees took their leave to return to their hobbit hole, Sam's mouth running a mile a minute as he began to tell them what little he knew about Bilbo's house guest.

With a sigh Bilbo shut his door once more and bent down to scoop up Frodo again as the shireling had been tugging at his trouser leg again. He returned to the sitting room to find Thorin standing in place where he had been left, and Bilbo did not offer him a smile or a frown. His expression was entirely neutral and passive as their eyes locked for the briefest moments. But he did not break his stride, merely skirted past the dwarf as he took his seat once more. He left Frodo in his lap, the little hobbit opting for the comfort of his uncle than to venture too far from his safety. The shireling nestled back against his chest as Bilbo once again produced his pipe and resumed lighting his match.

"You might as well sit down as long as you're here," Bilbo muttered with the stem of his pipe clenched between his teeth, smoke rising as he brought life to the leaf.

The dwarf took a seat in the armchair across from Bilbo, his stomach sinking at the distance Bilbo was keeping, the way his eyes would barely meet his and when they did they were torturously cold. More and more he began to curse his sister’s optimism in riling him up to believe this journey would bring his One back to him. It worked well enough with her boys to get them pumped with romantic ideals and fanciful imaginings, and it did wonders for Kíli when his brother was comatose, but Thorin was a grown man. He was much too old to be talked into silly adventures to bring his long-lost love back to his kingdom, and now Thorin began to think Dís was having a good laugh at his expense. This was the kind of revenge she would exact against him for what he had done to her and her boys.

With a sigh, he relaxed back into the chair, suddenly feeling his fatigue. Thorin’s body ached from the relentless pace he and his guard kept on the way to the Shire, his old wounds still causing him some pain. Four months of riding a pony and sleeping on the cold hard ground did not help them in the least. After a moment of blinking at Bilbo, he realized he’d almost dozed off and sat a bit more rigidly, clearing his throat as he smiled at Frodo lightly.

“So, you have a son now?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion.

Frodo stiffened slightly in Bilbo's lap and the shireling was tilting his head to look up at the senior Baggins. Bilbo cleared his throat in turn as he puffed on his pipe, the thick smoke swirling about and siphoning out the open window. "You could say that. Frodo is my heir-son," Bilbo replied, his fingers once again finding their way to Frodo's unruly mop of thick dark curls and ruffling them soothingly.

"When I made it home I was greeted with an unfortunate set of circ*mstances and a little cousin that needed adopting," he elaborated slightly, but was quite careful to avoid any real mentioning of the Shireling's parents.

"I dare say though now that yes, I view him much more as a son than a nephew, though those are the terms we use if only to keep some of our relations’ mouths shut on the matter." As this was in reference to the Sacksville-Bagginses, a branch of their family tree that Bilbo felt needed pruning long ago, he allowed Frodo his little not-so-well hidden giggle.

Thorin watched the two on the chair in front of him, the joke lost on him. The elder hobbit looked tired, so unlike the way he had been when he’d first rounded the corner, the lines in his face growing deeper with each passing moment. The fact that Bilbo was growing more and more stressed while puffing away at his pipe, something that would usually calm him had Thorin making up his mind. He would say his piece and leave. Poor Frodo looked positively frightened by him, though some of that may have been fed by his uncle’s tension.

Or perhaps Bilbo had shared more to Frodo about the terrible fall-out at the Lonely Mountain than he had with Samwise. Thorin’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he knew that was what he would have deserved, for every hobbit in the Shire to know him for what he was; a sick dwarven king who very nearly murdered his intended over a rock.

Though he wished to talk to the hobbit, he wasn’t sure how much of this discussion Bilbo would want in front of Frodo, so he merely shifted minutely, trying not to betray his discomfort and lack of direction in this. With the icy way Bilbo regarded Thorin this entire time, the dwarf couldn’t just burst out with “I love you, and I wish for you to come home” as Dís had suggested. That would not turn out well for the king and he knew it.

The silence swelled in the room and soon enough the hobbitling became impatient with it and wiggled in the older hobbit's lap. It was nearly time to begin preparing dinner if the light rumble in the shireling's stomach had anything to say about and with a sigh Bilbo relented. "Well, it's nearly time for dinner," the senior Baggins began as Frodo slipped off his lap and onto the floor, the tiny being instantly padding away out of the room. "I hope you like fish."

Bilbo left no room for argument as he stood without excusing himself, and when Thorin remained in his seat the blond sighed once more. "And I'll be putting the kettle on if you would like to join me in the kitchen." Once again he was blunt and to the point, not sparing a glance to the dwarf as he made his way to the kitchen. He could hear heavy footfalls following his slowly, and something in Bilbo's gut twisted sickeningly. Why couldn't he live out the rest of his days without ever having to see this damnable dwarf again? Though he would be lying with himself to say he wasn't pleased to see the dwarf alive and therefore the ugly reminders of his fight to save said dwarf and all he had suffered for it had not been in vain.

With the kettle set over the flame Bilbo set to preparing their dinner. It was fortunate that he and the two boys had gone fishing earlier in the day. Each brought home a fish and luckily Sam had left his behind in the larder. He prepared them all the same, with peas from his garden, a healthy amount of butter and dill, sprinkling salt and squeezing a lemon on each as he always would. He had poured the king a cup of tea silently, pushing it to him not so much as an offer, but a demand, to which Thorin complied silently with at least holding the cup and occasionally sipping politely.

The little hobbit was already in his spot to the right of the head of the table when Bilbo brought their plates out. He had smiled for his nephew, and the little hobbit returned it, but they had remained unusually silent for the duration of the meal. Frodo would occasionally ask a question like "What's dwarf mountain like?" and "Did you really get captured by three trolls?", but besides the child's questions and the king's answers, all was silent at the table.

With the arrival of their unexpected visitor, Frodo had succeeded in tuckering himself out with his stress alone. He was stretching his arms above his head and yawning wide, all moves that had little smiles tugging at Bilbo's lips. His Frodo could warm his heart regardless of the stress, and each little movement and coo the child made was endearing in its own individual and uniquely special way.

"Looks like it's time for bed then," Bilbo muttered as he scooped up the little Baggins hobbit, and Frodo instantly laid his cheek on his shoulder and wound his arms loosely around Bilbo's neck. "I'll just put Frodo to bed. Then...well," He cut himself off as her pursed his lips and turned from the dwarf. He still wasn't quite ready to admit what he was about to face.

He easily tucked the hobbit into his bed, giving the shireling a hug and chaste kiss on the forehead before he shut the little one in for the night. He left the door cracked as he always did, and when he was halfway back to the dining room he allowed himself a moment of weakness. He paused and leaned against the wall, scrubbing his hand over his mouth and dragging it down his chin as a shaky sighed escaped him. He hesitated a few moments longer as he searched again for his confidence and steeled himself for what he had to do. Thorin could not stay. He had to go.

He returned to the dining room and leaned against the archway with a severe expression, cold and hard and unforgiving. His arms were folded over his chest, almost as if he were shielding his heart. "Well then," the halfling began with shaky breath, his Adams apple bobbing as he tried to swallow down the knot that formed there. "Shall we have this conversation here, or do we need a smoke?"

Dinner had been extraordinarily tense, the little hobbit barely making a dent in the thickness that overcame the dining room. Whenever Bilbo would leave the room, Thorin was unsure of what to do with himself, so he would stay put and still, waiting for the hobbit’s direction. Before, years ago, he had tromped around this place as if he had owned it, and his arrogance embarrassed him now. After learning his hobbit’s ways, and falling for the man, there was no way he could show Bilbo that same disrespect.

“I am but a guest in your home, Bilbo,” he responded lightly, taken aback by the cold fury he saw on the gentle creature’s face, and for the first time that evening he considered that perhaps Bilbo had been holding back his true feelings on account of the children. “If you would prefer to smoke, then I will join you in the sitting room. I am will not be smoking with you, however. I am quite travel weary, and it is a long walk back to the inn.”

Thorin could imagine his men’s looks of pity when he arrived back at the tavern and told them they were to disembark on their journey back to Erebor without a hobbit. He was already dreading it, but he’d grown used to the sad gazes as they lighted on the braid in his hair but found no consort next to him. It was simply something he would have to come to terms with, and tonight would most likely find him blind drunk at the tavern.

Bilbo sighed as he took a seat at the table. This conversation was probably best to be had behind closed doors anyway, and as he had discovered earlier his pipe would bring him no comfort. He stared across at Thorin for a moment before he stared down at the table, his head bent low as he raked his fingers through his honey curls. He chuckled lightly then at the irony of the whole situation. Here he had thought of himself 'foolish hobbit, falling in love with a dwarven king', and now here was the same dwarven king at his dinner table and he would not let that love into his heart.

"Alright then. You said you've come to talk," Bilbo muttered as he finally managed to look up. He still struggled to meet the king’s eyes and could only to so fleetingly. "Then out with it."

When silence filled the room once more the hobbit cast his eyes to his ceiling. His hazel orbs trained on an errant cobweb, the thin silver threads moving gently with the whispers of wind that poured in through the window. And still the silence prevailed. "Not going to say anything then?" Bilbo asked, voice edged with his tension and annoyance.

"Well then, let’s see if I can help," Bilbo snapped, his eyes finding Thorin's once more. He thought the way the dwarf's eyes widened just a fraction and how he had drawn back in his seat meant that he was just a little bit startled by Bilbo's ferocity. In Bilbo's mind it was a very good thing.

"How are Fíli and Kíli?" he asked first, his tone still as solid as stone.

“Kíli has made a full recovery,” Thorin replied quickly, not wanting to tempt Bilbo’s temper. At this point, there was no way to explain his appearance on Bilbo’s doorstep without painting himself as a complete idiot. Nothing he could say would explain coming all this way to disrupt Bilbo’s life and waste the hobbit’s time. “He has no memory of the battle, which is a blessing.”

When he thought of Fíli, he still had the urge to hang his head in shame and guilt—for putting him in such a situation as the battle, for not getting there in time, for bringing the boy with him on the quest in the first place. This time in front of Bilbo, the one person he had once felt he could be completely honest with, he indulged that urge. “Fíli is still healing,” he replied shortly, sorrow tingeing his tone as the memory of the youth’s scar came to the forefront of his mind.

"Healing?" Bilbo perked to that answer, a sudden wave of concern crashing through him. It had been nearly a full two years since the battle for Erebor, and all Thorin could say on the matter was Fíli was still 'healing'? Dread seized his chest and he leaned forward in his chair, hazel eyes locked on the top of Thorin's head as the king stared down at his table.

It was with belated shock that Bilbo recognized the braid he had bound in Thorin's hair. It was even bound with the same, thin leather strap as he had tied it with in Beorn's home. When they had been so very passionate and in love...

Mentally he rapped himself, forcing any of those worthless and fanciful thoughts from his mind. Not only was it not the time but it would never be the time. He would not allow himself to ever hurt like that again. Though the hobbit had little trouble admitting to himself that he did indeed love the dwarf that was seated at the table, too much had changed and too much had happened back in the mountain.

"He has not made a full recovery yet?" he asked slowly, his hands now against the wooden table top and fisting into balls. "Will he ever?"

“The elves are optimistic, he has fight, and Kíli is very supportive,” Thorin began vaguely before wincing. Bilbo deserved to know, as he had been close to the boys. His nephews missed Bilbo almost as much as Thorin did. “He received a substantial head wound in the battle, and he slept for several months. When he awoke…it became clear that he had several gaps in his memory, but the lad keeps it to himself.”

With a grimace, he continued, “he needs a cane to walk because of an injury he received by a warg, we think. He has no memory of the battle or the mountain, from what we can tell. Fíli only talks to his brother about the gaps, and even Kíli is left in the dark about much.”

There was silence for a beat, and Thorin thought back to Fíli’s impassioned insistence that the king make this journey. Thorin could curse his sister all he wanted, but it had been his heir’s pressure and reassurance that finally got him moving. With a small chuckle, he looked back up at Bilbo and said softly, “he remembers you.”

Bilbo's frame, every muscle exuding tension, relaxed at the dwarf's admission. It brought a little smile to his face, and he found himself nodding slowly. "That is...well," he cut himself off as he cleared his throat, his right hand rising up to absently rub out the excess tension in his neck. "That is good to hear."

Silence swelled again, and Bilbo instead distracted himself by pinching the bridge of his nose. This was all surreal enough as it was, but if he had thought Fíli’s situation had been that dire, he might not have left the mountain as hurriedly as he had. The halfling wondered then however, if that would have left Frodo alone for longer than the child could stand on his own. No, everything had simply happened the way to was meant to.

"And how are you feeling?" the hobbit asked in a hushed tone, his fingers still mercilessly pinching the bridge of his nose, his brow knit with frustration and unheeded emotions that he would keep contained.

Thorin felt warmth in his chest at Bilbo’s question, even if it was forced worried. “Travel has not been kind to me, but you mustn’t concern yourself,” he replied, a small smirk raising a corner of his mouth. He remembered the battle, and the way Bilbo had been thrown around and shattered, and with a barely restrained shudder, he continued, “By all accounts, you were far more injured than I. If it hadn’t been for the infections, I would have healed much quicker and more wholly.”

Bilbo froze stock still at the mention of the battle, something instinctual triggering in him as his hand flew to his side. He could feel the ridges of his scars through the thin fabric of his over shirt. The hobbit drew a deep and calming breath through his nose, eyes fluttering shut; copper fans over round cheeks.

"That is good to hear," Bilbo muttered slowly as he leaned back in his seat. He regarded the king with indifference once more, though if the king were to look deeper he would see the concern and pain of loss etched deep into each line of the hobbit's face. "Though I am sure you didn't travel all this way merely to tell me these things."

“I did not,” Thorin conceded, his back going rigid as his stalling came to end. Bilbo was absolutely cold, closed off and distant. He hated himself for doing this to his hobbit, for causing this terrible change in the man who had once been so open and vibrant. “I came all this way for atonement. As penance for the atrocious crimes I committed against you,” he said solemnly, keeping his affections out of this, despite his sister’s advice.

Bilbo could feel something inside of him deflate, something fall flat at the king's admission. It was not the answer he had secretly craved, though it was the one he had expected. "I see," the hobbit replied dryly as he stood. He contemplated the situation for a moment. Certainly it had been months of travel, and the dwarf had admitted that his weary muscles and battle scars had not been forgiving for the duration of his journey. He could not just send this man away, regardless of how fiercely he desired to guard his heart.

"I recommend we both get some sleep, your majesty," the halfling stated mechanically as he moved his way to the dining room’s threshold. "We shall discuss things further in the morning. I trust you remember where the guest room is from your last stay?" He spared a single glance, but his face did not light with any emotion, be it happiness or distaste. He was entirely drained.

"I'll leave you to it then. We shall discuss this further in the morning, but for tonight you must be exhausted." The hobbit left no room for argument as he began putting out the candles that lit his home, his tongue darting out long enough for Bilbo to run his thumb and forefinger over the thick muscle before pinching each flame.

“That won’t be necessary. I will go back to the inn and—” Thorin’s protests died on his lips as Bilbo leveled a baleful glare on him as he snuffed out the candles. If the king said the way Bilbo’s tongue flicked out to wet his fingers each time wasn’t incredibly distracting, he would be lying. With a short nod he decided he wouldn’t tempt the man’s mood and said, “I will be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning, then.”

Marching to the front door before he embarrassed himself or his body did something ridiculous, he finally removed his heavy boots and collected his pack. Entering the sitting room, he deliberately kept some distance between himself and Bilbo as he collected the crown he had left on the floor. Making his way down the guest wing, he entered the bedroom he had stayed in what felt like an age ago, and was somehow startled by how unchanged it was. The room was quite bare, with only a bed and a table with an unlit candle on it, and a relatively small wardrobe. The windows were open, letting in the cool night air and kept the room from being stuffy.

He slipped into his sleep clothes quickly, exhaustion falling over him like a thick blanket as the bed became too much to resist for much longer. As he fell onto the bed, not even bothering to slide under the covers, he briefly thought on how big of a disaster this entire journey had turned out to be. He fell asleep that night to his self-deprecating internal monologues and fortunately did not dream.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

It was bright when Thorin awoke, and he groaned as he realized he had slept in. He had meant to leave the hobbit’s home before dawn and be back on the road with his men by this time. The comfortable mattress however threw those plans out and now he was lying there convincing himself to get up and face the hobbit’s ire once more. It was that moment when he heard them; loud whispers coming from the direction of the doorway.

Shifting with a grunt, his old wounds protesting movement, he blinked over at the door to find six pairs of wide, bright eyes staring at him. “See I told ya he had’a beard!” he heard Samwise whisper from the back of the group as several gasps rang through the little troupe of hobbitlings.

“It’s nothn’ like Mister Gandalf’s!” one little boy said petulantly, crossing his arms.

“I din’ say it was like Gandalf’s, Pippin, and you know it,” Samwise said defensively, and Thorin couldn’t help the smile that began to split his face as the children dissolved into an argument revolving around his beard versus the mad old wizard’s. Slowly Thorin sat up and watched the children bicker, until the most vocal of the children—Pippin, the king had gathered—looked over at him with a confused furrow of his brow.

“Why’d you sleep on th’blankets?” he asked, his voice a bit demanding, but endearingly so. “Do all dwarves not use blankets?”

Thorin chuckled, and shook his head. “I had a very long journey, Master Hobbit, and I’m afraid I was much too tired to bother with the quilt.”

“Are y’really a king?” Pippin asked suddenly, his expression skeptical, but his gaze was trained on the crown that sat on the bedside table.

“Yes,” Thorin responded lightly before standing up to carry the headpiece over to the children in his doorway, and for a moment they shrank back as he towered over them. Quickly he crouched so that he wasn’t so imposing and continued across the room like that. “This is my crown.”

“’Is made a’stone?” another boy asked, curiosity written on his face as he pushed to the front to stand by Pippin’s side. Frodo and Samwise were in the back of the group, with two little girls standing just ahead of them. The girls looked nervous, but openly curious, and Thorin smiled kindly at them whenever they had the confidence to look directly at him.

They all had the curliest hair the dwarf had ever seen, especially the young girl with the fiery tresses. Such tight, perfect ringlets were not something ever seen in dwarves, not even the children or infants. When a dwarf had curly hair, it was more of an untamed frizz and not nearly so pleasant to behold.

“Does Bilbo know you are all back here?” Thorin asked with a raised eyebrow, and laughed as they all shifted guiltily at that. As he opened his mouth to continue, the smell of food wafted back and his stomach grumbled loudly. “Come, let me dress and we will go back to the dining room together,” he said and ushered the little children out of the room and shut the door.

He dressed lightly, only pulling on his trousers and a simple tunic, forgoing his full royal attire until he had to return to the inn after he ate something. When the king opened the bedroom door, he had expected to see the hall deserted, the hobbitlings abandoning him in favor of investigating the meal being prepared. Instead he found the group of children waiting exactly where he left them and gazing up at him. Before Thorin could even take a step, Pippin was latched onto his arm and asking him a hundred questions a minute.

“Why’re your feet hairless? Do dwarves really eat rocks? My gran told me dwarves pop out of the ground! Is that true? Why’s your beard so short? Don’t you’ave a guard or somethin’? Does Dwarf Mountain’ave trees? Do’you know how ta fish? Bilbo takes us fishin’ sometimes!”

It went on like this as Thorin slowly made his way down the hall, a grin on his face as he was followed by the squad of children, and he patiently answered every question he was afforded the time to reply to. Very quickly, the entire group got in on the question game, and by the time they reached the kitchen and dining room, they were quite the loud group.

Bilbo couldn't suppress the smile on his face as finished setting the table and the sounds of the children’s relentless barrage of questions filtered down the hall, Thorin's deep voice piercing the bubbly clouds of little voices every now and again.

He had spent the majority of his night lying awake in bed with the heavy fur-trimmed coat that Kíli had smuggled to him, the coat that he would cling to as if the dwarf was merely a ghost on lonely nights when there was nothing to soothe his heartache and loneliness. Last night had been no different as he once again buried his face in the fur lapels and did nothing to stop his tears. When he finally had drifted into a shallow, dreamless sleep it didn't last long and he was roused by Frodo gently pushing his way up into his bed and crawling onto his lap. The little shireling always seemed to know just when Bilbo needed the silence and his tiny comforting embrace, and before he had set to first breakfast the pair of Bagginses simply cuddled their worries away.

"Come now you lot, mind your manners," the eldest hobbit chided the bustling group as they all arrived in his dining room. The table was set with fresh fruit and sweet breads, a slice on each plate and already topped with their favorite of jams or whipped honey. While the scent hadn't drawn their curiosity from the visitor, the sight of their second breakfast laid out and waiting for them had each hobbitling dashing for their seats. Bilbo's smallest cousin however, little Peregrin Took, clung still to the dwarven king’s hand and tugged him over to his usual spot. Bilbo watched with mild amusem*nt as Pippin unapologetically forced Thorin into the chair and then scrambled his way up into the dwarf's lap, his wooly-topped feet kicking into the air for some sort of traction, until Thorin helped the child sit straight in his lap.

Bilbo took his seat and hoisted Frodo into his own lap, a common custom when the extra company of the little redheaded, Pearl Proudfoot, was to be had for the day. "I see you've all already met our guest," he said with a wide sweeping look to the children, to which he was greeted with emphatic nods as they had all begun digging into their meals. "And did you all remember to introduce yourselves?"

He was rewarded with sheepish smiles behind mouthfuls of topped breads and fruits. Bilbo feigned frustration, an over dramatic sigh escaping him as he drawled, "What on earth am I to do with you all?" The little ones chorused with their laughter and at that the senior halfling's smile beamed. It was truly wondrous how joyous these little ones made each day. When he glanced to Thorin, the king with a lap full of a preoccupied hobbitling, Bilbo hoisted Frodo from his lap and replaced the little one in his seat to continue his meal.

He was still wary of his emotions, but he had come to terms long ago with his love for the dwarf. While that would never change, with all that transpired, he would probably still be quite distant as long as Thorin was under his roof. However, with the children and their acceptance of the dwarf, who continued to munch on their foods and ask far too many questions, Bilbo was finding it difficult to hold up his icy walls. There seemed to be little point in begrudging the king since he had traveled so far, and after his time shut up in his room and clinging to the one shred of Thorin he felt he still had all through the lonely night, he felt more confident in allowing himself to be more hospitable.

He circled around to the dwarf, his hand coming to tentatively rest on Thorin’s shoulder. It was a gentle, barely there sort of touch, entirely chaste yet it radiated with warmth. He had longed to do just this same thing the day before when the king had arrived, and now that he had allowed himself the brief contact he wondered why he had feared it so. Lover or not, regardless of the dwarf’s sickness, Bilbo adored the man. Even if they could never repair what had been broken, even if all that could be reclaimed from the wreckage was a shoddy semblance of understanding and nothing more, the hobbit would hope that the dwarf would leave on better terms at the day’s end than when he had arrived.

Thorin's words in the library though would forever haunt him however, and still he would dwell on them even now. He would not forget his place as he had been so bluntly advised by Thorin at the time. No, this Bilbo Baggins was no fool and he would not be making the same mistake twice.

"Kettles boiled, your majesty. Will you be having breakfast with us?" he asked softly, the formality of his words feeling rather strange and rigid as they left his mouth.

Thorin’s heart had shot up into his throat at the light touch on his shoulder, and he had to close his eyes to calm his breathing. It meant nothing, it was completely chaste, a simple touch appropriate amongst acquaintances. His thoughts were confirmed at the hobbit’s words and he opened his eyes again and turned to give Bilbo a strained smile and said, “just ‘Thorin’, please. And tea would be appreciated. If this little one would let me, I would fetch it myself.”

As he addressed the hobbit in his lap, Pippin turned around and grinned at him, showing off his mouthful of bread and jam. Though slightly disgusted, Thorin smiled back at the child and turned his attention back to his former lover. “And I will be staying for breakfast, if that is acceptable. I should be out of your hair by lunch, don’t worry.”

His words were met with a chorus of dismayed cries and one of the little girls—the little blond one, Rosie he thought her name was—looked about to cry, even. “You can’t go so soon!” Pippin whined, turning around in Thorin’s lap completely to look him right in the eye. “We had all this stuff planned, and Pearl’s here so that means Mister Bilbo makes somethin’ super special for tea time!”

“That sounds rather important,” the king said solemnly, brow serious as he lifted a cloth napkin to start wiping jam from the corners of Pippin’s mouth. The little child screwed up his face and shoved Thorin’s hand aside however, and for a moment the dwarf just raised an eyebrow until Pippin looked properly sheepish.

“’m sorry,” he murmured, allowing Thorin to clean his face as he continued about their tea time treats. “And it is! Pearl’s never here—”

“Never is a pretty big word, little one,” the king laughed. “She’s here right now. And it doesn’t look like she appreciates being talked about as if she were not.”

The little redhead looked quite embarrassed to be the topic of discussion, her pale skin dark crimson with her blush. Her light eyes darted away from Thorin, but she did smile a bit.

“I’m sorry, Pearl!” Pippin cried, not even turning fully to look at her. Thorin sighed, taking his time to count back from ten. The child was rambunctious, demanding, but to adorable to raise too much frustration from the dwarf. He would only be dealing with the little creature for a few hours more anyway.

“Please stay, Mister Thorin,” Samwise piped up, his expression determined.

The dwarf looked at all the children, and even Frodo looked a bit distressed at the prospect of Thorin leaving before they had a proper chance to talk to him. With a heavy sigh that was all for show, the king looked up at Bilbo and said, “if Bilbo here is willing to suffer my presence for a few more hours, I’m sure I could put my journey off until after supper.”

"I don't think that will be any trouble at all Master Dwarf." Bilbo poured the dwarf a cup of tea, his own following suit. He took a deep sip as he began bustling about the house once more. He had an uncharacteristically feminine apron cinched about his waist, the scalloped edges decorated with pale blue and yellow embroidered daisies. It had belonged to Frodo's mother, and it was one of the things he was always sure to wear in the mornings for the little brunette hobbit. It was not so much a constant reminder, but just a memory of the lovely woman that he could wear and it would comfort Frodo just as much as any whispered story or softly hummed song.

Bilbo tried not to think too much on Thorin's insistence of being so relaxed, that he was to address him so familiarly, but he would find his own way around it. He bustled about, clearing the table around twittering children and wiping mouths as he passed. Each child remained at the table however as the king sipped his tea, now moving on to their insistences of what they should all do today with the king in tow. It was only once the table was cleared that Bilbo spoke up. "We'll be staying around Bag End for the day. I've got to catch up on my gardening."

This seemed to suit the pair of girls just fine, but the boys (save for little Frodo) let out a woeful groan of dissatisfaction, each stating each place around the Shire they had wanted to haul the king to. Bilbo merely clicked his tongue as he helped Rosie and Pearl down from their seats, the pair of lovely tiny lasses clinging to his pant legs as they whispered to each other, their set of wide eyes darting between Thorin and themselves. "Well you'll have to make do with the yard for now boys."

Frodo wriggled down from his chair as Bilbo began undoing his apron, the delicate fabric finding it's home on the back of a near-by chair. Sam was quick to follow his friend, and Merry called after as he caught up for Pippin who was still preoccupied on Thorin's lap. The little Took hobbit waved his cousin off and merely waited for the dwarf to do the moving for him. When Thorin finally complied he hoisted the presumptuous little hobbit in his arms, Pippin's arms instant circling the dwarfs neck with a pleased giggle, and he caught up to the group.

The little girls sat separately from the rest on the yard as they played hand games, while Merry and Sam were being chased by Frodo around the yard in a game of tag. Pippin wiggled impatiently in the dwarf's arms to be let down, the rays of the sun infectious and seeming to ignite the tiny creature, as he ran up to join in the fun. The eldest hobbit, with a watering can in hand was passing over a particularly fragrant flowerbed. It was filled with demure Forget-me-nots and vibrant, blue and pink Foxgloves, a few pure white daises breaking up and contrasting with their round shape. The hobbit was humming to himself, the breeze drifting over the rolling hills and catching the leaves of the healthy tree that grew on top of the hill. It caught Bilbo's curls in its invisible fingers and made them shift, the scent of the flowers following the breeze's path.

As he put Pippin down, Thorin watched Bilbo toil around in his garden for a short time. The hobbit looked perfectly at peace, his face soft and relaxed. With a pang, Thorin realized that he had been responsible for pulling the man away from this, damaging him, and sending him back to try and pull the pieces back together. The hobbit had done a fantastic job of putting his life back together, and Thorin was glad for it. Truth be told, he had been terrified that he would find his former lover still the same shattered man he had last seen two years ago. To see this, a hobbit that was able to smile and laugh almost the same way he used to, it warmed Thorin’s heart even as it broke again.

When Thorin felt a tugging on his trousers, he looked down to find that Rosie and Pearl had left off their clapping games and were at his socked feet (he wasn’t about to run around completely barefoot). They stared up at him with light blushes, so he crouched down to their level with a reassuring smile. “What can I do for you two little ladies?”

“We were wonderin’ if we could—“ Rosie began, but cut herself off with a furious blush and a shake of her head. Blonde curls bounced and fell in her face, and Thorin beamed at her. He would be a complete sap by the time he left the Shire, he knew it.

“Can we play with your hair?” Pearl asked quickly, her voice small but determined. Her light eyes darted away as her blush intensified to that intense dark crimson, and Thorin had to chuckle. He was stunned by the request, but sat down nonetheless.

“Of course,” he said kindly, and instantly the little girls had their hands in his hair and began to braid it in several places, giggling to each other as Thorin allowed them to style it as ridiculous as they wanted to.

As they began taking out his existing braids however, he reached up to stop Pearl as she grabbed the courting braid he wore. “Leave that one please, little miss,” he said kindly, and directed her hands to one of the braids hidden beneath his hair at the back of his head.

“Why?” she asked, her confidence having been bolstered by Thorin’s quiet acceptance and low encouragements. The girls didn’t talk to him much during the half hour they had been at this, but they had talked a lot between themselves, pulling a few chuckles from the dwarf as they delivered their childlike verdicts on the world around them.

“It is a special braid,” he explained lightly, quietly. He was quite proud of himself that he managed not to glance in the direction of the garden as he said it. “It is a sign of love.”

“You have a queen?” Rosie asked, voice going dreamy as she crawled around to his front to meet his eyes.

Thorin laughed at that, even as a sharp slice of pain went through him. “No, little one. The braid means I’ve found my true love.” It was a watered down truth, but he couldn’t continue with this discussion. It was a heavy topic for Thorin, and there was no way to skirt around it in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable. And if Bilbo heard him…it could very well mean the end of the elder hobbit’s hospitality. “Come now, shouldn’t you replace my braids now?” he asked with a smile that was tight and uncomfortable.

The girls nodded quickly and got to work again, giggling and talking about true love and which boys in the village they thought they fancied. The tension eventually left Thorin’s body again and he was able to appreciate the babbling around him as he watched the boys run around like animals around them.

Bilbo would steal glances at the little ones now and again as he went about his work, humming all the while. When he was greeted by the sight of a mighty dwarven king having his hair braided by a pair of little girls he felt his heart stutter in his chest. He entertained their questions and little stories and were making quite the show of his hair. It seemed like every time he would steal a peek there was a new braid in the dwarf's mane. It had the eldest hobbit smiling like a fool, but he kept the expression buried and the feelings of warmth submerged even deeper than that. Whatever his heart was trying to convince him of would be resolutely ignored and his feelings, true or false, were to be stifled.

He stopped dead however when he heard the king request they leave a particular braid in and untouched, his explanation making his chest seize up. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him and his hands were suddenly trembling and quite useless.

"The braid means I've found my true love."

Bilbo swallowed down whatever embarrassing noise was trying to tear itself from his lips. There was simply no way in the hobbit's mind that the king could have possibly meant him. It was a foolish notion. When his heart raced at the possibility however, forcing thoughts on him that he refused to entertain, he reminded himself of the terror he had experienced as Thorin had dangled him over a cliff side by the throat with eyes wild and spewing venomous words.

The hobbit was now in a whirlwind of emotions that he was having trouble containing, and he tossed away his gardening trowel. The boys had ventured close and Frodo had pulled away from them, drawing up to his uncle and plastering himself against the older hobbit's side. "Uncle Bilbo? Uncle Bilbo, are you sad?" the little one whispered, glancing over his shoulder as if worried they were being spied on.

Bilbo could do little but swipe thoroughly at his eyes before he tugged Frodo into a hug. "Don't you worry about me sweetheart. I just," he cleared his throat, willing his eyes to quit burning. "I just needed a hug, that's all. And look! You provided one all on your own!" he praised as he scooped up the shireling who burst into giggles.

Bilbo felt quite exposed now. The tiny braid he had reweaved when he returned to the Shire had been well hidden, tucked behind his ear, and it seemed the dwarf king had not yet noticed it. This was after all for the best. The fact that Thorin wasn't here to make amends in the way Bilbo had dreamed about—that the dwarf wasn't pining over a silly little hobbit—was hurtful yet a necessity in Bilbo's mind. Thorin was a king and Bilbo was a mere hobbit. It had been a dream. It had never been meant to be.

While he clung to his constructed reality he felt the insistent tug of the tiny halfling in his arms. He ruffled Frodo hair reassuringly, his lashes still glistening with tears, but with a false smile painted on his face all the same. "Come now, off you get. Go have fun"

The little one hesitated as Bilbo replaced him on the soft grass beside him before Sam called for Frodo to rejoin them once more in their chasing game. The brunette picked up where he left off reluctantly, but was soon dashing about, giggling and shouting with the rest of the boys. Bilbo's eyes, still far to glassy with tears he refused to acknowledge or shed, rendered him useless for the task at hand.

The eldest hobbit stood, reaching above his head and arching his back, his joints giving little pops as his joints and muscles loosened. He could still hear the sounds of the children at play, giggling and shrieking with delight, and Thorin's deep dulcet tones occasionally piercing through the muddle of childish sounds. It was a voice that was low and warm like sunshine, and it unnerved him to the core.

Thorin had glanced back at Bilbo when he’d heard Frodo giggling and felt a tug in his chest, but the girls had said something and he turned his attention back to them. “What was that, little ladies?” he asked, noticing their expectant looks.

“Bilbo has a braid too!” Rosie repeated brightly. “Y’think it means the same thing?”

The king stared blankly at the children, blinking for several moments as his heart clenched painfully. He knew it was impossible, and he remembered clearly the look on Bilbo’s face as he removed the braid so many months ago. “He doesn’t have a braid,” he stated firmly, and had to work to soften his expression as the little girls began to shift uncomfortably.

“Yuh-huh!” Pearl exclaimed, putting her little hands on her hips. “We saw it!”

“Saw what?” Pippin cried as he flopped down between the two hobbitling girls. Somehow he had ended up covered head to toe with mud and the little girls were sent shrieking and scrambling away from the disgusting and smelly little boy.

As he watched the children run around screaming and saturating each other with mud, the dwarf pushed what the girls had said from his mind. They had to be mistaken, or it was a different braid, or the girls had been pretending, playing a game. With that thought, he started shaking the braids the little hobbitlings had put in his hair loose and standing back up.

Bilbo let out an exasperated growl, something gruff and short escaping his throat as his brow creased with his frustration. "Peregrin Took!" he exclaimed firmly with a voice sounding far to practiced at commanding attention.

All of the children came to a halt, Pippin standing in the middle of the group as he was trying his best to soil each and every one of his companions’ clothes. The littlest hobbit was silent and still, arms flung out wide as if he had made a dead stop mid-fling of his appendages. All Bilbo had to do was tap his foot expectantly and the youngest of the group made his way over slowly, head bent in what little shame he could muster.

"M'sorry mister Bilbo. We was just playin'." Merry had stepped forward to defend his cousin, a hand on the Pippin's shoulder as some sort of reassurance. Pip looked up at Bilbo with big, round, innocent eyes; the puppy dog stare. While the effects had ceased working on the eldest hobbit long ago he still could not begrudge a child for behaving as a child.

"Well looks like our plans have changed. All of you, in the house, boys to the bath." The four lads all groaned with distaste, a mournful sound that was meant to sway Bilbo. It certainly had no effect. "Off you go then."

All six hobbits trudged back into the house, Bilbo following along and briefly flashing Thorin an apologetic smile. "Not much of a holiday, master dwarf," he tried his best to make small talk, but as he realized he was failing miserably he simply shuffled awkwardly off to the bath. Bilbo could only keep the little ones in control for ten minutes before they became to rowdy and were splishing and splashing and filling the room with soap suds and bubbling laughter. The girls, having stayed well enough away from the mud-slinging perpetrator had produced some thin parchments and colorful chalks from a drawer in the sitting room and were preoccupying themselves with creating worlds of their own.

Soon enough four little Shirelings, all clothed in clean short-trousers and little loose button up shirts were toddling out into the sitting room to join them, the chatter between the little ones picking up again instantly. They were all well preoccupied with each other and keeping out of trouble on their own, so Bilbo retreated to the master to change. Merry had succeeded in soaking his thin dress-shirt through.

Thorin stood in the hall, watching the hobbitlings play and draw, making up stories as they went along. He was going to miss this, and he knew that if he didn’t leave now, he would grow attached to the children. Thorin had a terrible weakness for children, something many of his race had in common. There were far too few dwarflings to be found each year. And the growing ache in his chest that swelled larger every moment he spent in the distant hobbit’s company was becoming too much to handle.

As Bilbo stepped out of the master with a dry shirt, Thorin turned toward him with a tight smile. “They’re wonderful,” he said quietly, motioning to the huddle of curly-haired children in the sitting room.

The hobbit startled slightly to find the dwarf waiting for him. He wore a tight, sad sort of smile, that radiated with warmth when he looked on the huddled Shirelings just through the corridor. Bilbo glanced to the little ones with and utterly shone with his affection for the children, his smile just as subdued, a gentle hum in the back of his throat his only sound of agreement. "That they are."

Now though, regardless of the six hobbitlings in the room just down the hall, they were alone. It was not like last night, with tension thick and tempers snapping. It was merely awkward, like dancing for the first time and constantly stepping on your partner’s toes. Neither knew what to do and say, but Bilbo felt that Thorin wouldn't have approached him as such without the words goodbye soon to spill from his lips. The idea made Bilbo's heart lurch and his stomach twist painfully. His hazel eyes were wide as he looked back to the dwarf, his heart skipping a beat as he once again took note of the braid he had wound in the dwarf's thick raven mane all those long months ago. He dared not to hope, dared not wish, but the idea of Thorin leaving now that he had come left him feeling hollow and empty.

"Stay," the hobbit blurted out, his eyes screwing shut as an awkward laugh bubbled up from his chest. The faintest shade of pink rose to the rounds of his cheeks as he raised his hands defensively and back peddled. "What I mean to say, master dwarf, is while I know you said you would be departing this evening you have traveled far, and on my account."

Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck to distract himself, his eyes following the curve of the ceiling overhead as he tried to pick apart his own sentences before saying them to avoid another embarrassing slip. "It wouldn't make me much of a host to watch you leave after such a long journey. We would be happy to have you for a fortnight, so that you might get adequate rest before you make your journey home."

Bilbo's heart thumped wildly in his chest, and once again he was blurting out, "A fortnight," with an awkward little nod, his gaze still flitting about anxiously.

“I,” Thorin began, but let the words die. The king watched as that pretty blush came to his former lover’s face, the same warm stains that had always brought such happiness to him. And despite the fact that he knew the hobbit was just being polite, a real smile twitched the corners of his lips. Thorin wanted to say no, to deny staying here outright, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, ‘I can’t.’

“I wouldn’t want to impose on your hospitality, Bilbo,” he said slowly instead, looking back at the children. He realized belatedly that that wasn’t much better of a response and had to find the urge to visibly wince. “I can always stay at the inn with my men.”

"O-Oh..." Bilbo stammered, searching for the words but they simply wouldn't come. He began slipping back into his state of mind when he had first met the dwarf, his old insecurities pushing through his wall of confidence and reminding him that this was a king. Perhaps he had misread the situation entirely, and the hobbit was already convincing himself that it must be the case.

"Of course, how silly of me," he rushed out, the hand that had been kneading the tense muscles of his neck now ruffling his mop of copper curls.

“It wasn’t silly—” Thorin began to say, but his voice froze as his eyes landed on the tiny braid knocked loose from its place behind the hobbit’s pointed ear. His mouth shut with an audible click as he stared openly at the delicate plait, his heart pounding in his throat until he quelled the budding hope. Bilbo had been adamant about only two weeks, and he had been so cold and distant up to this point. The braid didn’t mean anything.

Clearing his throat, he blinked and looked away, eyes stinging and throat clenching. “As I was saying, it wasn’t silly. You have this lot, and I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Thorin continued, feeling winded at the sight of the braid in his former lover’s hair.

“I do not wish to burden you further,” he added, and somewhere in his mind he realized he was beginning to babble, but he couldn’t seem to stop the outpouring. All the more reason to not stay, what with the revelation with the braid, but he found himself regretting the denials. “And you have all of these little mouths to feed, and a dwarven appetite is quite fierce. I don’t wish to eat you out of house and home.”

It took everything Thorin had not to physically cringe.

"You really wouldn't," Bilbo rushed the words out, his eyes locking with Thorin's for a moment before darting away once more. "Impose, I mean. It's really n-no trouble." The words were spoken softly and then the silence hung between them, filling the space and seeming to force them even further apart. The hobbit shook his head, trying to free himself from this infuriating rut he had gotten himself stuck in, before he dared to continue on.

"All I mean to say is, you are welcome here in Bag End. If you would like to stay elsewhere I understand." He let it be after that, the tension now too much for him to handle. He heard a pair of familiar tiny feet padding their way down the hall to them and soon little Frodo was at his uncle's side and gripping the elder hobbit's trousers. The child seemed to pick up on whatever this awkward electricity was that was sparking between them, and he hugged Bilbo's leg protectively.

"Uncle Bilbo, it's almost time for lunch," the cherubic hobbit whispered. Bilbo was grateful for the distraction and he smiled softly down at his heir.

"Yes sweetheart, I know. You get back to your playing and I'll see to it, alright?" He ruffled the tiny hobbit's brunette tresses affectionately before Frodo trotted away, the sounds of renewed chatter and laughter signaling the little hobbit had made it back to the sitting room.

"Whatever you choose, it's up to you master dwarf," Bilbo muttered with a nod, feeling slightly crestfallen as he turned from the dwarf, his destination the kitchen.

“I will stay,” Thorin said quickly, reaching out but not touching the hobbit. As Bilbo turned to look at him again, he slowly dropped his hand back to his side. “For the fortnight, and I will compensate you for your hospitality however you see fit.” This time, he actually did cringe outwardly as he somehow turned this into a business transaction. “And please, just ‘Thorin,’” he insisted again, softly and slightly pleading.

Bilbo could feel some of the tension seeping away. The dwarf sounded downright desperate for Bilbo to drop his walls. Bilbo however was far too cautious for such things. The halfling did afford the dwarf a small smile though, beaming with the pride of a gracious host when an invitation was accepted. Bilbo paused, sucking in a calming breath and forcing it back out through his nose as he finally shoved those horrible, niggling voices of self-doubt away for just an instant. "And we'll be happy to have you, Thorin."

By all accounts it was Bilbo's "day off". The only day of his week where his home wasn't inundated with children. While the peace was welcomed, it left him feeling like quite the restrained busy body. There were no mouths to wipe or entertainment that needed to be doled out. His hobbit hole was entirely silent besides Frodo's soft humming as the child flipped through a picture book. Their house-guest, a particular dwarven king, seemed to be quite content to sit in the silence and watch the little one idle his time away. It was almost eerie, this peace, and how very comfortable the three of them were in the silence of the cozy hobbit hole. It brought certain ideas to the front of his mind; certain ideas that he stamped back down and refused to entertain.

Suddenly, a rap at the door broke the silence. A slight frown creased the hobbit's features, but he was on his feet in an instant and making his way to the door. When Bilbo pulled the heavy round portal open he was greeted with the round and cheery smiling face of his cousin Otho Baggins. With his thumbs hooked around his suspender straps and standing on his tip toes he tried to spy around Bilbo's shoulder, his greeting finally slipping past his lips, "Good te' see you cousin!" to which Bilbo responded in kind.

Though it was clear his visitor was trying to be sly, Bilbo had guessed what the fuss was about. Just another member of the community trying to steal a glance at the king they had all heard about from the children. While good-natured and down to earth, a king was a mighty temptation for creatures that seldom wandered beyond the borders of the Shire. "Something I can help you with Otho?"

"Actually, just here to deliver a message!"

Bilbo wandered back into the sitting room, a slightly perturbed expression masking his features, but a small smile was there all the same.

Thorin looked up as Bilbo reentered the room, slight concern falling over him at the expression on the hobbit’s face. It had been two days since he had been invited to stay at Bag End for a short while, and they had fallen into a comfortable, albeit stilted coexistence. They didn’t talk about anything deeper than the nice weather or the lovely flowers of Bilbo’s garden, and most of their time had been taken up by rambunctious hobbitlings running amok.

There were still those moments though, when Bilbo would close himself off or shut Thorin out, or a single brush of hands would send the hobbit nearly fleeing from the room. The dwarf was quickly growing used to this, though it did nothing to soothe the swelling pain in his chest. On top of that, there was Frodo. Thorin kept the child at an arm’s length, though he was quickly growing attached to the little brunette. The hobbitling was sweet, brilliant for his age, and absolutely selfless, and once the boy got used to Thorin being around, he completely opened up to the dwarf.

“What is it, Bilbo?” Thorin asked, smiling when hazel eyes met his.

"Well it seems we've been invited to a party," the blonde mused as he retrieved a book that was resting nearby, flitting through the pages briefly before he found where he had left off. The small smile, a pleasant curl of his lips, hadn't yet faded. "And before you ask, we're obliged to go. It's in honor of the dwarven king that's visiting the Shire."

Bilbo could see it now. Paper lanterns on strings and banners of triangle cloth crossing over the town square. A small band of fiddles and wooden flutes and pig-skin drums all sending a cheery, bouncing tune into the night air. The best food imaginable, with ale and mead and perhaps a barrel or two of Old Toby or West Farthing Leaf to be shared by all who fancied a smoke. And in the middle of all these hobbits would be a dwarven king. Thorin would no doubt feel out of place, but there was something about the idea of the dwarf settling in and understanding his lifestyle that had him itching for the night come sooner than later.

"I'd wager that a few particular little ones have been gabbing about you since you arrived," the hobbit continued to muse as he flicked another page, eyes skimming the text with vague interest. Little Frodo, who up until now had been scribbling away at a piece of paper, caught his eye. His nephew was shifting about, anxiously glancing to the dwarf and then back down to his doodle. It was no wonder that the little one wanted to be as bold as his friends. Of all his relations Frodo had the most spirit, and truth be told it was for that very reason he took the child in. Frodo Baggins was a brave and adventurous hobbit, through and through.

Frodo looked to Thorin, and as the dwarf seemed to only give him passing glances, the shireling then looked to his uncle. Bilbo was confused until Frodo eyes moved back to the king, eyeing his lap expectantly, before those bright blue eyes found his again. The elder hobbit felt his heart swell at the thought of the little hobbit so timid yet eager to get closer to their dwarven guest, and Bilbo nodded as if that were the permission the child required.

With a hesitant smile Frodo toddled over to the raven haired dwarf and began scrambling up into his lap. It was a rough journey for the little one, but once he had perched himself on the king's knee he looked quite satisfied with himself.

Thorin was a bit stunned at the sudden appearance of the child in his lap, but his heart stuttered and warmth exploded through his chest nonetheless. Lifting a hand, he began to rub slow, soothing circles on Frodo’s back as he looked to Bilbo with a pinched brow. “A party is not necessary,” he said, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of the hobbits planning something like this for him.

Quite suddenly, Frodo flopped against Thorin’s chest and looked up at the dwarf with a light smile, his eyes fluttering as he began to doze. The king’s heart seized at the precious sight, and in his mind he began to flounder. “Come, little one,” he said in a strained tone, shaking the hobbitling’s shoulder lightly to rouse him, and lightly directed Frodo off of his lap. “Go sit with your uncle.”

The little Baggins hobbit looked to Thorin for an instant, his eyes wide for a moment before they looked away and scuttled off of the dwarf's lap and back to the floor. Bilbo's mouth was a thin grim line as he watched his crestfallen nephew return to his scribbling.

Thorin had been wonderful with the children for the few days he had been in Bag End, allowing Merry and Pip to sit on his lap and tell them stories during meal time, and letting Rosie teach him clapping games, but the dwarf seemed to avoid Frodo as much as he had been avoiding Bilbo. It was becoming painfully obvious, even to the child now, that Thorin was keeping them at a distance.

Frodo remained focused on his drawings, his expression drooping low when it was usually so bright. It had Bilbo seething. He abruptly shut his book, not bothering to dog-ear his page before placing it to the side.

He moved over to Thorin's side, dipping down and keeping his voice low next to Thorin's ear. "I need a word." Bilbo's voice was clipped and to the point, and before he would allow the dwarf to respond he was already making his way down the hall, ducking around a corner just out of sight from the sitting room.

The king followed Bilbo easily, nervous at the hobbit’s tone. When he turned the corner and met the halfling’s serious expression, Thorin dipped his head slightly in shame. Bilbo’s dark mood was confusing to Thorin, and he thought back to his words about the surprise party being held in his honor. “Is it offensive to hobbits to express displeasure about planned festivities?” he asked, eyes widening as the hobbit’s expression darkened even further.

"You really think that's what it is?" Bilbo's tone was incredulous, his eyes narrowing on the king. Something ruffled his feathers about the dwarf's sheer ignorance when it came to the little hobbit he had just shuffled off his lap when he was seemingly entirely at ease with all of the others. "Is there a particular reason why you dislike my Frodo, or have I simply poisoned you to Bagginses altogether?"

Thorin was struck dumb at Bilbo’s accusation, his mouth falling open slightly as his brow pinched together in complete confusion. “Have you poisoned—? Pardon?” he asked when he finally found his voice and the ability to form words. This only seemed to make the halfling even angrier with him.

"I realize I committed a great crime against you when I gave away that bloody stone, and I'm not surprised that you are constantly keeping me at least an arm’s length away. In fact, I couldn't care less." Bilbo's words were blunt and shamelessly to the point, his tone deep and commanding attention. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't take it out on the child. It's not Frodo's fault he's related to the 'betrayer' of the King Under the Mountain."

Bilbo's dipped his head once more, trying to stifle all of the little hateful voices in his mind. The air in his home however seemed dense, thick with tension and his buried anger and sadness. With a sigh he turned from the dwarf, one hand on his hip and the other kneading his brow. "I apologize for my outburst," he muttered halfheartedly, the words entirely from courtesy and not any genuine regret. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need some air."

He left the king standing alone, the walk to his front door taking longer than he could stand. Frodo would be fine on his own for a few minutes in the sitting room, and Bilbo needed desperately to clear his head.

The dwarf was very nearly floored by the hobbit’s angry words, the anger in them sending guilt spiraling through him. He had hoped his distancing himself from the little hobbit would go unnoticed, but he should have known he wouldn’t be so lucky. And of course, his actions had been misconstrued in the worst possible way.

Hurrying after Bilbo, he grabbed the halfling’s arm lightly to stop him on the threshold. “It is not that I dislike Frodo, or you for that matter, and that is that last I wish to hear of that—” he floundered slightly for the right words “—hateful name I gave you,” he insisted, his tone almost pleading.

Thorin released the hobbit’s arm with that said, and continued. “As for the issue with Frodo, I keep your nephew at a distance because to do otherwise would possibly hurt the boy. More than discouraging him away from me,” Thorin began. It was only part of the truth, as he was more afraid of harming himself. It was already going to destroy him to leave Bilbo behind once his two weeks here were through, and if he were to grow more attached to the boy as well, it just might kill him. “If he were to grow to like me, my leaving could devastate him. It would be inappropriate and quite selfish of me to encourage any closeness between your nephew and me.”

The familiarity that had been rekindled these past few days with Thorin in his home fizzled to nothing in an instant. The reminder that yes, he would leave, and of course he would; he was a king. He had no place among such common folk as hobbits.

Bilbo straightened himself, taking a half step back for propriety’s sake. "Of course, how very negligible of me." His tone had gone just as cold as the rest of him. The halfling reciprocated the distance Thorin had set between them without hesitation. "My apologies. I'll keep it in mind and keep my nephew out of your hair, Master Dwarf."

Bilbo didn't wait for any retort, good or bad, simply continued out into his garden for the fresh air he so desperately craved. Now, with a heavy, aching heart, he was looking forward to this party for all the wrong reasons.

The dwarf stood in the doorway, staring dejectedly into the open air as his heart crumbled. So it would be back to “Master Dwarf”? As much as he felt he deserved this cold bitterness, it was much harder to face in the flesh. With a dark frown, he turned to walk back into the hobbit hole, deciding then that he would attend this party out of respect to the kind people who organized it and leave in the morning. It was clear that Thorin Oakenshield had overstayed his welcome here at Bag End.

Thorin Oakenshield was drunk. He was just beyond the point of buzzed, and well on his way to stumbling over his own feet. It was easy enough to pretend to be having a good time, an inviting, yet reserved smile on his face the entire time, and even joining one or two dances to keep the happy folk around him content. The dwarf was accepting every drink handed to him, and what with all the talking he was forced to do he never quite made it to the enticing spread of food across the decorated meadow. And in avoiding the hobbits he was staying with, Thorin had missed tea time and supper before coming to the party.

Within an hour, the mead in his nearly empty stomach had him well and properly knackered.

Now he stood on the outskirts of the festivities, debating stumbling through the crowd of halflings and embarrassing himself completely, or stumbling back to Bag End and only embarrassing himself slightly. Neither option had much appeal, so he stood in place and let his sour mood take over.

He hadn’t seen Bilbo since they arrived at the party, the hobbit having darted into the crowd without so much as a word to Thorin, and now with his addled mind he allowed the sorrow to fill him. This whole journey was meant to go differently, and he had gotten his hopes up so high and based them on his former lover’s capacity to forgive. Of course, even Thorin didn’t see his actions as forgivable, but Dís’ constant talk of the gods being merciful and kind, and Kíli’s insistence that Bilbo would forgive him, had the dwarven king forgetting his self-loathing just long enough for him to arrive at Bag End.

And two years of his family’s work had been undone with a single look when Bilbo had come to the door.

Disgusted with his self-pity already, he readily accepted another mug of ale from an overly friendly hobbit woman, whose name he’d long forgotten during the whirlwind of introductions and alcohol consumption.

Bilbo Baggins shoved past Lobelia Bracegirdle, feeling his hackles raise as the annoying woman seemed to be coming on to the guest of honor, and swiped the mug from the dwarf's hand. "I think you've had enough," he muttered with a tight frown, one hand coming to rest at Thorin's back to steady the swaying king.

He had indeed avoided the dwarf the entire night, having given in to the temptation and sharing in a bowl of Old Toby quite early on in the festivities to ensure he was well sobered up by the time they returned home. Frodo was in the capable hands of Belle Gamgee for the duration of the party, having found his little troupe of friends and went on with their own, more appropriate version of the party.

Bilbo had tried his best not to notice how Thorin accepted ever drink like it was his last. He felt the slightest twinge of something that reminded him of guilt, thinking his harsh words were perhaps to blame, but he easily pushed them aside. The brute had it coming for treating such a small child with such cold indifference, regardless of his excuse.

The king was indeed quite thoroughly knackered, and he swayed to and fro. While Lobelia huffed and puffed as she stomped back into the bustling group, Bilbo bade his fellow hobbit's a good evening on behalf of himself and his guest. The group at large was just as pissed as the dwarf and responded with a chorus of cheers and seemingly infectious laughter as Bilbo began tugging Thorin up the road to Bag End.

The dwarf however discovered he was much more inebriated now that he was in motion, and everything swam as he tripped over nothing at all. He caught himself from falling somehow, and spared a moment to be glad that it hadn’t involved grabbing onto the hobbit that guided him away from the party, while chuckling deeply at his clumsiness. Thorin knew he looked like a right arse, and he knew he would be dreadfully embarrassed come morning, but as it stood he couldn’t care less.

“Migh’ puke,” he said with another round of chuckles, eyes shutting as his stomach did give a worrying lurch. The second attempt at walking properly next to Bilbo was met with even less success as this time, he did find himself hitting the ground. Fortunately, no one from the party seemed to be watching, or those who were didn’t seem to care. Absently, he sent thanks to Mahal that Dwalin wasn’t here to witness this, so perhaps this embarrassment would go with him to the grave.

Bilbo stared, entirely unamused as he crouched down to haul the dwarf once more to his feet. "And here I was thinking dwarves could hold their booze," he muttered dryly as he yanked one of Thorin's arms around his shoulders and wrapped the other around the dwarf's midsection. He managed to get Thorin to his feet and bore his weight admirably as they trudged along.

Thorin's feet were everywhere and Bilbo found himself stumbling with him if only to spare his feet. They must've looked a sight, abandoning the party with arms thrown companionably about each other and tumbling back to Bilbo's hobbit hole. However with the inebriated chuckles and warmth of the king at his side Bilbo couldn't find it in him to care one way or the other what his neighbors might think. This was the future he had imagined for himself two years back; taking care of Thorin through thick and thin. With that small condolence in mind he seemed to reconcile the dwarf's drunkenness. "Well at least you had fun. It was your party after all."

“Din’feel like m’party, and I din’ave fun,” Thorin scoffed, rolling his eyes skyward. Looking back on it now, he felt like more of an animal in a cage, brought in for a crowd to gawk at. He immediately regretted his uncharitable thoughts and quickly added, “’m sure ‘twas n’adequate party for your kind. I mean th’others at the party, not t’be offensive.”

"None taken," Bilbo replied easily. It was the truth, it was not so much a party for the king, as it was just an excuse to have a party. The whole of the Shire had come out to share in their food and drink and leaf for smoking, as every party went. The guest of honor or subject of celebration was overall a minor detail that was trivial in comparison to what was being served for dinner. "Though if you weren't enjoying yourself, it does leave me wondering why you hit the kegs so hard."

“’M sorry,” Thorin responded instantly, matter-of-factly even, with a shrug. It was the truth. He was regretful, and sorry, and each attempt at righting his wrongs had been rebuffed. No fault was on Bilbo, as the halfling had every right to deny the king his atonement, so Thorin saw no harm in drowning his sorrows and self-pity with ale and mead.

Thorin was surprised when he was suddenly being made to sit down. He lifted his head to look around, shocked to find he was sitting on the bench in Bilbo’s kitchen. He didn’t realize the walk was so short back to Bag End, since it had felt like an eternity earlier on their way there. Or perhaps his response to Bilbo’s words wasn’t as instant as he had originally thought. Ahead of him, Thorin saw the hobbit bustling about the kitchen, putting on a kettle, and the dwarf allowed himself a wistful smile.

Bilbo turned back to the dwarf and was caught off guard to find him smiling. Yet he returned it with his own, something half-hearted and reserved. Thorin's apology had him scoffing though, a dry laugh erupting from him unexpectedly. "Sorry? What in the world for?"

“What ‘m not sorry for’s a much shorter list,” Thorin said lightly, the smile never leaving his face even as he felt his eyes begin to sting. If he had been sober, the dwarf would have been mortified to know that he was just about to cry in front of his hobbit. He would definitely have to leave tomorrow, just to save himself from the embarrassment. “’M sorry for ev’rythin’, for showin’up here, for hurtin’ you’n Frodo.”

That had Bilbo stopping in his tracks. The kettle had begun to boil, but now tea was the furthest thing from his mind. He paused only to set the kettle from the fire before he returned to facing Thorin. He folded his arms over his chest defensively, his brow furrowing as he wondered just how loose Thorin's lips were after so much drink. "And why would you be sorry for those things?"

“’M not sorry ‘bout seein’ you again,” Thorin responded, baffled by the hobbit’s defensiveness. He resigned himself to be forever bewildered by Bilbo’s inability to take an apology, and continued on. “’N ‘m not sorry t’meet Frodo. He’s a brilliant boy’n he’s lucky t’ave you. ‘N ‘m not sorry for my part’n you bein’ere for’im when he needed you. I mean,” he flinched at his terrible choice in words, “’m sorry for what I did t’you, ‘n almost did t’you, but I can’regret you leavin’ anymore cause tha’little boy needed you a lot more than I deserved you.”

The dwarf flinched as the words left his mouth, realizing the rambling quality of them and the fact that none of them answered the hobbit’s question.

Bilbo visibly tensed at the confession, his eyes widening in something akin to disbelief as he sucked in a harsh breath. He pursed his lips as he reminded himself he was the sober individual in the room and it wouldn't do for there to be an emotional breakdown on his part. But the dwarf's words struck a chord deep in Bilbo's heart, his soul, part of those horrible memories that made him the hobbit he was today.

"You should be," Bilbo replied finally, but there was no edge of spitefulness to his words. "You broke my heart, Thorin Oakenshield, and then you nearly killed me."

“I know,” Thorin said miserably, letting his head hang and his hair fall around his face. “Th’sickness, it takes over. Doesn’t excuse what I did. Jus’tellin’ you.”

The dwarf paused for several long moments before screwing up his face, more tears forming in his eyes. “Deserved you leavin’. I wanted t’die, bu’that would’ve been too easy on me. So th’gods brought me back t’health an’ere I am,” he muttered, voice going thick with emotion. “I was a fool t’come, ‘m sorry for dredgin’ all o’this up. I’ll be out’f your’air tomorrow.”

Bilbo breathed in through his nose, his heart clenching as further confessions poured from Thorin's lips. The hobbit was distraught, and rightly so, but seeing him now so very broken over his actions and even admitting he didn't deserve the hobbit affections was tugging on Bilbo's heart strings. Bilbo lightly cleared his throat before he stepped forward and crouched down in front on the dwarf, sitting back on his haunches with his arms still crossed and balanced on his knees.

"You didn't make the trip from Erebor to tell me that, Thorin. At least I hope you didn't," Bilbo spoke softly, his words still lacking the venom they might have two years previous to this night. "Why did you seek me out?"

The tears finally spilled over and Thorin grimaced. The softness in Bilbo’s voice was too much for him to take. “I love you,” he replied, those three words encapsulating anything he could have said. “You’re m’One ‘n I couldn’t…I came t’take you home, t’convince you t’come home with me, but then you were so cold when y’came t’the door…’m a selfish coward, tha’s what I am. A selfish, cowardly arse.”

Bilbo's heart leapt into his throat and forced out a shushing noise that sounded more like a whimper. He could feel his own eyes stinging at seeing the mighty dwarven king brought low enough to cry and denounce himself as a coward. He looked to those guiding voices for help once more, the voices that he always said he should have listened to and avoided this foolish dwarf all together, but they had abandoned him. His heart was conquering his mind, and while all of those terrible memories from his past were shrieking at him, a sound like nails against window panes, the words "I love you" seemed to smother everything else. All his hatred, all of his lonely nights of tears and broken memories.

Bilbo leaned forward onto his knees slowly, his once delicate hands now worn and hard-worked slipping over the dwarf's. He leaned in close, dipping low to catch Thorin's eyes, and those beautiful orbs like a stormy sea found him. They were glassy with tears and regrets.

"Hush now," the halfling whispered, his voice as tender and soft. "You may be many things Thorin, but you are not a cowardly arse."

Thorin let out a humorless laugh, shutting his eyes and shutting Bilbo out as he shook his head. “I’took m’sister beating me t’come’ere. Literally,” he said sadly, shame filling him. Suddenly, he found himself babbling, tears streaming down his face. “I don’deserve you, she disagrees. I certainly don’deserve Fíli’n Kíli after what I did. I don’deserve Frodo. ‘M afraid o’Frodo.”

"Afraid of Frodo?" Bilbo huffed out, not hiding his surprise. It made sense that Thorin didn't feel he deserved Fíli, Kíli or himself, but including his tiny brunette nephew in the equation confused him greatly. "What on earth can possibly make you afraid of Frodo?"

“He’s brilliant, he’s beautiful, ‘n I knew it would’urt when I left withou’you, bu’it’s gonna kill me t’leave you’n Frodo. I din’want t’get attached,” he murmured, a shudder rippling through him.

Bilbo lips quivered into a sad smile, a small broken sob escaping him as he leaned in closer, within inches of the dwarf. The hobbit hesitated, his emotions toiling inside of him, pulling him a thousand directions. Finally, his voice soft and just barely above a whisper, "Do you really mean it?"

It was said so hesitantly that the hobbit's apprehension and fear bled through and gave the words deeper meaning. He refused to believe it, didn't want to believe, but when that voice spoke to him with such raw honesty he had little trouble trusting Thorin. And it frightened him beyond belief. "It's not just the ale talking?"

“Course I mean it,” the king replied, opening his eyes and smiling sadly at his hobbit. The halfling was surprisingly close by now, and Thorin nearly jerked back before he caught himself. His Bilbo was so close, and this was probably the last time he would feel the hobbit’s warmth so near. Luckily, he wasn’t drunk enough to close the gap and kiss the halfling, even in this state he knew there were still boundaries. “Ale doesn’t cause me t’spill false truths, my One.”

The words had the tears the hobbit had been suppressing spilling forward in fat droplets, by passing his cheeks and falling to his lap with dull thunks. Bilbo tried to swallow down the burning lump in his throat, but it refused to move. It was a searing, stinging lump of fiery coal that reminded him of how desperately his body and mind wanted to give up since the king’s arrival and just weep for all it was worth. But when Bilbo found his voice it never wavered. It simply maintained that smooth, collected consistency that had come with two years of pretending to not be in (what he had thought) unrequited love. "And what would you do to get it back?"

“There’s nothing I would not do,” Thorin said earnestly, forcing through the alcohol induced haze to speak clearly. Despite his tears, and his drunkenness, his voice did not waver and did not break. There was no hesitation. “S’long as you don’ask it of me tonight. ‘M’fraid ‘m quite drunk,” he added mildly as a wave of dizziness and exhaustion washed through him.

A laugh burst from the hobbit's sealed lips, his brow knitting and his eyes still teary, but he absolutely beamed. It was the happiness of a vindicated man. He could still remember what it felt like to have utter faith in the man sitting in front of him, and he missed it dearly. Over the past few years, since the goldsickness had infected his mind, Bilbo had been nothing but uncertain. To hear those words spoken so clearly and with a moment’s pause to think had a strange sort of relief washing through him.

"You most certainly are," Bilbo replied with another weepy laugh.

Thorin grinned, pleased with the happy sound that escaped his former lover, and reached up with both hands to brush away the tears on the round cheeks he loved so much. After the brief touch, he dropped his hands back into his lap, not wishing to push his luck. “Think a slice’ve bread and a cup’a water, then bed for me,” he said lightly, swaying slightly as a seasick sensation rooted itself in his belly. “Haven’t had anythin’t’eat in hours.”

Bilbo easily acquiesced, pushing to his feet before he set back to working about his kitchen. It was only when he had the dwarf fed and hydrated that he helped the stumbling man to the guest room. Almost instantly, he could have sworn he heard snoring from the heap of dwarven king on the feather-down mattress, and Bilbo was retreating to the sitting room to await the return of his little nephew. Once Frodo was indeed home (courtesy of the ever lovely Belle Gamgee) and tucked into bed with his bedtime story finished and kisses exchanged, did Bilbo find his way to his own chambers and lay down for the night. There would be much to discuss, come the morning, but unlike the first night of Thorin's stay the prospect didn't frighten Bilbo in the least.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

The sun was bright and relatively high in the sky when Thorin awoke, the warm rays filtering in through the window and warming his back. When he eventually blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he found Bilbo staring at him with a sweet smile. Their eyes met before the dwarf slid closer to press a chaste kiss to his lover’s lips. Looking down between them, he found Frodo curled up into a tight ball beneath the blankets, snoring lightly.

It had been nearly three weeks since Thorin started spending his nights in the master with Bilbo. They had remained abstinent during this time, excluding the nightly, over-the-clothes heated encounters that generally ended in Thorin having to vacate the room to calm down. Once, Dwalin had been still awake to witness Thorin stalk from the room, rumpled and flustered, and the warriors throaty laughter had almost caused the king’s erection to flag completely. Almost.

Though there was some frustration the first night when they had been interrupted, a discussion the next morning with Bilbo had them both agreeing that it had been for the best. Bilbo was reluctant to tumble straight into bed with the king, afraid to let carnal pleasure blur the lines and cloud judgment once again. The king agreed with his lover, and they settled into a routine.

It was for the best that they didn’t attempt anything beyond their passionate kisses and heavy petting because, most nights than not, a little hobbitling would be knocking on their bedroom door, nightmare or not. It appeared that Frodo enjoyed the warmth of Thorin and Bilbo bracketing him, and with a jolt the dwarf realized that this may have been something the child had shared with his parents.

In the past couple weeks, three things became very clear.

One, the children were insane about Dwalin and had even taken to calling the warrior ‘Uncle Dwalin.’ At first, this flustered Bilbo and he had attempted to stop the shirelings, but the burly dwarf seemed overjoyed and that put an end to the eldest hobbit’s protests. The sight became endearing, and Thorin gained a sufficient amount of material on Dwalin to buy the warrior’s silence about Thorin’s many ‘indignities’ on this journey when they reached the mountain.

Second, Frodo was becoming irreversibly attached to Thorin. The child was practically glued to his hip after that first night the three of them had spent cuddling, and rarely did anything without the dwarf. The first telling sign was when Frodo had bound up to Thorin asking for permission to walk with Samwise down the path where they would meet the other boy’s mother when she came to pick Sam up. Thorin and Bilbo had been sitting on the bench in front of the hobbit hole together, sharing a pipe of tobacco, and with the hobbitling deliberately asking the king with his uncle right there…it had Thorin spluttering for a half of a moment before he turned to see Bilbo’s reaction. When he had only met a pleased, if a bit wet-eyed, expression, Thorin gave his ascent and kept an eye on the little boys as they walked down the lane and waited well within the adults’ sight.

Third, Thorin couldn’t stay in this paradise forever. The towns people had even begun to drop his title whenever he encountered them, becoming known as Thorin, Mister Oakenshield, and even on some occasions Bilbo’s Dwarf. With his time here coming to an end, and his responsibilities in Erebor sitting heavily in the back of his mind, Thorin knew he would have to make his move sooner rather than later.

With a sigh, Thorin rolled onto his back and looked out the window. “It must be nearly second breakfast,” he murmured as his stomach rumbled hollowly. They hadn’t slept in once during his stay so far, excluding his first morning, and the day after the party. Usually, the little shireling snoring between them had the whole house awake in time for sunrise. It was thankfully a lovely Saturday morning, and they needn’t have worried about parents coming to drop off their children. When he listened, Thorin could hear the heavy footfalls of Dwalin picking his way through the house, possibly bored out of his mind waiting for Frodo to wake.

With a smile, he turned his head toward Bilbo and asked quietly, “what have we got planned today?”

"A bit of gardening," Bilbo replied softly, his lips barely moving as he was still caught in the beautiful daze of sleepiness and staring fondly at his beloved.

The past few weeks, though they had started rough, had been more magical then Bilbo could possibly describe. He found himself thanking Eru, and even Aulë, daily for his dwarf and this happy coexistence they had found together in the sanctuary of Bag End.

Though Bilbo knew this couldn't last. Thorin was a king and had duties to attend to, but it left Bilbo torn between the possibilities; leave with Frodo and uproot them from their ancestral home and move to Erebor, or remain in Bag End when the dwarf left. Though the latter was entirely impossible in the hobbit's mind now, he still struggled with the thought of moving. However, that was not a problem to think on today.

"It's our day off. No fauntlings to chase today," he muttered as he eased himself out of the bed and away from the two beings he loved most in the world. "I'll get started on breakfast. You two have a lie in," he murmured as he threw on his dressing gown and quietly exited the master bedroom.

He was greeted with Dwalin wandering about his home, and without needing to formally greet the dwarf he simply stated "I'll get the kettle on" as he meandered into the kitchen. He set to work instantly, slicing bread and frying eggs and bacon over his inlaid wood burning stove.

Thorin lounged on the bed, staring at the ceiling as his lover slipped out of the room. His duty was niggling at him, tugging at the back of his mind constantly these days. By his figures, Thorin had at most a month left before he would have to leave if he wanted to be back in his kingdom before a full year had passed. Dís and Fíli would need him back, especially Fíli as the young dwarf had still been worse for wear when Thorin had left.

The dwarf would have to make his move soon, to ask his hobbit one last time if Bilbo was willing to uproot himself and Frodo and come to Erebor.

The smell of fried eggs and bacon eventually wafted down the hall and into the master, the deliciousness of it pulling deep growls from Thorin and Frodo’s stomachs. Needless to say, the little hobbitling awoke, a bright smile on his face as he discovered the dwarven king still in bed and dozing with him.

They both made their way out of the bedroom and into the dining room, Frodo immediately bee-lining to Dwalin and squealing in delight as the warrior lifted him up high in the air. Thorin seated himself at the table, and when Bilbo came bustling in, the dwarf tugged the hobbit down for a brief, tender kiss. The display had the halfling spluttering and blushing, of course, but he made no move to reprimand the king, which pleased Thorin very much.

Breakfast went by quietly and comfortably, only the occasional sound of Frodo telling Dwalin a story about his dreams and adventures breaking the calm Saturday morning. After their meal, everyone split up to get dressed for the day, though Dwalin and Frodo seemed to only want to read picture books in the sitting room, despite the elder hobbit’s insistence that it was far too nice of a day to spend it indoors.

This found Thorin and Bilbo alone in the garden, the hobbit tutting as the dwarf destroyed yet another bundle of flowers’ stems in his haste to pick them up. These flowers were much more delicate than the ones he had purchased three weeks ago, and his large clumsy fingers eventually led to him being banned from doing anything more. Even digging was crossed off the list of things he was allowed to do.

So here Thorin sat, soil on his knees and covering half of his arms and some even smeared on his face, watching his lover determinedly try to fix his nearly destroyed flowerbed and grumbling under his breath about klutzy dwarves.

“Perhaps you should try your hand at smithing before you knock on my abilities in gardening,” Thorin suggested lightly, an easy grin on his face when Bilbo leveled him with a baleful glare.

Bilbo merely clicked his tongue, light tutting noises that he would use often to shush the children, before responding, "I know my limitations. They are not nearly comparable anyway." He was working his trowel shallowly along a few carrots, with the intentions of roasting them with their dinner this evening. The may have been small but the root vegetables would be all the sweeter for it.

He unearthed the orange vegetable, a pleased hum rumbling through his chest as they were quite healthy and hearty, even if they weren't as big as most. He tousled the tops briefly before he began gingerly stroking the root, pulling away the large clumps of rich, damp soil with the palm of his hand curved so delicately.

With a bemused smile, Thorin watched his lover’s hands as he cleaned off the carrots. He paid such care to the little things, spending what Thorin would consider an unnecessary amount of time tidying the things up. By now, the king would have already tossed the thing in the basket and moved on. Perhaps that was yet another reason he was told to stop “helping” the hobbit. Soon, his lover became completely engrossed in his task of collecting vegetables and diligently brushing them free of dirt, and completely ignoring Thorin.

“I never thought I’d see the day when I would be envious of a carrot,” the dwarf said, barely thinking before his mouth was moving. For several grinding seconds, he railed at himself for saying something so silly, especially considering the double entendre those words carried. He hadn’t meant the innuendo, but the more he thought about it, the truer that angle of it became as well. Now, Thorin was flustered as he said, “I mean, what I was saying—I only felt ignored, was what I meant by that.”

The excuse, as true as it was, sounded weak even to his own ears.

Bilbo had come to a dead stop, his movements halting as he very slowly turned a knowing gaze on Thorin. His eyes glinted half-lidded with that unholy Tookish mischief that always seemed to ignite the dwarf. When Thorin managed to splutter out his explanation it only caused the small smirk tugging at his lips to grow.

"Feeling left out?" Bilbo's voice was a husky rumble with forbidden promises, but to tease further he merely resumed his suggestive motions and didn't make a move for the dwarf. "Whatever for?"

There were a few more moments of rising tension before the hobbit resumed his work with a light-hearted chuckle. There would be time to play later, behind closed doors in the secretive night, with the light of the moon and stars illuminating their infuriatingly clothed forms through the window.

"Gardening just isn't really your strong suite, I had no intention of ignoring you," the hobbit finally relented with an actual explanation as he took up his trowel once more to repack the now loose soil.

“I understand, I enjoy watching you work,” Thorin said quickly, clearing his throat forcefully as he willed away the stirring in his loins. His hobbit, and the dark gleam he got in his eyes, was going to be the death of him, the king was sure. There was nothing but mischief in those hazel eyes, even now that he had gone back to his work.

Thorin watched the other man for a long while, smiling lightly as the hobbit hummed softly to himself. The king’s eyes landed on Bilbo’s braid, the chord being worn much more visibly as of late, and the sight of it sent apprehension galloping through his chest. It was a symbol of their love, yes, but their old love. A love that had been tainted and shadowed by goldsickness. His thoughts of his duty came rushing back to him, and his desire to reestablish what they were to each other mingled with those. And next to him were a bundle of flowers that couldn’t be planted, flowers that brought up a memory of hobbit culture that he had been told of over two years ago.

“I must return to Erebor soon, my love,” Thorin blurted, wincing at the way his words caused the hobbit to freeze. “I only have another month’s time before I will have to disembark.”

"I know," Bilbo snapped in reply, but the words sting was softened with the look of sadness in his eyes. Not of Thorin leaving, no, but because even though he had not formally made the decision, he knew that these last few weeks in Bag End would pass far too quickly.

The Shire was all he really knew. For all his adventures and travels, this had always been home. It was a fact, steadfast and solid, something tangible that he could always return to. And the thought of leaving, with a child in tow no less, was utterly terrifying.

It had also crossed his mind that if Frodo protested, if Frodo had one complaint about the move, he would have to abandon the idea completely. It left him feeling rather cold, but his commitment to his nephew was unwavering. Should Frodo decide he did not want to leave the Shire, Bilbo would be watching Thorin ride into the distance, likely to not be seen again until the hobbit was far too old to be of any appeal to the dwarf.

"I know," he echoed once more, much more softly than before as he tossed away his trowel.

“Then I want to make clear the depth of my affections,” Thorin said, uneasiness filling his gut at the sadness he saw come over his lover. Had Bilbo not intended to come with Thorin all along?

The king’s stomach churned wildly in his belly for a moment until he finally slipped a hand into one of his trouser pockets and pulling a leather strap out. With his other hand, he reached down for a couple flowers and immediately began to braid the blooms into Bilbo’s hair, starting a new plait next to the hobbit’s old one. He kept his eyes fixed on his work, avoiding Bilbo’s gaze until he was done and tying the chord off with the leather strap.

When he finally met Bilbo’s eyes, the hobbit was blinking at him with a rather neutral expression, so the dwarf quickly said, “I don’t expect you to reciprocate yet, and I don’t expect you to come back to Erebor with me. As much as I would like you to, and as much as the past few weeks have been lovely, I can understand if you still did not want to return to Erebor with me.”

Bilbo could scarcely breathe as his dwarf's fingers deftly wound his relatively short, wavy tawny locks, weaving small blooms into the strands of honey and copper. Bilbo could feel his face flushing, fiery red and spreading to the pointed tips of his ears. The halfling barely processed the words leaving Thorin's lips, those kissable lips that were framed by a coarse, charcoal beard.

Bilbo lunged forward, arms flinging around and tugging Thorin closer to meet him halfway. The joy that was exploding in his chest, surely a result of his heart spilling over with adoration and love, intended to snog his dwarf to the edge of ecstasy. Bilbo tore himself away only for the briefest moment, chest heaving and eyes wide, as he ground out, "You knew what that meant, didn't you?"

Thorin nodded dumbly, somewhat still shell-shocked by the sudden passionate assault, and with a desperate groan Bilbo was upon him again, licking Thorin's lips open and lathing into his mouth. He couldn't restrain himself and he was climbing shamelessly into his dwarf's lap, arms hugging Thorin close about the neck and fingers diving into the raven locks the were restrained in that attractive ponytail. "You did," Bilbo groaned out between wet kisses. "Darling you did know, and I love you."

“I remembered,” Thorin said earnestly, words muffled by Bilbo’s hungry kisses. The dwarf was still reeling from the welcome attack, hands gripping the back of his hobbit’s shirt. “From Beorn’s, what you said about the flowers. I love you, Bilbo.”

He was groaning as Bilbo’s touches grew more heated, as he felt both of their bodies begin to awaken. At the sound of a scandalized gasp from the path just beyond the fence, Thorin pulled away, almost succumbing to the positively needy look on his lover’s face. The fact that Bilbo had even forgotten they were in the view of many fellow hobbits and seemed prepared to consummate their supposed engagement right here on the front lawn had Thorin gasping with the rapidness of his filling co*ck.

“As appreciated as that was, does it translate into…you and Frodo considering coming back with me?” the king panted, uncertainty creeping up on him as he caught his breath and tried to calm down his libido.

The hobbit hesitated, eyes darting between each of the king’s eyes in thought as he attempted to catch his breath. He had to resist the urge to tell his neighbors to kindly sod off, knowing that wasn't proper Baggins behavior at all, but then again neither was pouncing on a dwarf in view of the whole world. The proposal had swept away any bashfulness with unbridled glee, but Thorin's question had him slowing his rolling hips.

"It would be up to Frodo," Bilbo replied as evenly as possible as fierce need burned through him, "because I would not have the heart to force him away if he didn't choose to leave the Shire." He quickly cut in once more as the dwarf seemed to process this with the traces of disappointment, "But if Frodo agrees, then yes."

“Yes,” Thorin marveled as he leaned up for another kiss, tongue delving into Bilbo’s mouth hungrily as he rolled his hips up against his lover’s rump once. Pulling back, his breathing erratic once again, he met the hobbit’s eyes, his lips smiling even as he said seriously, “I believe there is one thing left to do, to make this an official hobbit engagement.”

Reaching down beside himself, he picked up a few blooms and held them between his and his lover’s chest, offering them to Bilbo. Something pulled in his chest, and it was decidedly a pleasant feeling.

The hobbit's eyes were glassy as he accepted the small bundle of flowers, a lovely assortment of daisies. They were all pristine and white, and as Bilbo unwound the old courting braid he put in Thorin’s hair all those years ago, he began to reset the braid full of new promises and the bright white blooms.

"I love you," Bilbo murmured with trembling fingers as he finished the plait and tied it off. He pressed kisses to the dwarf's lips as certain worries nagged at the back of his mind, thoughts that he refused to let ruin this happy moment. He was being given a second chance at this happiness, and though it sounded insane, he would rise to meet the challenge of wedding a dwarven king head-on for the chance to be with Thorin for the rest of his days.

With the braid set and fingers stroking the petals of Thorin's flowers reverently, the hobbit leaned in close for a much more tender, less demanding kiss. The desperation for his lover’s touch still translated with each brush of his lips and every little grind down into Thorin's lap.

“I love you,” the king gasped out again, rolling his hips upward and ignoring the shocked murmuring that could be heard from the neighbors. The dwarf could feel his eyes stinging as he was overwhelmed with happiness, a feeling he had thought he would never experience again. His hobbit was in his arms, kissing him so tenderly and warmly, and Thorin knew he must have the hobbit. The need to reclaim him—no, the need to reclaim each other was beginning to become too much to ignore.

“I cannot wait for tonight,” he all but whimpered, just barely able to pull away from Bilbo’s perfect mouth. “And though I have no qualms of taking you here and now, I know how delicate hobbits tend to be in regards to such carnal displays.”

"Could care less about propriety," Bilbo murmured against the king's lips, the fan of his eye lashes fluttering prettily against his cheeks.

"Perhaps we should have the house to ourselves for the evening?" he suggested almost jokingly, but with a particular roll of his lovers hips pressing the evidence of his desire and need against the hobbit's arse Bilbo found himself formulating a plan. "I can drop Frodo off at the Gamgee's for the night."

“How soon can you take him there?” Thorin groaned, mouthing along the hobbit’s cheek desperately, eyes rolling back in his head as Bilbo began grinding perfectly against his clothed erection.

“It is taking everything I have not to strip you down and take you right here in your flowerbed,” he admitted, shivering against the intensity of his need. “I do not jest or exaggerate when I say that I don’t believe I can hold off for another hour.”

"R-Right," Bilbo replied and he tried to swallow down the thickness that had swamped his mouth. He found himself just as desperate as the dwarf beneath him and with a few parting kisses he pulled himself away from his lover.

"I'll drop him off," he muttered as he bee-lined for the door, nearly skipping into the hobbit hole as he called out for Frodo. Dwalin seemed to be off in the loo, and he knelt giddily in front of his nephew.

"Would you like to spend the night at Sam’s?" he asked hurried, barely giving the child the chance to answer before he was scooping him up and heading out the door. All the little one could do was giggle and wave his goodbyes to Thorin as Bilbo began the short trek to the Gamgee house.

"You've got flowers in your hair uncle!" Frodo exclaimed as they approached the Gamgees’. Thankfully the Gamgee Gaffer was outside and tending his own garden, who also noticed the blooms woven in Bilbo's hair. His face went ruddy with a blush and he spluttered at the implications.

"M-Mister Baggin!" he exclaimed as Bilbo approached. Belle emerged from the Gamgee home, and at the sight of their ecstatic neighbor, she reached to accept Frodo with a knowing smile.

"Congratulations mister Baggins," she called out as Bilbo turned and bid his hasty goodbyes before heading back up the path to Bag End.

Once Thorin had regained his composure enough to stand, he was inside the hobbit hole and searching Dwalin out. He found the warrior stepping out of the toilet, and instantly the king was barking, “Out. Go somewhere, anywhere but here, and don’t return until dinnertime tomorrow.”

Dwalin took one look at the king and had to support himself against the curved wall as he nearly fell over with the intensity of his guffaws. “Ye’ve got flowers in yer hair, laddie,” the warrior gasped out, his laughter shaking him as he stumbled toward the front door.

“Yes. One word to Dís and I’ll have your bollocks for breakfast,” Thorin growled, though there was no real heat to his voice. He wasn’t ashamed of the flowers, or what they signified.

“Please don’try ta be intimidatn’ with flowers in yer hair, my king,” the large dwarf insisted as he only laughed harder, finally reaching the door and pulling it open. There on the threshold stood Bilbo, blinking up at Dwalin, and it seemed to only incite more howling laughter from the burly warrior. “See ye both tomorrow,” he said finally, clapping Bilbo roughly on the shoulder and stepping out of the home.

Thorin’s eyes met his hobbit’s as Bilbo stepped up into the entryway and shut the door. They stood in the foyer, watching each other heatedly, and suddenly Thorin didn’t know what to do next. He wasn’t sure if there were rules to the consummation of a hobbit engagement, if there was a set order to things, if Bilbo wanted to take over, if Bilbo would be okay with Thorin taking control. The dwarf marveled at his new-found insecurities and had to fight the urge to bite his lip, a habit he seemed to have adopted after watching his lover do it so often.

“Dwalin won’t be returning until dinnertime tomorrow,” he said huskily, shifting his weight uncertainly. He realized he still wore his boots, and quickly crouched to remove them. Even after all these weeks of living with Bilbo in Bag End, he couldn’t quite bring himself to run about barefoot. “We should have the house to ourselves until at least second breakfast, yes?” Thorin asked, looking up at his lover with a suggestive smirk, shoving back his nervousness.

"I think we can manage a little longer than breakfast," he replied, voice deep and rough, dripping with every ounce of desire he had contained since the first night they had kissed under this roof. He crowded Thorin's space as the dwarf stood tall once more, pressing up against him instantly and sealing their lips together. They stood there in the foyer, grappling with each other, a mess of clinging arms and digging fingers, all lips and teeth and desperate moans between them.

"The Gamgees won't mind," Bilbo insisted further of retaining this privacy at least until lunchtime the next day, with every intention in his mind to shag his dwarf into next week. With kiss swollen lips and half-lidded eyes, the hobbit was tugging at the leather belt around Thorin's waist, fumbling with the embellished buckle as they began to stumble backwards to the master.

“Good,” Thorin rumbled, popping the buttons on Bilbo’s waistcoat and pushing the garment down off of his hobbit’s shoulders. The halfling’s hands left off their work for a moment to let the garment hit the ground, and now Thorin was yanking the braces down Bilbo’s arms and free his lover’s shirt from the waist of his trousers. Lips were on his and the flies on trousers were loosened and very soon they were stumbling and fumbling through the house, laughing into each other’s mouths as they tripped down the short hall.

The king found his back pressed against the door to the master, Bilbo pressed flush to his front and whimpering into their kiss. Thorin’s trousers and smallclothes were only a few feet away, piled on the floor as he had stepped out of them. Absentmindedly, the dwarf was toeing off his thick socks as he pulled his One up more firmly into their kiss. They were both only clad in their shirts, and even those were becoming too constricting.

“Bed,” the king moaned, stepping impossibly closer to Bilbo as he opened the door he had been previously leaning against. Lifting his hobbit, shuddering as those milky legs he loved so much wrapped around his waist. He easily walked them to the bed and gently tossed his lover onto the mattress. With a suggestive smirk, Thorin climbed up after Bilbo and slowly crawled forward until he knelt between his lover’s spread thighs.

“Gods, I’ve nearly forgotten how beautiful you are like this,” he whispered reverently as he stared hungrily down at his hobbit. And it was true, the halfling’s gorgeous flush spreading like wildfire down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his button-down shirt, and his perfect, pink erection rising up beneath the hem of his shirt as the material was bunched up around his navel. Bilbo’s mouth was slightly open with his gasps for breath, and Thorin couldn’t resist the urge to stroke the hinge of his hobbit’s jaw softly with the flat of his thumb. When the halfling’s mouth fell wider, Thorin let out a broken sound.

The gentle ministrations made Bilbo feel as if her were made of glass. The way Thorin's thumb lightly traced over the joint of his jaw and worked his mouth open had the hobbit suddenly very desperate to be filled.

"I want to taste you," he whispered, eyes bleary with the haze of pleasure that was buzzing through him. The halfling was pushing himself up on his elbows until he managed to lean back against the headboard and plucked at the buttons of his over shirt. He would not act without permission, but his tongue had begun gliding over his lower lip hungrily, that Tookish glint returning to his blown hazel eyes.

The king groaned at Bilbo’s desperation, watching as each new inch of flesh was bared to his hungry gaze with each button being loosed. As the fabric fell away, Thorin’s blue eyes snapped to webbing of raised pale flesh on his hobbit’s right side, the expanse of the scar telling of how terrible the wound had been. Guilt and shame flooded him and for several moments he couldn’t breathe, but he reminded himself that Bilbo was here.

Bilbo was alive, breathing, and had forgiven him. Bilbo was coming home with him despite everything that had happened. And at that, he remembered just how different his own body would seem to his lover, with the thick knot of raised white, hairless flesh in the center of his torso that branched off into thinner lines and the surrounding tattoos. Even the scars he received from the warg on their initial journey to the Lonely Mountain were surrounded by black, dwarvish knots and runes.

Leaning down, Thorin pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Bilbo’s old wound, an apology on his tongue but not escaping. He had apologized every day for the past three weeks, and at this moment he doubted the hobbit particularly wanted to hear yet another one.

Bilbo could feel the world pulling back into focus as Thorin's lips pressed firmly and chastely against his scar. It was a tender moment they had yet to share, the moment when they would see all the evidence of their suffering that horrible day.

With hands gently reaching back to free Thorin's thick tendrils from the ponytail that was now so customary for the dwarf to wear, Bilbo pulled the king up to him, hazel eyes searching those stormy depths. Bilbo sought his lover’s kiss as he finally wiggled his arms out of his shirt and tossed the garment away. He slid back down the headboard until they were nestled once more against the mattress fully, the dwarf hovering over his hobbit.

The halfling was now entirely bare and exposed, yet he only found himself desire Thorin's contact, the actually feeling of skin on skin at every possible junction once more, until their bodies blurred into one mass of passion.

Thorin moved against his lover, their mouths slotted together perfectly and tongues pressing against one another in a heated dance. Neither was submitting, nor dominating, just embracing each other in their own power, a very new and very welcomed dynamic for the couple. Even with Thorin positioned above Bilbo as he was, Bilbo wasn’t yielding completely. The hobbit was just as in control of this as Thorin was, but still giving himself to the pleasure.

Very quickly however, the king grew tired of his remaining garment and pulled away from his lover. Bilbo protested, a fierce glare coming over his face for a moment until he seemed to understand what Thorin was up to. For a few brief moments, the king paused, taking in the sight of his completely naked lover, finally seeing the full extent of that lovely blush and the perfect roundness the man regained. Before Thorin realized it enough to stop himself, he was muttering praise for the hobbit’s appearance, Bilbo’s happy embarrassment deepening that blush the dwarf loved so much.

Finally, Thorin grabbed the hem of his tunic and lifted it up over his head, finally exposing himself completely and leaving his body naked for Bilbo to appraise and hopefully enjoy, now that it was riddled with deep, ugly scars and dark tattoos.

The hobbit's eyes were wide as saucers for a moment as he took in the sight. The white jagged scars that now thoroughly riddled the dwarf's chest were not only new but had his caretaker instincts acting up. He pushed himself up to sitting once more, easing Thorin back so he sat on his haunches as he straddled the halfling, and Bilbo ghosted over the remains of the wounds. His touch was delicate as he traced each harsh line and puncture, his eyes absorbing the decorative tattoos as well.

Slowly Bilbo's touch, fingers grazing over the thick skin of his lover and raising goose-bumps in their trail, found their way around to the expanse of Thorin's back. The muscles there were stiff and the hobbit began to knead the tension away. He pressed in close through his ministrations, placing gentle and chaste kisses along the reminders of battle.

The hobbit's hands worked their way up once more to settle at the nape of Thorin's neck, his fingers still massaging in soothing circles, as he kissed his way up Thorin's chest and collar-bone, his tongue flicking out to tease at the dip of the dwarf's pronounced clavicle, before the halfling’s kisses continued up Thorin's bearded chin and onto those perfect lips once more.

The king sighed into the kiss, an edge of vocalization in the exhale, and immediately licked his way into the hobbit’s mouth. He rolled his hips down against his lover, the slide of their erections against one another sending jolts of need through Thorin and ripping a ragged sound from him. It had been so long since he’d been with his hobbit, moved so sensually and been so naked with his One, and his imminent release rushed up so quickly that the dwarf had to pull away and breathe deeply.

When he opened his eyes and found Bilbo watching him with a touch of concern, Thorin groaned. “I need you, my love. I need inside you,” he gasped out, guiding his lover back down onto the bed and shifting so he was once again kneeling between Bilbo’s thighs. The king leaned down, recapturing Bilbo’s lips in a hungry kiss before murmuring against the halfling’s mouth, “I know how much you love to use your mouth, but I simply can’t last long enough for it. That is something we can save for later, yes?”

A giggle bubbled up from the hobbit, something soft and tinkling like a bell, at the thought of his lover so very close with so little stimulation. But he nodded his understanding, one arm reaching blindly for the bedside table and the inlaid drawer. "Oil," he murmured in reply, the latch just barely grazing his fingers. Being a single man, with or without a little one, had made oil nearly a necessity as he was at peace with being alone for the rest of his life. Spending so much time with insatiable dwarves had ruined him to celibacy.

"Blasted thing," he sighed with a chuckle, his face flushing lightly with his embarrassment, as he started to wriggle out from under his lover, the tips of his fingers still fumbling with the drawer latch. "Or rather blast the size of hobbits."

“Allow me,” Thorin said, a soft laugh leaving his lips as he pressed his lover down against the duvet and reached for the drawer. He easily pulled it open and located the bottle of oil, lifting it out and uncorking it. The viscous liquid was fragrant, smelling of sweet vanilla and for a moment Thorin distressed over the thought of going rock hard every time he ate dessert for the rest of his long life. Breathing the scent deep, he slicked his fingers and replaced the bottle on the bedside, leaving it open for the time being.

Pressing his wet fingers softly against Bilbo’s pink hole, he massaged the puckered ring lightly, relishing in the wanton mewls such a ministration pulled from the hobbit. “Mm, are you sure about this, my love?” Thorin asked quietly, giving the halfling a chance to change his mind before he was breached by the dwarf’s fingers. With this act, reclaiming his One so intimately, there was no going back for Thorin. If he had this, but was unable to bring Bilbo home with him, Thorin couldn’t see himself being able to continue along in the terrible, lonely existence he’d had for the past two years.

"I've never been more certain," Bilbo whispered in reply, his eyes fluttering open and finding Thorin's. There was a moment of hesitation where a comfortable silence swelled and the shared feelings of love were palpable in the room. Bilbo couldn't think of letting this dwarf leave without a reunion such as this, and certainly couldn't comprehend going the rest of his life now that Thorin had so willfully braided flowers into his hair. Discussing this potential move and new adventure would be difficult, something they would have to do tomorrow. When Thorin shuddered out a sigh and began teasing into Bilbo, a gasp hitching in the halflings throat and giving way to a broken moan, Bilbo pushed those lingering doubts and thoughts of rough conversations to the side.

Tomorrow could wait its turn.

As his finger slid slowly into the impossible tightness of his lover, Thorin released a broken sound, lifting himself up so he could watch the appendage disappearing into the fluttering hole. Mahal, the hobbit was as tight as he’d been their first night together, the grip around the dwarf’s finger punishing. When he finally buried the appendage as deeply as he could, his knuckles nudging against the halfling’s rim, Thorin paused while Bilbo slowly relaxed, the tight furrow of the hobbit’s brow slowly unwinding. Only when his lover let out a long sigh and nodded did the king begin to move, his strokes long and deep before sliding a second finger in cautiously.

Several minutes later, Thorin was up to three fingers in his hobbit’s core, leaning over his lover and delving his tongue into Bilbo’s mewling mouth, their teeth clack with each thrust of the dwarf’s fingers into his lover. The dwarf’s heavy co*ck was leaking, precome dripping from the tip and pooling in Bilbo’s navel, mingling with the sweat there. By the gods, he needed inside his lover, and he may have moaned just as much because Bilbo was nodding enthusiastically and grappling in the direction of the bedside table.

The dwarf removed his fingers and grabbed the flask of oil, pouring the oil into his palm to slick his co*ck thoroughly. There was an excessive amount, and he found himself pressing his fingers back inside his lover, oiling Bilbo’s hole up even more. Thorin wanted this to be as painless as he could make it, the slide unhindered by any amount of dryness. The dwarf once again removed his digits and grabbed his leaking prick with one hand, Bilbo’s milky thigh with the other, and guided his girth to press against the hobbit’s entrance, the wet hole stretching invitingly around the tip. With a shattered sound, he slipped right in, eyes widening and mouth falling open as he was engulfed by Bilbo’s tight heat.

“Bilbo,” Thorin sobbed, willing his climax to recede and meeting very little success. As long as he didn’t move for a few moments, he would be okay and this wouldn’t end so embarrassingly soon.

Bilbo nearly choked on a garbled moan, his mind already fuzzy with his dwarf's thorough preparation, as his severely neglected prostate had any amount of pressure put on it in the past two years. It had the edges of his vision spotting white and his mouth falling open in a soundless cry. He went rigid under the dwarf, every muscle locking up upon the invasion, something that was now a feeling so foreign; it almost frightened Bilbo with its intensity.

"Oh m-my..." the hobbit managed to squeak, his vision blurring as the insistent pressure on the buried pleasure center was relentless and sending shockwaves through his body.

Bilbo with eyes wide and unseeing reached up for his lover, finding the first expanse of flesh to be the dwarf's neck. The halfling clung to him with shaking limbs, embarrassingly close to the edge of his org*sm. Thankfully Thorin was the rock he needed, what kept him grounded from speeding out of control into oblivion. "Oh g-gods, darling..."

There were several beats of stillness, their panting mewls filling the room as Thorin tried to regain control. A broken sound was punched from his gut when he slowly slid back out, the friction despite the excessive oil he used very nearly too much already. He reentered quickly, sliding his co*ck home and pulling a shuddering gasp from the hobbit. Thorin was shaking terribly, the effort not to come overwhelming in its difficulty, to the point that the pleasure became a hazy backdrop to the tight ache in his balls.

“Bilbo,” he repeated, hands convulsing where they held Bilbo’s thighs up and apart, a shuddering gasp leaving him as his org*sm pushed forward again and he just barely held it back. The pace was slow, tender, each stroke into Bilbo’s core enough to ensure the hobbit would feel it later, but not so much that the slighter man would be in pain. No, they would save the harsh pace of their former lovemaking for another time, when they hadn’t been separated for so many lonely months, when they weren’t reuniting so intimately for the first time after two years apart.

“I love you,” Thorin moaned, shaking with the effort not to come as he began to pick up his pace. He couldn’t even think to stroke Bilbo in time with his thrusts, and he was losing his rhythm as he lost his concentration. Gods, he didn’t want this to end, he was terrified of this moment of connectedness being done and once the sweat cooled and the post-coital cloud drifted away, the doubts would come back and end it all once again. Thorin was terribly frightened that this would be the last time he would have his lover like this, beneath him and gripping his length so tight, little hands on his shoulders and in his hair, perfect mouth crying out and mewling as tears collected at the corners of his hazel eyes.

“By Aulë, I love you,” the dwarf repeated around a sob, hips stuttering slightly.

"You too," Bilbo managed to grind out, the words wrapping around a sob of a moan. The friction was incredible and had him seeing stars, but he would be damned to finish before his lover. "I-I love you, too.”

Bilbo began to move in tandem with his lover, his hips rolling up to meet Thorin with each inward stroke. He was tugging the king down closer to him, desperately begging for a kiss to satisfy his need. Only when the king complied did he allow himself to melt beneath Thorin, his tongue instantly darting out lathe along Thorin's lips and lure the king’s out to play between them. They began to relax with each other, moving fluidly with gentle, shallow movements, their pleasure buzzing perfectly just at the edge of tumbling over into their org*smic oblivion together. They played in their pleasure, laughing lightly and reveling in each other’s embraces, each kiss full of fire and reverence.

“I love you,” Thorin whispered into the kiss, an easy smile coming to his lips despite the fire in his gut and loins. He was chuckling as Bilbo nipped at his lips, catching the lower one and tugging. “I do hope you never—mhm!—tire of hearing it. Ah!”

Making love like this with sunlight streaming through the window and splashing warmth across their entwined bodies was perfection. To see Bilbo with such clarity, and in such a flattering light, his blonde curls a bright halo against the sheets, his braid obvious with its delicate blooms. There were petals strewn across the pillowcase, and Thorin looked forward to fixing the braid when they eventually peeled themselves from the bed.

“Aulë, I’m so close,” the dwarf said suddenly as his release rushed forward, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold this back, already stretching his apparently short endurance far past what he should have. Thorin shook violently as he tried to concentrate enough to find Bilbo’s prostate again, keep a steady rhythm, and hold back his climax for just a few moments longer. “I—I can’t—Bilbo, I need to—”

"Come for me, darling," Bilbo gasped out, clinging to Thorin desperately and tugging him closer. Every part of them was in some way flush, their chests and stomachs, joined together and blurring the reality of where Thorin started and Bilbo stopped. The halfling wound his legs around Thorin's waist, locking his ankles where they met in the center of the dwarf's back. It pushed Thorin deeper, to the hilt, and with his lips pressed against Thorin's ear, Bilbo bit back a cry. He murmured endearments and praise into the dwarf's ear, his fingers finding their way once more into Thorin's thick raven mane, and the hobbit began to expertly massage his scalp for an added layer of bliss. "I've got you. My love, let go."

At the stimulation on his scalp, the dwarf came with a loud cry of his lover’s name, co*ck pulsing deep inside his lover, shallow thrusts pumping his seed deep into Bilbo’s core. His vision went white, his skin tingling almost painfully as his nerves came alive with the force of his release, his mind numb and all he could register was the hot breath against his ear and the ring of muscles gripping him still.

Groaning as he came down from his world shattering org*sm, he felt the hard line of Bilbo’s co*ck digging into this stomach. Pulling out and lifting himself off of his still aroused hobbit, he reached back with his still-slick fingers and pressed two into his entrance. Thorin shuddered at the intrusion, at the way it sent delicious fire through his barely sated body. With a quick, haphazard preparation with only two fingers, Thorin was wetting Bilbo’s co*ck with whatever oil was left over and moving so he knelt astride his lover’s pelvis. Winking with a tired chuckle, the dwarf slid himself down over the halfling’s length, a strangled sound escaping the king’s throat as overstimulation sparked painfully through his body and melded with the insane pleasure.

“Gods, yes,” Thorin gasped out, and miraculously he felt his prick begin to reawaken already. Slowly, he began to lift himself and drop back down against his lover, shuddering violently at each reentrance of Bilbo’s co*ck. When the halfling’s co*ck hit his prostate, Thorin threw his head back with an ecstatic cry and began riding his One in earnest, desperate to feel the hobbit’s release fill him.

Bilbo could barely manage a coherent thought, and the noises that were ripped from him were entirely wanton as he was consumed with the burning desire to release the tension and spill into Thorin's depths. He reached for his lover’s hips with trembling fingers, barely gripping the muscular curves before he dug his fingers in hard enough to bruise. His release barreled out of control, something like an avalanche, and he was completely lost to it as he tumbled into the oblivion of utter blissed-out passion.

Fire and electricity coursed through his veins and licked along his nerve endings, Thorin's name spilling from his lips around unabashedly loud moans of ecstasy. His vision began to blur and white out once more, the world slowly going out of focus as the sensations of the world narrowed only to Thorin's ragged panting, and the hot, tight squeeze of his lover’s canal.

The aftershocks rolled through him slowly, left him shuddering and bucking, and even with the nearly painful overstimulation from such a powerful org*sm, it had the halfling craving more. He bucked weakly up into Thorin a few more times, desperate whimpers escaping him as he gulped down the sex scented air.

Thorin could feel his lover’s seed dripping out of him from around Bilbo’s softening member, the slick of it rolling down the underside of his sac and the inside of his left thigh. The surprisingly strong grip on the dwarf’s hips finally relented and he was able to lift himself off and drop down onto the quilt next to his panting hobbit.

“That was…” he trailed off, in wonder of what they had just shared but not wanting to cheapen it with words. His eyes found Bilbo’s, and they held each other’s gaze for a long few moments until Thorin chuckled, prompting his One into his own set of tired laughter. The king surged forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses into Bilbo’s lips, each of them swallowing the other’s mirth until they both sagged atop the dampened, sweaty duvet, a light doze claiming both of them, though the slumber did nothing to remove the happy, sated smiles from either of their faces.

Thorin lounged back in the tub, his head tipping back to let his wet hair cascade down the outside edge of it. There was a light smile on his lips as he soaked in the hot water. Bilbo sat across from him, and with the limited space their legs were forced to tangle together.

They had spent the entire afternoon lazing about, only managing to stumble out of the master around dinnertime when their grumbling stomachs demanded to be fed. And even then, it was a meal of cold sandwiches that was enjoyed in the nude, much to Thorin’s delight. Bilbo truly had forsaken all sense of propriety, especially since with the darkened sky and the light inside the home made it so anyone passing too closely would see them standing there in naught but their skin.

After they had finished eating and found themselves kissing languidly, and maybe a bit heatedly, the hobbit suggested a hot bath before bed, and Thorin was all too ready to agree. He didn’t particularly mind keeping the mess of their earlier activities on his skin, but he knew the longer it was left the more he would regret not washing up.

So now they sat, washed up and sitting together in a newly drawn bath, clean water swirling around them as they basked in the steam and each other’s presence. Thorin was aroused, had been since Bilbo washed his hair and deliberately teased his scalp with those devilish fingers, but it wasn’t an urgent need like he remembered it always being. It didn’t worry him, this lack of desperation, as he knew he still wanted Bilbo, but there wasn’t a need to hurry, or prove that Bilbo was his. There wasn’t a need to claim the hobbit like there always had been before.

Bilbo was his, just as Thorin was Bilbo’s. They had each other, and Thorin was content enough with this to sit in the tub lazily with his intended, erection or no.

“Mmh, I can hardly wait to return Erebor, if only for the baths,” he murmured around a sigh, smiling wider at the ceiling despite the ache in his cheeks. He couldn’t remember smiling this much in all of his life. “Our baths are natural hot springs. There is a large public bath, plenty large enough for the kingdom, but the royal quarters each have their own. Completely private, and the perfect temperature without fear that the bath will run cold.”

Bilbo hummed gently. He would miss the large copper basin that he had enjoyed many lazy soaks in since his childhood, but he would not turn up his nose to luxury like a private hot spring. He had been content to sit in the slowly rising steam and quiet, but the mention of Erebor brought the idea of moving back to the forefront of his mind. They would still have to ask Frodo, be sure that the little one was even willing to move, but Bilbo was confident the Shireling had become just as dependent on the dwarf in these past weeks as Bilbo. Not for security or wealth, but for love and a solid sense of family.

"About Erebor," Bilbo began slowly, his muscles still relaxed and pliable from the warmth of the bath. "I shall require a week or so to get everything in order, should Frodo have no objection to moving."

The dwarf chuckled, lifting his head to look at his lover, an amused smirk twisting his lips. There was the niggling worry that Frodo would refuse to move, but he left those worries for tomorrow. “Only a week? I know you hobbits are fantastic at throwing together last minute festivities, but would you really be able to throw together a wedding while you are also worrying over your estate?” he asked gently, leaning forward to brush his lips against Bilbo’s lightly. He pulled back and his voice deepened with suggestion as he said, “not to mention, the honeymoon.”

Everything seemed to go quiet all at once, and Bilbo's eyes were as wide as saucers, almost as if he was straining to see the dwarf. His eye brows had shot up impossibly high on his brow and stayed there as a light, healthy flush spread across his cheeks.

"You mean, when you braided my hair, you really meant you wanted a Hobbits wedding...?" he asked quietly, in utter disbelief.

“Of course,” Thorin replied, somewhat bewildered by his lover’s shock. “Our marriage in Erebor wouldn’t be recognized by your kin, as mine here wouldn’t be recognized by my own. And for obvious reasons, Frodo wouldn’t be able to attend our ceremony in my kingdom.”

The dwarf paused as Bilbo’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. Thorin watched his One’s Adams apple bob with a thick swallow, and for a moment he began to doubt his idea. “I had assumed you would want something to share with your people, and Frodo,” he finished, watching the hobbit and gaging his reaction.

"You", Bilbo began with a slight tremor to his voice, his eyes still wide and expression flabbergasted, "impossibly wonderful dwarf."

He lunged forward, not caring for what water sloshed out of the tub and onto the grouted tile floor. Thankfully the tub was wide, wide enough for him to crawl instantly on to Thorin and straddle his hips. He reached for the dwarf with clumsy movements, his sudden need to kiss Thorin overriding any sensibilities that a proper Baggins should have. When he broke the kiss, their lips only having been sealed together fiercely and firmly, nearly chaste in comparison to most they shared, the hobbit rumbled out, "I could make love to you for ages. Do you not realize how perfect you are?"

Thorin internally shrunk away from the compliment, shutting his eyes as his hobbit pressed flush to his chest and their lengths slotted against one another. He was far from perfect, and it was difficult for him to accept such praise after what he had done. No matter how much Bilbo insisted he was forgiven, Thorin would never stop doing everything within his power to make up for it. A Hobbits wedding was a small step in that direction, and it even sounded quite nice. Something calm and laid back, plenty of wonderful food and even more ale and mead.

Pressing forward for another kiss, he pointedly ignored the compliment and cheekily said, “We should stop dawdling and get to the bed, then. In the interest in making love, I mean.”

Bilbo took Thorin’s avoidance of the compliment with a grain of salt; it was merely something they would address later, much later, after they were both sweaty and sated.

He braced himself on the edges of the tub, hauling himself up and out of the water before he offered his hand to Thorin as well. The pulled the plug on the drain and Bilbo absentmindedly threw a towel on the floor to sop up the spilled water from earlier. The halfling was more than eager, especially with the news that the Shire would be enjoying a surprise wedding, and tugged them both dripping down the hall and back into the bedroom.

The door was left wide open with little fear of intrusion, the only goal being the plush mattress of the bed. Bilbo nearly tackled his dwarf with a playful chuckle onto the bed, the mattress dipping and bouncing with their combined weight.

Thorin laughed, the sound deep and growly as his lover settled astride his hips, and pulled the hobbit down for a fierce kiss. His tongue slipped into Bilbo’s mouth, and hands roamed the halfling’s wet skin. They were both glistening with bath water, their clean bodies about to be soiled once more and the dwarf wouldn’t have it any other way. The open door to the chamber had something twisting in his gut, the illusion of potentially getting caught buggering each other having his breaths coming in heavy pants.

“We should have gone to the guest room,” Thorin said, pulling away from the kiss as he felt the duvet beneath him grow even damper the longer they lied there. A chuckle bubbled up from his chest. “So we would at least have dry sheets for when we retire. Unless,” the king paused, raising an eyebrow slightly, tone thick and suggestive, “you plan to keep us well awake until we and the bedding are dry?”

Mock astonishment was clear on Bilbo's face, his gasp almost comical as he pinned his dwarf to the mattress once more. "Brilliant idea! I think I just might," he growled, lips stealing kisses teasingly as he settled once more astride Thorin's hips. The king’s hot erection was pinned under him, the leaking head firm against the halflings sac, and the shaft fitting snuggly against the hobbit's perineum and in the cleft of his arse.

Bilbo gave a tentative roll of his hips, his smile growing and eyes becoming hazy with desire at the reaction it pulled from the king. Their first coupling had been full of passion, yet Bilbo wanted their lovemaking to be something tender, something they could roll around in and enjoy. A light chuckle escaped him as he began running his fingers over the planes of Thorin's muscles, tracing and retracing each detail and memorizing all of the imperfections in that battered skin he loved so dearly.

“Do not tease me with something so delicious, my One,” Thorin groaned, imagining his lover spread out beneath him hours from now; sticky and sweaty, wanton, and nearly begging to be left to sleep. With his climax earlier, the dwarf would have the stamina to handle such a tumble. His hobbit however, may not be so prepared for such intense play. Then again, Bilbo has made a habit of surprising him.

Thorin reached up and slid his hands into the hobbit’s curls, dark brown with their wetness, and loosed from the courting braid. A fresh cascade of rivulets flowed down Thorin’s wrists and arms as he squeezed Bilbo’s soaked hair. It was almost ridiculous, to be this sopping wet and tumbling into bed like this, but with the hobbit moving so perfectly against his length as he was, Thorin couldn’t really bring himself to protest any further about their state.

Bilbo only chuckled at that, the idea enticing to him as he rolled his hips once more, the grind between them more demanding and solid. It had Bilbo gasping, pleading nearly for more, for hours on end of shameless love making. He had been starved of such intimacies for so long and left so wanting, and he didn't care much if his desires were greedy. If the evidence of the king’s need was anything to speak for how eager he was at the proposal, then they were certainly likely to remain in their bed, playing and indulging in the fruitful gardens of each other’s bodies, until the first light of tomorrow morning.

"I won't tease then," Bilbo murmured as he pressed closer into Thorin's touch. "But I'm more than ready to keep you up all night, darling." The hobbit punctuated his statement with another insistent roll of his hips, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Thorin groaned lowly, propping himself up on his elbows and offering his mouth for a kiss. When the hobbit obliged him, the dwarf grinned into the kiss, tongue flicking out teasingly as he rocked up against his lover’s rump. Bilbo shuddered against him beautifully, a moaning laugh puffing out across Thorin’s lips and cheeks, the breath of it stirring the coarse hair of his beard.

“You’ve no idea what you have gotten yourself into, Master Hobbit,” the dwarf growled teasingly, a dark smirk on his lips as he coaxed Bilbo’s tongue out to play between them. He chuckled at the small sound of delight the halfling made as his rocking thrusts up against Bilbo’s arse became firmer and a little less playful.

"Oh please, show me, I'd love to know," Bilbo fired back his reply, his tone light and equally teasing, a little growl escaping him as he began to dodge the kings kisses playfully. With a little growl and tug to his waist, a surprised yelp of glee escaping him, Thorin's mouth found new goals in his neck and collar bone. The king licked and nipped and left fiery kisses in his wake, leaving the hobbit giggling in his pleasure between soft, airy moans.

“Oh, my sweet Bilbo,” the king breathed, rolling them so that the hobbit was beneath him, pinned by his weight. His lips and teeth returned to Bilbo’s throat and shoulders, suckling at the skin lightly, just enough to sting slightly, but not enough to mark him. Thorin’s hands were sliding up and down his lover’s sides, the fingertips just ghosting along the milky flesh and pulling gasping giggles from the man beneath him. The mirth mingled with sounds of pleasure as Thorin resumed his rocking against Bilbo.

With the dwarf rocking against him, and the teasing suckling, Bilbo's mind with beautifully hazy.

In the candlelight of the night, the stars turning above outside the bedroom window, the atmosphere was perfectly warm and light as the lovers played. The swiftly betrothed and ready to wed couple had wandering hands and whispered endearments shared between them and everything in between.

While the dwarf kept him pinned, Bilbo wriggled under him until he lay flat on his stomach, and he reached across the mattress once more for the drawer. While they had used up the first bottle of oil hours ago, he wouldn't be a self-respecting bachelor to be left without sufficient lubricant in the house. Bilbo produced an identical bottle, the scent now heavy of not only vanilla, but toasted almonds as well. It was rich and nutty, frankly it was divine, and Bilbo turned back to his lover with that familiar Tookish light in his hazel orbs.

The dwarf shuddered as he found himself pressed into the cleft of the hobbit’s arse, the shaft of his co*ck rubbing along Bilbo’s entrance, the puckered hole still pink and loose from their earlier activities. When his lover half-turned back around to him, oil in hand and promising glint in his eyes, Thorin let out a groan. There were so many things this positioned offered them, it was only a matter of what they wanted to do first. “What would you like to do with that, my One?” he asked huskily, rocking forward again.

"Whatever is necessary," Bilbo responded silkily before he placed the vial of oil on the pillow. It would always be within reach for whenever they decided they needed it. He relaxed fully onto his stomach, laid out beneath his lover with his ankles crossed. With each teasing thrust, Bilbo would rock back in turn, his bum wiggling playfully every once in a while for additional torture to the dwarf. Here in the seclusion of the empty house they had complete privacy, and it was their own little oasis of pleasure. Bilbo tilted his head to the side, baring his neck in offering to the king as well as a signal of submission.

"Although, I'm quite eager to have you inside of me, my love." The words were sultry, edged with fire, yet the lilting giggle in his tone that wrapped around the words as Bilbo felt the king brush his lips along the elegant curve of the his neck made the syllables softer. To punctuate his need the halfling wiggled his bum back against the dwarf, mewls slipping past his lips as a lazy pleasure buzzed just below the surface of his skin.

Thorin hummed against Bilbo’s throat, a lazy smile coming to his lips as he lifted himself off of his lover and away from his teasing squirming. He reached for the oil, shivering at the delicious scent that wafted up when he popped the stopper. Dessert would most definitely be ruined for him with Bilbo’s fragrant oils, the scents forever being linked to these perfect, sensual moments in Thorin’s mind.

“I think preparation is necessary, and much of it,” Thorin said lightly, slicking his fingers with the oil before closing the flask back up. With one hand, he gripped one perfect mound and levered it away from and showing off that gorgeous little hole. Sighing contentedly, he slid one finger into the willing heat of his hobbit, watching as every centimeter disappeared. With a quick twist of the digit, Thorin nailed Bilbo’s prostate, pulling a wanton sound of delight from the man.

The hobbit resisted the urge to squirm, a ripple of pleasure spreading from the reawakened pleasure center and radiating outward. It was utter bliss and it had the hobbit mewling for more. Bilbo did not even attempt to stifle his cries with the house so vacant, but he had begun to notice how warm and stuffy the room was getting.

He glanced back over his shoulder once more, smirking as he said, "Perhaps we should open the window? Let a bit of the night in?"

The hobbit had learned through quite the silly trial how thoroughly dwarven kind appreciated their couplings to be vocal and heard by any in the direct vicinity. Bilbo had never really lost the boldness being a loud lover had given him, and he was more than happy to only slightly embarrass himself (and more thoroughly scandalize any who might pass by Bag End) to have his dwarf desperately seeking his release and shamelessly taking what he desired.

Thorin dropped his head forward, sucking in a deep breath through his nose to calm the heat that flashed through him. “Stay here,” he ordered, tone light but there was some firmness there. Removing his finger, the dwarf gave Bilbo’s arse a playful slap as he slid off the edge of the bed and strode proudly to the window. Opening the window a crack, he sighed as the cool night air swept in and cooled the sweat on his brow.

Turning back to the bed, he was pleased to find Bilbo where he had left the hobbit, watching him with heated eyes and a mischievous smirk. “You’re simply gorgeous like this, my love,” Thorin said with a smile, co*ck throbbing as he admired the lovely silhouette Bilbo made against the sheets. He slowly made his way to the bed, resisting the urge to preen when the hobbit licked his plump lips while he appraised Thorin’s body hungrily.

The hobbit was indeed licking his lips. The sight of Thorin's thick, ready co*ck had him desperate. It had been such a long time since he had tasted his lover, and the most curious idea popped into his head. The halfling carefully maneuvered himself onto his back before he rolled himself to the edge of the bed. His head was dangling from the edge of the mattress ever so slightly and his still damn dark blonde tresses were dripping lightly onto the floor.

"I still haven't gotten to taste you," he said lightly as he looked up to Thorin with his head lolling over the edge.

"Tell me, darling," he began with a light swallow to clear his throat and drag out his sweet torture. "Have you ever f*cked someone’s face?"

The king’s mouth went dry, eyes widening a bit as a shuddering breath gusted out of his chest. That was more than he had ever considered doing to his hobbit, despite how clever that tongue of Bilbo’s was. It seemed like such a crude act, something reserved for flings. Right now however, as the hobbit opened his mouth and flicked his tongue out to wet those kissable—f*ckable lips, it was the best idea his lover had ever come up with.

“Aye, my love,” he said as he stepped up to the bed, grabbing his dick in his slicked hand and tracing the hobbit’s lips with the head. Precome smeared across the kiss reddened flesh, and the way Bilbo shuddered and chased the bitter liquid with his tongue had Thorin’s knees going weak. At this point, he worried for his ability to remain standing through this. “But never with someone as talented of a mouth as you,” he finished, sliding the blunt head of his co*ck into Bilbo’s willing mouth, shivering at the delicious sensations that rocketed through him.

Bilbo eagerly accepted his lover’s shaft, a pleased hum rumbling through his chest at the taste and sensation that he had missed for so long. The dwarf was still earthy and reminded him of fiery stone, a taste that was uniquely Thorin, and Bilbo instantly tried to swallow around the dwarf's co*ck. He was easily obedient, allowing the king to slide leisurely in and out of the moist, hot cavern of his mouth. The halfling laid his tongue flat with every inward thrust, and swirled the thick pink muscle that his lover found so "talented" on each stroke outward.

And the sounds the king was making...they were entirely intoxicating and had the hobbit's prick bobbing against his belly with keen interest. He relented to his desires and their demands to be appeased lazily, one hand sliding down his abdomen until Bilbo began tugging at his needy erection. With his free hand the hobbit found Thorin's hip, and with a little encouragement was helping the dwarf along with his thrusts, deeper and deeper down Bilbo's throat.

Thorin let out a low sound as his hobbit guided him, pulling his pelvis closer and closer on each inward stroke. The moist heat around him was mind-shattering, turning his thoughts to mush as he was suckled and licked and swallowed. As Bilbo guided him deeper and keened around his shaft, the dwarf shuddered and moaned, reaching down to grip the back of the hobbit’s head and gave a sharp thrust, quick and deep. The halfling made a delighted sound, even as he choked slightly, and Thorin decided right then that hearing Bilbo choke on his co*ck was one of the most arousing things he had ever had the privilege to experience.

“Gods, you’re taking it so well, so good, so—mmn—good,” the dwarf gusted out reverently as he slowly sunk into his lover’s mouth, bottoming out so that Bilbo’s chin rested against his pubes, and nosed his heavy sac. He lingered there, watching Bilbo’s swollen throat work around his girth before pulling back once again to allow the man to breathe. Thorin let out a broken sound as Bilbo made a sound of loss and began almost clawing at the dwarf’s hip to bring him back. Just as slowly, the king pressed forward again, slipping into the tight, swallowing heat of Bilbo’s throat, and began to wonder if he had been the one to get into something he was unprepared for.

The hobbit whimpered helplessly as he relaxed into Thorin's grip, his head lolling back further as he kept the suction gentle enough to spur his dwarf onward. He kept goading Thorin forward with the hand on the muscular curve of the dwarf's hip, but as Thorin began to lose himself, Bilbo let his grip falter with a lewd moan. The halfling allowed himself to slip into this pleasure that was rocking through him, the sensation of his mouth and throat being filled seeming to race through his system and right to his co*ck.

Bilbo began to stroke himself more vigorously with each sated sound that slipped past his lovers lips. Bilbo had spent so long tending to himself he knew exactly the quickest ways to rub one out, or to make it last for hours on end if he chose. The pad of his thumb glided over the weeping head, smearing the viscous and clear precome with delicious ease. The sensations had his screwing his eyes shut to absorb all of the pleasure with little interference, and his back arching up off the mattress with unashamed, loud, wanton moans that were garbled around the thick erection filling his mouth.

Thorin screwed his eyes shut and pulled out, letting out a ragged sound that echoed in the room. At Bilbo’s desperate whines, and the way the hobbit completely abandoned his own pleasure to reach for the dwarf with both hands, Thorin had to pinch himself off so that he didn’t splash his release across his lover’s face. The thought of that sight alone almost brought the king to his knees.

Dodging Bilbo’s hands, Thorin climbed back on the bed and yanked the hobbit toward him by his ankles. Desperate laughter filled the room as the dwarf slotted himself between his lover’s legs and began a firm grind, mouth finding the smaller man’s and delving his tongue deep, f*cking the hobbit’s mouth with the appendage. Lifting his hips back up and away from Bilbo, Thorin slipped his still slicked fingers underneath the halfling and slid two thick fingers into the loose hole, pegging the man’s prostate on the first stroke in.

That swift motion, laughter still bubbling from his chest, left him moaning like a virgin. Something unbridled and broken, something so embarrassingly full to the brim with pleasure it had a slow blush blooming once again across his cheeks.

He begged then, begged to be filled once more between hungry kisses and dueling tongues, his pleas spoken lightly and entirely to tempt his lover. "Darling, p-please, I want you s-so bad--" The words were bit off as a particularly delicious wave of pleasure rocked through him, curling heat in his belly and loins, as the king pegged his sweet spot again.

“Of course, my love,” Thorin murmured, blindly groping around the bed for the oil. With a frustrated huff as he couldn’t find it, the dwarf lifted off Bilbo to look for it and grumbling when he found the flask on the other side. Giving Bilbo’s hip a light smack when the halfling chuckled at him, Thorin removed his fingers from the hobbit’s core and leaned across the bed and grabbing the oil.

He slicked his co*ck thoroughly, excessively even, distantly worrying about the lack of preparation. Soon enough, he was positioning himself against Bilbo’s entrance and smiling down at the lovely creature. “Ready, my One?” he said lightly, voice thick with need.

"Always," Bilbo replied with a wide grin. Everything was silent for a few moments, where the tension raised at the blinding pleasure they both knew awaited them, and with a slow, slick slide of skin on skin the king plundered into his hobbit. A gasp hitched in Bilbo's throat, his face instantly crumpling into one of pure pleasure, with eyes heavy-lidded and mouth falling open temptingly as he mewled for his lover. The halfling began rocking back on the dwarf without hesitation, rolling his hips downward to get just a little more friction. They moved seamlessly together as Bilbo wrapped his arms up around Thorin's neck and tugged him down to steal a few sloppy playful kisses.

They reveled in each other, rolling about moving in tandem. With wandering hands and gentle touches they memorized the maps of each other’s bodies, each patch of skin and imperfection catalogued in the back of their minds.

To put it simply, they were in paradise in each other’s arms. The bed a boat and the rest of the world melted away into a crystal clear ocean that sparkled blue and green and aqua in the ethereal firelight. There was nothing but each other.

The king sighed into Bilbo’s mouth, rolling hips becoming more firm in their movements, the pace increasing. They were not f*cking, this tender movement against one another passionate, but not harsh or punishing, Thorin’s grip on his lover’s body insistent, but not bruising. The love bites he littered Bilbo’s throat and shoulders with did not mark him, no violent welts rising to the surface and the only redness left behind was that of the friction from Thorin’s beard.

They were making love, release being the goal but not the focus. They were relearning each other as much as they were reuniting, and Bilbo was proving to be a very different bed partner. The hobbit was sure of himself, commanding even, and unashamed of his noises. Bilbo made no attempt to silence his mewls and whimpers, even with knowing the window was open and anyone could come up the lane. The change was more than welcome, each surprising moment in bed with the halfling driving a new spike of intense arousal through him.

Sneaking a hand between them, Thorin began tugging at his lover’s leaking erection, stroking it in time with his deep thrusts, swirling his thumb through the collected precome at the tip on every upstroke, pulling Bilbo closer to the edge, determined that they would come at the same time, or close to it. The king could feel his release burning just inside his pelvis, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it surged forward.

"Close," Bilbo murmured against his lover’s lips, tongue flickering out to tease and taunt Thorin's mouth playfully. His breathing became nearly erratic between each desperate mewl that escaped him. His release was only a few skillful tugs away, and the hobbit clung to his dwarf.

"You?" Bilbo managed to ask in return, his mind fuzzy with oblivion just out of reach.

“So close,” Thorin replied instantly, his hips stuttering as his release barreled forward. The convulsing channel that hugged him so tightly had him panting, his thrusts growing punishing in the last strokes into his lover. He was growling with the effort not to come, his hand tugging Bilbo’s co*ck in earnest now to bring them off together. As the hobbit’s body clamped down on Thorin’s length, the dwarf’s org*sm washed through him.

“I’m coming,” he sobbed into Bilbo’s mouth, his hips a piston against his lover’s arse as his seed was sprayed deep into the convulsing body beneath him, and he did not stop his movements. “Come for me, Bilbo!”

"Oh Aulë, Thorin!" The hobbit obeyed with a keening whine, his muscles slowly locking up systematically through his body until he was sent full tilt into a mind-numbing org*sm. Bilbo held Thorin close as he spilled over the king's fist, white hot ropes spewing between their bodies with an obscene squelch.

The aftermath was glorious. They remained like that, simply tangled and breathless wrapped up in one another. But slowly the world pulled back into focus and there was a wicked grin splitting the halfling’s face. Bilbo wriggled out from under Thorin, warmth bursting in his chest when the king groaned (disgruntled that his consort was already stirring), until he rolled the king onto his back and dipped down slowly between the king's legs.

Thorin was still quite dazed, which to the hobbit was an advantage, as the halfling began to clean the bitter seed that was mixed with the sweet scented oil that coated Thorin's half-soft member. The ministrations had the appendage twitching with interest and lazily bobbing to meet Bilbo's lips, and when the halfling glanced up he was met with the still dazed and now slightly confused gaze of his lover. With hazel eyes gleaming and all of his unholy Tookish mischief, Bilbo's grin only widened.

"I meant what I said. I'm keeping you up all night, darling."

A shattered sound filled the room, and for many moments Thorin was unable to identify it as his own voice. His mind was lost to the teasing licks on his soft co*ck, the oversensitivity sending splintered pleasure through his body, and there was no way on this good earth that he could get hard again.

Oh, but he could. The dwarf’s prick filled, heat coursing through his veins and fire pooling in his gut. A dark want came over Thorin, his mouth falling open as he watched his lover lap away at the mess coating his length. This perfect creature was his intended, he would wake up to this beautiful man every day for the foreseeable future, and suddenly he just wanted to claim him.

Reaching down, Thorin curled his fingers into Bilbo’s slightly damp hair, the grip tight, and firmly encouraged the hobbit’s mouth down onto his shaft with a thick moan.

Bilbo's eyes rolled back into his cranium before they closed with a flutter, a fiery blush spreading once more at the sound in his lover’s broken, ragged voice. Regardless of whether he was submitting to the dwarf or not, Bilbo knew he was the only creature in middle earth that could reduce the king to such a base instinct, to take his pleasure brazenly and be completely at the hobbit's mercy all at the same time. It was a heady power that had Bilbo even more eager to please and he swallowed down the thick shaft that filled his mouth greedily, his pace punishing as he bobbed his head up and down.

Little grunts and groans escaped him as he laid his weight fully between Thorin's legs, one hand finding a muscular thigh to dig his blunt nails into, the other grasping the base of the king's member and pumping in tandem. It was a one hundred and eighty degree turn from their last, more laid back and playful coupling not but a few minutes ago. This was demanding and desperate and entirely primal.

The king growled, slamming his head back against the mattress as his other hand joined the one in Bilbo’s hair, guiding the hobbit further and further onto his thick co*ck. He felt the halfling gag around him, only to force himself down onto the girth that had choked him with a whimpering mewl. The vibrations shot up the center of Thorin’s length and shattered up his spine, pulling a snarl from him. He was shifting his hips upward now, sliding in and out of Bilbo’s mouth even as he forcefully guided his lover’s head up and down the engorged member.

And gods if the sounds his hobbit was making weren’t the most intoxicating things he’d ever heard.

“By Aulë, you’re so good at this,” Thorin grunted, screwing his eyes shut against the onslaught pleasure. “Listen to yourself, moaning like a two-bit whor* around my co*ck.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth, a phrase that any dwarven lover would have been perfectly fine with, and he found himself trying to gather his wits to properly apologize. Bilbo however had an incredibly distracting mouth.

Bilbo lathed his tongue along the underside and swirled his clever tongue on the upstroke. Mewls and moans were all a garbled mess of lewd bliss as he continued to gag for the king, taking the thick shaft deep enough to feel the swollen head making contact with the back of his throat. All Bilbo had to do was pull back just a bit, the change in pressure noticed by the king where his hand was fisted in the halflings nearly dry curls, and he pulled off Thorin with an obscene pop that left his groan in satisfaction. Bilbo teased the tip a few more times, his tongue sliding under the flesh hood and stimulating the sensitive glans directly. The way it made Thorin cuss and tense beneath him was nearly indescribable, a nearly dark desire for this secretive control to never falter burning deep inside him.

"Take what you want while you can.", Bilbo growled out, husky and entirely tempting in the barely contained ferocity that was hidden there. "During the day we have to behave civilly, but when the sun goes down..." The hobbit trailed off, lips quirking in a dark smirk as a chuckle rumbled through his chest, the sound ragged and carnal. "When the sun goes down, my king, I'm your personal whor* in the bedroom."

Thorin snarled like a caged beast, dragging the hobbit up his body by the blond curls tangled around his fingers for a savage kiss. He rolled them so that Bilbo was trapped beneath his weight, their lips hardly separating in the exchange. The king pulled back with another growl as the change slotted their hot erections against each other, baring his teeth as he ground down against his lover and pulled all manner of lewd sounds from the hobbit. Bilbo didn’t relent, never fully yielding as his own grip on Thorin’s shoulders, and the back of the dwarf’s neck was bruising in its ferocity.

“Get on your knees for me, my slu*t,” he growled against the halfling’s lips before pushing himself up onto his haunches. There was a flash of guilt once again for his words, but at the way Bilbo’s eyes dilated further, Thorin brushed aside all negative thoughts.

There was something Bilbo had missed about this savageness, the primal need that had them rutting like animals. It was filthy and utterly decadent; dripping with white hot passion that compared to nothing else Bilbo could remember experiencing before he met his dwarf. It wasn't without its own sort of strange love. More so, it always demonstrated just how desperately Thorin truly craved him in every way, regardless of whether their coupling was playful or sinfully erotic.

Bilbo complied, dragging out his movements if only to goad his lover into further controlling this encounter, and to make a half-hearted show of his supposed control. He wanted it to snap, this desperate thread of control he clung to, to be brought down to his most base instincts.

With an impatient growl, Thorin grabbed the hobbit by his soft hips and flipped him over so that he rested on his knees atop the duvet, facing away from the dwarf. Everything was damp with sweat and other bodily fluids, the room heating up again despite the open window. Leaning forward, Thorin bit into the curve of Bilbo’s throat, teeth teasing at breaking the skin, and he sucked a vicious mark into the flesh.

“Should your insubordination continue, I will be forced to punish you,” Thorin said darkly into his lover’s sensitive ear, taking care to bite the lobe before shifting back. The dwarf could see it now in his mind, the Bilbo’s perfect, pert little arse bright red with the blooming welts from the cracking slaps of Thorin’s wide palm. The thought of it alone had him hoping for more resistance from his One, even as guilt over his desires consumed him. “Move to the headboard and hold on to it,” he ordered, voice thick with his imaginings.

The word punishment had the most delicious curl of heat rolling in his gut, and Bilbo visibly shuddered as he moved as told. He was slow once more, hoping just the littlest thing would have his lover crazed to fulfill whatever promises he had made with whatever secretive and tempting means he desired. Bilbo knew he was so close now, so close to breaking his lover down to the passionate beast he was hoping would keep him awake until the sun rose.

His fingers were trembling ever so slightly, the air in his lungs gusting out with each shaky breath that got caught up in his seemingly helpless whimpers. The sounds spoke to his desires, how this lack of physical contact while he complied was entirely insufferable, and had his skin itching to be touched once more.

Thorin made a displeased sound in the back of his throat at his lover’s lethargy, but he was truthfully delighting in Bilbo’s rebellion. With a swift movement, Thorin’s hand cracked across the hobbit’s arse, red instantly blooming in its wake. The halfling cried out and scrambled for the headboard, and the dwarf almost whined at the sight of those little knuckles going white with their grip on the wood.

“You’re going to want to brace yourself, my slu*t,” the king rumbled as he cracked his palm across the other arsecheek, raising another flaming handprint on his lover’s skin.

Bilbo chewed his bottom lip, the sting mixing with a zinging pleasure from the stinging flesh of his rump while endorphins began to pump through his system. He obeyed easily then, without hesitation, the tone in Thorin's voice warning in its own way. He relished it however, knowing how close the king was to crumbling to his need. With a light chuckled, voice still ragged and highlighted with heavy panting breathes, the hobbit teased his king further by wiggling his arse temptingly, even reaching back for a moment to pull at one globe of his arse and bare his needy hole.

The breath whooshed out of Thorin as his eyes watched the hobbit’s entrance, still leaking with oil and spunk, fluttered invitingly. There was a roaring in his ears as he struggled with indecision, should he continue with this “punishment,” or indulge himself a little. He chose the latter, for now, as he was determined to have the cheeky halfling punished for his teasing.

Hands around Bilbo’s soft waist, Thorin hoisted his lover up so he was standing on the bed, bent over with his grip on the headboard. This brought the halfling’s arse almost level with the king’s face, and Thorin absolutely salivated. Without much more warning than a snarl, the dwarf was levering Bilbo’s cheeks apart with his thumbs and thrusting his tongue deep into the halfling’s used hole, lapping obscenely at the mixture of cum and fragrant oil inside his lover’s core.

Bilbo was confused at first but as Thorin delved into his depths, a broken cry was ripped from his throat. It tore at his vocal chords and made each sound harsher, but the sting was entirely invisible compared to the thick, pink muscle that lathed into his core so hungrily. It was positively filthy and had no right to feel oh so f*cking good.

Bilbo's legs were shaking beneath him, feeling as though they were made of jelly, yet he found the strength and balance to try and force himself backward into that invading mouth. The scrape of Thorin's coarse beard against his sensitive flesh was delicious, burning and tickling his as the dwarf continued to desecrate his hobbit.

The dwarf moaned openly as he licked into his lover like a man starved, hands gripping the hobbit’s arsecheeks in a bruising grip. His blunt nails dug deep crescents into the milky flesh, pulling pleasure-pained sounds from his tiny lover that went straight to Thorin’s co*ck.

Baring his teeth, Thorin grazed them against the abused hole, teeth catching the rim and pulling a startled cry from the halfling. When Bilbo went to wriggle away, the king slid his hands around to the front of his lover’s thighs and pulled him back into place. “You’re to stay right here until I let you move,” he snarled and went back to work, f*cking his tongue deep into the hobbit’s core, grunting at the heady taste of him

Bilbo was gasping and spluttering, and all of a sudden he felt somewhat overwhelmed. It was sinfully delicious, being made to submit, and yet he knew the dwarf had more in him to dominate. What was truly overwhelming, besides the shuddering dark pleasure that was slowly consuming him, was wondering if he truly wanted the dwarf to unleash this barely chained beast.

The hobbit tried to wiggle away once more; playful giggles slipping out between kiss reddened lips, ragged from the cries already torn from his throat. "O-Or what?" he challenged as he finally pulled himself from Thorin's face and turned to look over his shoulder, the light of the candle and moon following the contours of his body and highlighting each curve.

Thorin was beside himself with his desire to dominate the hobbit, to take him, and to be teased like this…he snarled and wrenched Bilbo down onto his lap, rubbing the shaft of his co*ck against his lover’s sloppy, dripping hole. “Do I have to tie you to the bed?” the dwarf threatened, and instantly his mind went fuzzy with the ideas swirling around in it. “Tie off your pretty little co*ck and tease your c*nt until you’re begging?”

It started merely as a spark, this nasty, filthy, delicious little idea the dwarf had. It was a spark that was swiftly being fanned into a flame. Bilbo groaned, the sound thick and throaty with his lust as he could feel himself stumbling to the point of no return, and ground out "Oh gods yes."

He returned the movements in kind, grinding down into that stiff rod that he knew would have him seeing stars and gasping in a matter of minutes. Tied or not, Bilbo Baggins was ready for every ounce of unholy pleasure Thorin Oakenshield had in store for him.

“Mahal, where has this wanton creature been hiding?” Thorin marveled quietly as he mouthed at the curve of Bilbo’s throat, momentarily dropping out of his pleasure-hazy dominance to appreciate the writhing hobbit in his lap. Though Bilbo had been compliant before, and utterly submissive, he had never been this. This teasing, cheeky, needy thing was entirely new to the dwarf and he dearly hoped this would be more than a one-time occurrence.

With low growl, Thorin pushed his lover forward and off his lap, and ordered, “Find me a strip of leather. We will forego full bindings, for now.”

Once again, as he had twice before this night, Bilbo reached for the night stand at his bed side. He tugged the drawer open, fiddling around through personal belongings, before he found a very familiar thin strip of brown leather. It was a little worse for wear, being two years older and exposed to the elements, but it was still just as resilient as the first time they had consummated such an act. It was just as taboo now as it was then, staving off and denying pleasure (or anything, really, as hobbits were concerned), yet this time Bilbo ran forward to greet the challenge head on. He turned back to his king, his lips curving in a kissable grin as he extended the strap. "This'll do?"

“Perfect,” Thorin praised the halfling before taking the length of leather and tying it around Bilbo’s co*ck and balls, lingering there for several moments to tease at the sensitized flesh. As Bilbo’s eyes rolled back at the fleeting pleasure, the dwarf turned him quickly and forced the hobbit down so that his face was buried in the pillows, his arse straight up in the air. As his lover struggled momentarily to push back up on his hands, Thorin caught the halfling’s wrists and pinned them behind his back with only one hand.

“Mm, I wonder how long it will take for you to beg, my slu*t,” the king mused, bringing his free hand up to Bilbo’s glistening entrance and sliding one finger in with a single sure stroke, resting there before he withdrew and returned with two digits.

Bilbo's jaw fell open and a decidedly obscene moan washed against the pillow. The sound was muffled but nearly loud enough to fill the room, breaking off into a desperate whimper by the time the first waves of pleasure began to ebb. It was tortuous, and how he begged all that was good and green in this world to just let this dwarf take what he wanted. He rocked backwards onto the thick digits, desperate for the friction, the grind, the explosion of endorphins and utterly mind shattering pleasure that he had craved for so long. The halfling spoke, words entirely unintelligible and stifled by the feathery pillow he was pushed face first into.

“Not long at all, it would seem,” Thorin chuckled darkly, the control around his need fraying dangerously. The hobbit was so perfect as he writhed on the king’s fingers. With another thick sound of amusem*nt, Thorin slipped a third finger into his lover’s core, crooking them slightly to peg Bilbo’s prostate. The shattered sound that left Bilbo’s throat almost had him abandoning his quest to hear the hobbit beg prettily.

“You’ll have to do better than that if you wish to be f*cked,” the dwarf growled, slipping his pinky into the tight ring of his One’s entrance.

The hobbit was within an inch of his sanity. He could swear it was going to kill him, it must. It had to, it was entirely insufferable and the frustration that was entwined with the not-exactly-what-I-want feeling had him gnashing his teeth. He begged, he pleaded, but that only had Thorin responding with pleased sounds and further teasing. It left the halfling all the more frustrated and with a fierce growl he turned his head to the side. His mouth was free of its pillowy muzzle, but his neck wouldn't be terribly agreeable come the morning. At the moment he couldn't be arsed to care.

"I swear to Eru, Thorin Oakenshield, if you don't f*ck me I'll never forgive you." The words were fierce and fiery, and Bilbo failed to bite off the last traces of a pleading whimper as he ground out the sentence.

“Much better,” Thorin groaned and withdrew his fingers. At Bilbo’s breathless sob at the loss of stimulation, the gaping emptiness of his stretched hole, Thorin released his hands. “Grab the headboard, and don’t dawdle if you want to be f*cked tonight.”

Bilbo complied instantly, hands scrambling to grip the headboard as ordered. It was a shaking, white-knuckled grip that nearly hurt, but he was bracing for what promised to be earth-shatteringly rough sex. He wondered then, in those few breathless moments as the words "yes sir" tumbled so effortlessly from his mouth when exactly he had gone from being a respectable gentle-hobbit to this carnal, lusty creature that could keep a ravenous dwarf so thoroughly occupied.

As the halfling scrambled to obey, Thorin slicked his co*ck with the sweet oil. Bilbo had barely finished complying when the dwarf was lining up behind him and sliding in with one sure, relentless stroke. “f*ck,” Thorin growled out, hanging his head forward as he screwed his eyes shut. Even after all of their play and the excessive, teasing preparation, Bilbo was still so perfectly tight. His pause allowed for his lover to adjust for only a moment before he set a hard, but not yet punishing pace, pulling all manners of wanton mewls and panting pleas from Bilbo’s lips.

Admittedly, the king was holding back. As much as he desperately wanted to claim his intended, there was a fear of harming the hobbit, of reminding Bilbo of that dreadful time in the mountain. So he kept his thrusts controlled in their strength and speed, diving deep and long into Bilbo’s core.

Bilbo rolled back onto the shaft that was invading him, each inward stroke scraping deliciously over his sweet spot. It was utterly torturous; the burning desire for more friction, more strength, more speed, more pleasure, and all of this was entirely Bilbo and Thorin. The world didn't exist outside their master bedroom of Bag End, and no amount Baggins sensibilities would convince him otherwise. The halfling started to realize the scales were tipping, that he was now the one within an inch of his restraint and Thorin was fully tethered to the world. It simply wouldn't do.

With a lewd groan, something that warped into a growl Bilbo took over the coupling with his backwards thrusts alone. The hands clenching his waist were not enough to impede the determined hobbit. "I'm not m-made of glass," he stuttered out, his voice deep and barely audible over the squeaking of the bed frame.

Thorin heard the hobbit’s words and shuddered at them. “I know how loud you will get,” he said lowly, somehow keeping his tone even despite his wavering restraint. It was a weak excuse, but the king was also aware how little Bilbo thought of being ‘coddled.’ The dwarf’s thrusts were measured, and he hoped to keep them that way, even if only to drag this out for longer.

“The window is still open,” Thorin continued, somewhat shakily when his lover’s responding whine had a confused tone to it, the sound almost like a question.

"Oh for Eru's sake," Bilbo growled as he turned to look over his shoulder, leveling an entirely unamused glare on the king. A fine sheen of sweat glossed his skin, his cheeks were flushed with effort and the pleasure that was just out of his reach, his tawny bangs just barely dry from their bath were slicked to his forehead, his chin was scrubbed red and his lips were swollen from the kings earlier kisses; he looked entirely wrecked.

"f*ck me open," Bilbo commanded soundly, his voice only wavering when Thorin came to an abrupt stop and stared back with wide eyes. "I expect to be a scandal in the morning with all of Hobbiton hearing us tonight." Thorin hesitated again and Bilbo nearly roared in a voice that was quite unaccustomed to being raised, his patience wearing thin as he became frantic in his need, "Now, move!"

For several hazy moments, everything in the dwarf’s mind came to a screeching halt. The world narrowed to Bilbo and him on this bed, connected, and the halfling looking so fierce. The order ricocheted through Thorin’s mind; to be commanded so sure and loud, the tone firm and not an ounce of confusion in its authority. Somehow, Thorin’s co*ck hardened further, and he sobbed out his pleasure.

Restraint snapping, the king reared back and pounded forward, so hard Bilbo was shoved forward several inches despite his grip on the headboard. Thorin was grunting and letting out desperate sounds of need as he plowed into his lover, the room filled with delighted screams and the wet slapping of their flesh. “You’re not going to walk right for days,” Thorin growled, though there was a touch of concern behind his words.

"Oh, gods yes!" Bilbo cried out at Thorin's words, his eyes rolling in his head and mouth falling open wantonly. "I can think of no better wedding gift!" the halfling ground out in return. It was utterly perfect and they were both lost now. No more fretting, no more play-time, just giving into to sin and reveling in each other. And it was glorious.

A thick line of saliva began to flow from one corner of Bilbo's mouth as he continued to moan outright, the sounds of their fierce, animalistic sex rebounding and echoing around the walls and surely carrying into the night.

“Aulë, listen to you,” Thorin all but sobbed out, the brutal claiming of his lover almost more than he could handle. Leaning forward and pressing his chest flush to Bilbo’s back, his strokes into the hobbit’s core became a rapid and shallow assault on his prostate. Thorin pressed his panting mouth into the curve of Bilbo’s throat, teeth grazing the flesh but not pressing or marking. “You’re just gagging for it. Howling like a bitch in heat. Gods, you would even wish for another co*ck to suck as I f*ck you into oblivion, wouldn’t you, my slu*t?”

"Don't tempt me," Bilbo growled, his mouth suddenly achingly empty. In retaliation, now that the thought refused to leave his mind, he attempted to roll his hips back further into Thorin. He snapped his joints backwards, a satisfying slap of skin becoming louder than before and pulling all manner of indecent noises from the hobbit. He could feel heat pooling in his gut, his ballocks drawing up tight, and his hole that was being so mercilessly pounded tightening and beginning to clench and milk his dwarf.

"O-Oh gods--!" Bilbo ground out before breaking into a sob, his eyes screwing shut as he felt an org*sm raise him up high and send him clattering back down to earth without relief.

Thorin smirked at the halfling’s staved release, even through the dark pleasure that came over him with the clenching of his lover’s hole. Lifting his fingers to Bilbo’s mouth, he slipped four in and reveled at the way the hobbit sobbed and suckled away at his digits with hungry little sounds. That he could reduce this proper, gentle creature to such depravity and wanton base instinct was heady, filling the dwarf’s mind with a foggy arousal as his climax burned in his gut. He had the stamina to continue for a while, his org*sm not yet threatening to snap.

Outside, the sky had begun to shift from deep, black-blue to something much hazier in colour, a blue-gray blanket with far less visible stars than before. As pre-dawn began to break, Thorin plowed into his lover, with his co*ck at one end and his fingers at the other, f*cking his hobbit senseless and filling the early morning air with the filthy sounds of carnal pleasure.

Bilbo was only vaguely aware of the passage of time as his dwarf continued to ruin him to the thought of propriety. The candle at the bed-side had flicked and died with a breeze, ghostly grey wisps of smoke rising to signal its untimely death, as the room began to fill with the deep, barely useable light of morning. Birds began their morning songs and Bilbo chorused with them, though without any notion of innocence or hope of retaining respectability. His neighbors would be rising soon, all setting to making their first breakfasts, maybe even enjoying a leisurely morning smoke in their own gardens. Bilbo was desperately thankful for the digits filling his mouth as they muffled his garbled cries of ecstasy.

Now that his body had begun the torturous rhythm of completion, the strap still tight around him and denying him precious release, Bilbo began to rise and fall like the crashing waves of the ocean. He would rise quickly to his peak, dangle at the edge of org*sm, then be tossed back down with shattered moans of nearly painful bliss and utter frustration.

Thorin missed the loud, exultant cries of his One and removed his fingers from that tempting mouth. Sliding his spit-soaked hand downward, the dwarf cradled Bilbo’s chin and tipped his head back, sweaty curls pressing into the flesh of Thorin’s shoulder. This craning position, what with the halfling’s hands on the headboard, forced Bilbo’s back to arch dramatically as Thorin hunched over him, allowing for the dwarf’s co*ck to stab into that hidden pleasure center and rip screams and breathy cries for his hobbit.

Gods, the sounds the hobbit was making were positively sinful, and had his own climax surging forward steadily. The king could feel the stirrings of it; the drawing tightness in his sac, the further hardening of his co*ck, and the way his hips’ movements were becoming sporadic against his will.

"F-Fill me—” Bilbo spluttered between moans, his voice whining with his desperation. He craved it like a drug, to feel Thorin spend himself and use his body as the means. Bilbo should have been horrified (wondered if he would be later) but he couldn't be arsed to care. It all felt so good and he was ready and willing to lose his mind and let the dwarf do the same. The halfling began babbling with his splintered voice, "f*ck me, fill me, I-I need it, I need y-you to fill me—” his back spasming briefly as another cry was wrenched from him and yet another org*sm was denied.

The dwarf let out a low growl and reared back, pausing his brutal defilement of his lover to flip the smaller creature onto his back. He resumed the punishing pace, his hips a piston as Bilbo squirmed and cried out beneath him. The hobbit’s co*ckhead was an angry purple with the desperation of his arousal, the slit leaking profusely and soon enough there was quite the puddle of precome dewing the curls of blonde that nestled the base of that pretty co*ck.

It was seconds later that the king released a loud, shattered sound and shot his seed deep inside his lover. His stokes grew somehow even more violent, to the point that the crown of Bilbo’s head was thumping rhythmically against the headboard. The yank of his climax seemed to rip his very soul out, leaving him feeling blessedly hollow and used up, a thick blanket of satiated bliss thrumming through him. He could feel exhaustion creeping in on the edges of the frayed world and knew he had to take care of his lover soon.

“f*ck, Bilbo you’re so perfect,” he sobbed, still reeling from the force of his org*sm, and quickly loosened the strap tying his lover’s co*ck and damming his release. With a calloused hand, Thorin stroke the hobbit’s co*ck fitfully, trying to keep himself awake long enough to watch Bilbo spend himself. “Come on, come for me!”

Bilbo let out an utterly shattered scream as his org*sm ripped through him, Thorin only having to give three full pumps of his over sensitive and desperate co*ck to send him tumbling over the edge and into oblivion. It was utter bliss as the world began to close in around him and narrowed only to the feeling of spurting into the dwarf's iron grip. The sensations shot through him and blazed like wildfire, splintering his senses and making the world evaporate.

Then there was nothing. Utter darkness that seemed to be there for one second and gone the next, and Bilbo was blinking into the brightness of a fully lit bedroom by the ten o’clock sun.

He blinked and opened his mouth to yawn which was then almost instantly full of dark raven hair. The halfling spluttered until the tendrils had evacuated his mouth, clearly confused with the grogginess of sleep still holding him hostage. When the world returned to him finally he was happy to see he and Thorin were still unceremoniously sprawled on top of the duvet. It wasn't hard to deduce they had passed out after reaching their heaven-sent completions.

Bilbo glanced over his lover and then himself. He was slightly pleased with the light bruises that were red and purple across both of their bodies, not to mention the patina from their release dried across their skin. Thorin was snoozing soundly beside him, and Bilbo couldn't bring himself to wake his lover. So there they stayed, reunited and the commitment to their love thoroughly consummated, until the dwarf king was roused by the sounds of his grumbling stomach and the promise of lunch.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

It was a few days later, after Bilbo had recovered enough to walk with some semblance of dignity despite the disapproving attitudes from his neighbors, that the couple decided it was time to speak to Frodo about the potential move. It became apparent they would have to, as the news of Bilbo’s engagement had spread like wildfire across the village and curious well-wishers began stopping by Bag End.

Many asked the question of what would happen with Bilbo and his young nephew’s living arrangements, though none received any real answer to that. The Sackville-Bagginses especially were sent away with nothing more than the door slamming in their faces, what with Thorin being the one to answer the door when they had come knocking. Bilbo was properly appalled by the dwarf’s impoliteness, despite the unsavory visitors, but of course a stolen kiss later had the hobbit forgiving Thorin quickly enough.

Avoiding the conversation any longer became impossible when the couple found out that Bilbo’s kin had already planned the ceremony and reception for them, partially because of Bilbo’s former respectability and the station of his intended. Thorin was marrying the village as much as he was marrying his One, in the eyes of the hobbits. The Gamgees informed Bilbo that evening as they picked Samwise up that they would be taking Frodo the night of the wedding, and keeping him for a week, allowing the couple a week of complete peace and quiet in Bag End.

With the wedding looming a scarce three days away, Thorin and Bilbo found them in the sitting room, each smoking a pipe and watching Frodo flip through a new picture book Dwalin (who had retired early after a long day of chasing hobbitlings around the yard) had bought him. They were both nervous, for much of the same reasons. They were afraid that Frodo would not want to leave the Shire, and Thorin and Bilbo would be forced to separate once again, and this time might break them. There was no longer any bad blood between them, if one excluded the occasional stab of shame and guilt Thorin still felt (which usually coincided with his lover calling him ‘perfect’).

Finally, the king cleared his throat. “Frodo, your uncle and I would like to speak to you about something,” he said, and if his voice cracked slightly, no one acknowledged it.

The Shireling looked up from his picture book, mentally pausing the fantastic story he had begun to construct from its images, and looked to the dwarf with a smile. Frodo had understood it all, and Bilbo knew this. The little one understood the flowers and had figured out the meaning behind the braids, clever thing that Frodo Baggins was. He had already taken to calling the dwarf "poppa Thorin" from time to time, though only when speaking to Bilbo. It had the hobbit grinning like a fool each time it was said and excited for the day the hobbitling would finally say those same words to the king.

"You know that we are to be married, right Frodo?"

To which the child nodded enthusiastically a beamed. "A real, whole family! Right Uncle Bilbo?"

"Yes my dear boy, a real, whole family."

Frodo nodded his understanding again as he began to fidget with the light, loose tufts of hair on the tops of his feet. Bilbo decided now was as good a time as any to press on. "So we wanted to ask you, Frodo, would you like to move back to Erebor and live in the mountain with Thorin?"

There were a few moments of dreadful silence where the child processed the question, but he lit up at the prospect. "Ya'mean it uncle? An adventure, all our own?"

"Yes dear, an adventure, to live a new life away from the Shire," Bilbo answered with a slightly relieved smile, a smile that was quickly dropped as Frodo continued, "And Sam can come? Oh, and Merry and Pip, even Rosie and Pearl!"

Something distinct and hard sunk in Thorin’s chest and he braced himself for the crushing disappointment. If Frodo even raised half of a fuss at his next words, Bilbo would side with the child and send the dwarf home. The elder hobbit had said just as much, and the fact that it would be just as terrible for Bilbo was a miniscule consolation. Ever the pessimist, Thorin had to resist the urge to flee before things turned south and said as evenly as he could, “no, little one. Your friends would not be able to accompany us to the mountain.”

With sudden inspiration, something that hadn’t even been discussed between himself and Bilbo, Thorin quickly added, “Though it can be easily arranged that Bilbo and yourself visit your friends every few years.” There were many peacekeeping trips and trade agreements to renew in the coming years, and it wouldn’t be difficult for a detour to the Shire to be made. The amazing pipe weed to come from the Shire was enough for Thorin to justify a special trip, even. As his consort, Bilbo would be able to go on such journeys in Thorin’s stead (while accompanied by Fíli and Kíli of course) in the first place, and the question of him bringing Frodo along had an obvious answer.

Thorin prayed that this was enough to sway the little hobbit in favor of the move.

Frodo seemed deep in thought, which was an odd face to see on a child, but it was all too familiar to Bilbo. Frodo was weighing everything out in his head on an imaginary scale, seeing which factors tipped in which direction. But Thorin's proposal had at least stolen the frown from both of the hobbits’ faces.

"So...we'll get to visit? And I'll get to see everyone, even if it's only for a little while?" the child asked hesitantly, to which both adults nodded and chorused "yes." Frodo seemed to think on it for a few more moments, a few more moments of dread, before he also nodded in return.

"I want to be a family," he said slowly and leveling his bright blue orbs on Thorin. "So if we can come visit, if you promise, then I wanna go to dwarf mountain too."

“Oh, my dear Frodo,” Thorin said with a gusting sigh of relief and placed his pipe on the table next to him. He was on the floor the next moment and embracing the hobbitling, holding the tiny thing in his arms and just barely refraining from squeezing the child. “You have no idea just how incredibly happy you’ve just made me,” he whispered, just loud enough for the little one to hear.

Frodo instantly curled into the dwarf's grasp with a happy sigh. From his armchair, Bilbo did nothing to hide the tears that welled up in his hazel eyes.

"It's settled then," Bilbo said with a satisfied smile, taking a long, victorious drag from his pipe and releasing the tobacco smoke to the room. "Dwarf Mountain," he began, quoting his nephews name from Erebor with a grin, "here we come."

~~~

It was a lovely day to be in the Shire. Rolling green hills, a bright sun overhead and the most wonderful breeze all made it the perfect day for a wedding.

Under an arbor, fully covered in bright blooms of daisies and lilac sprigs of all colors, Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins were joined together in the sight of all of Bilbo's kin. It was utterly perfect as they said their simple I do's to the officiate, the head of the Took clan, and shared their kiss to seal their bond. Cheers rose and petals fluttered down as the unlikely pair was rushed upon by everyone in attendance to begin their congratulations.

As soon as all the formalities were out of the way however, hobbits did what hobbits do best: Indulge.

They set for the large group of party tents under the giant oak tree to begin the festivities. There was a fest worthy for all in attendance, even the dwarven king and his bodyguard, by hobbit standards, chock full of mead, wine, roasted meats and stewed vegetables. It was utterly decadent, and it was only a few toasts from Bilbo's friends and kin to good health and a happy marriage (albeit a strange one) before the party was in full swing.

The party was grand indeed, and this time Thorin fully enjoyed the atmosphere. His weeks in the Shire had softened his edges and opened him up, an easy smile on his lips as he chuckled and accepted the well-wishers and answered the least invasive questions. Accepting drinks that were handed to him, Thorin indulged, but not so much that he was hammered the last time he partook in hobbit festivities, but enough that a happy buzz set up residence in the center of his forehead.

Thorin barely left Bilbo’s side, his hand a constant weight on the hobbit’s back as they ate, and drank, and smoked. They stole little kisses, staying modest for the benefit of the gentle creatures around them. The two of them were practically glued at the hip, overcome with their marital bliss.

As a bouncy song picked up, and the crowd around the couple called for a dance, Thorin looked at his One in askance, offering his hand a bit reluctantly.

Bilbo eagerly accepted and tugged his dwarf into the fray. He was happy to lead, though it was a simple enough dance. The spun and twirled, and Bilbo easily dodged Thorin's more clumsy steps to save his feet. They were laughing and breathless, like everyone else, and their heads were thick with mead and good food.

By the time the song was ending and everyone began to applaud the musicians, another tune had begun to pick up. Funnily enough, now in the center of the crowd, it was obvious how very out of place his Thorin was amongst his people.

Gratefully as the worked their way out of the crowd and back to the table of honor for the newlyweds, the crowd let them be. Bilbo gave up on caring, now that his kin were all just as raucous as a group of dwarves, and plopped down into his lovers lap with a light chuckle, the festivities continuing regardless of their involvement.

“Mm,” Thorin murmured, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist to rest his chin on Bilbo’s shoulder. There were several more hours they would have to entertain the whims of the crowd, which was unfortunate for Thorin as he found himself achingly hard. The intense emotions he felt as he said his vows to his lover had incited a slowly burning reaction, as in his customs they would have consummated the bond they had created by now.

Adding to his desire, Bilbo was now on his lap, not seated far enough back on Thorin’s thighs to feel the hot erection tenting his formal trousers, but the warmth of his hobbit was doing terrible things to his self-control. With a low groan, he pressed a soft kiss to his One’s ear. “Is this all you hoped for, my love?” he asked quietly, trying to distract himself from the heaviness in his loins.

"Everything I hoped for and then some," Bilbo replied with a happy sigh as he leaned back fully into Thorin's arms. He wriggled back to sit flush in the king’s lap, and Thorin let out a bit of a hiss as something hard and thick and familiar pressed intimately against Bilbo's back.

He froze for a split second, the only true signal that something was amiss being the bright red flush at the tips of his ears. Carefully and slowly, hoping to disguise his motions as mere readjustment, the hobbit rolled his hips backward against the shaft pressed so intimately against him. He turned slowly and gave Thorin the most wicked, mischievous cat-like grin.

"Oh my, Mister Oakenshield," he drawled out, tongue flitting out wet his lips. "You seem to have a problem, there."

“Indeed,” Thorin responded, arms tightening around his One’s waist and holding him still. It wouldn’t do for the dwarf to lose complete control in front of at least one hundred modest hobbits. It was one thing to make love in the privacy of their own home loud enough for the neighbors to hear them, and completely another to demonstrate said lovemaking on the table at the head of the entire party.

“Must we stay much longer? They all seem distracted.” The dwarf knew the answer as soon as he asked it. Of course they had to stay, for there was still cake yet to be served and he doubted Bilbo would abandon such decadence, even for a tumble with his lover. Then the parting pleasantries would take quite a long time. Thorin groaned again at his sad fate, and he cursed his body’s reaction to such simple things. The thought of being bound to his hobbit had him hard as granite, and if Thorin truly gave a damn, he would be embarrassed by the painful sappiness in it all.

"Wouldn't be terribly gracious of us, Thorin," Bilbo pointed out, but the hobbit shared his sentiment to an extent.

He wanted desperately to spend a little personal time with his dwarf, away from all the prying eyes, to indulge in another sort of treat. The he felt a breeze, which was odd being that they were all in a rather stifling hot tent. He looked to the source and saw part of the canvas was folded back and flapping slightly in the breeze. An idea crept into his mind.

"If I told you we could take care of your little problem," he began before leaning in to whisper in the king’s ear, his voice sultry and thick. "Will you promise to behave for the rest of the night?"

“Yes,” the dwarf sighed, rutting once up against Bilbo’s rump. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to be indignant about Bilbo calling his problem ‘little.’ All he cared about was his lover’s touch and easing the ache in his nether regions. Waiting until they were able to return to Bag End would be impossible for him. “I will behave.”

Bilbo hummed with delight and slid off his lover’s lap. Everyone was thoroughly absorbed by the festivities and no one noticed as Bilbo and Thorin slipped through the hidden tare in the tent, and into the cool night air. There was a faint glow, entirely contained by the canvas pavilion, and not five paces off, there was a small gardener’s shed. The party was being hosted behind the Smial of the Took clan's thain, and thankfully the party tent pushed up against the outskirts of the garden.

The newlyweds ducked behind the shed, the party not more the ten paces away, and in the darkness found each other’s lips. It was a delicious release, both tasting of smoke and honey wine, and Bilbo quickly tugged the buckle of Thorin's belt free. He freed the dwarf just enough from his trousers and small clothes, lathing his entirely hand with his tongue and slicking it with copious amounts of his saliva, before he gripped the king's shaft tightly.

"Will this do?" Bilbo asked between kisses, his teeth catching Thorin's lips to tug.

The king made an undignified sound and nodded desperately, thrusting up into the tight ring of his lover’s fist. The act was overwhelming, so public and so risky, and Thorin was delirious with his arousal. He stumbled back half of a pace to lean back against the shed, his hips jerking forward hungrily as he waited for Bilbo to stroke him. Gods, anyone could come out and see them like this, Bilbo’s hand on his co*ck and teeth tugging at his lip. Anyone could hear his quiet gasps of hunger and need. It was filthy, and dangerous, and oh, so perfect that Thorin couldn’t bite back his outright moan if he tried.

Bilbo grinned, giving a few teasing, lazy strokes. "Oh come now, darling. You want it, you're going to have to take it," he crooned. When the king met him with a blank stare, his mind very clearly trying to grasp exactly when his hobbit had become so damn sexy, Bilbo's eyes shone with that devious Tookish light.

"Come now, my One. Before we get caught."

There was a roaring in Thorin’s ears, the blood pounding through him as he obliged the light orders. He was gasping and moaning as he f*cked the circle of Bilbo’s fist with abandon, desperate for something more this single touch, but knowing it wouldn’t be granted. All the while, he heard whispered encouragement and shushing sounds as his needy sounds grew too loud.

This new Bilbo—the daring, filthy, commanding Bilbo—was something Thorin had never thought of wanting, but as he gave up his control to the moment and take whatever Bilbo gave him, he found the pleasure overwhelming and perfect. There was a twist in his gut, an apprehension at wanting to ask for more of this, couplings like this where he can let go completely, submit utterly to his lover and let the hobbit take the reins.

With a lewd moan, he let go of his swirling thoughts as his thrusts grew erratic, his climax snapping like a whip in his belly and about to burst forth.

"You're so close," Bilbo whispered in the king’s ear as he lazily rutted against Thorin's hip. It was a sight he would hold onto, keep in the recesses of his mind to recall on the rare times he would need to satisfy himself. It was entirely erotic to watch this dwarf f*ck into his hand like a man who had never before indulged in such pleasures. "Come for me, husband."

“Bilbo,” Thorin whined as he spilled over in his lover’s grip, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered himself to the shocks and waves of his release. It was almost painful, the relief from the pressure, despite the relative brevity of his arousal and this encounter. But he was left quivering and almost sliding down the wall of the shed as he caught his breath.

Finally, he opened his eyes once again to find his lover’s, and he sealed their lips together for a few moments. “Do you require any assistance to make it until we return home?” he asked quietly, feeling the line of Bilbo’s co*ck rutting with little purpose against his hip. The hobbit had always been, and always would be better at restraining himself and willing his body to behave, so it was a matter of whether Bilbo wished to indulge himself there behind a shed only ten feet away from most of the inhabitants of Hobbiton.

"We must return to the party before we are missed," Bilbo answered.

He was indeed rather aroused, something that he had become skillful in willing away, but he had little trouble waiting. In Bilbo's experience, the longer he waited the better the eventual release would feel. He dipped down and cleaned his hand on the tall grasses around the shed, the evidence of their deed sliding down the green blades to be hidden. No one would be the wiser as long as Thorin managed to pull himself back together for the remainder of the party.

Bilbo helped the king straighten his clothes and stole kisses. By the time Thorin was ready to go and they slipped back into the sweltering heat of the tent the song was nearly over and already there were hobbit's clambering and clapping for the band.

Bilbo and Thorin took their seats once more and pretended as if they hadn't just had a quickie while everyone was distracted. For once it was Thorin who was better behaved, being temporarily satisfied by the sudden coupling, and Bilbo's hand rested high up on the dwarf's thigh and rubbed lazy circles with his thumb.

The dwarf allowed the touch, sated enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about a burgeoning erection too soon. But as the night wore on and the cake was cut and served, Thorin could feel a blooming heat spread in his lower abdomen. Breath hitching, Thorin slipped his hand under the table and grabbed his lover’s delicate wrist.

“If you wish for me to behave and make nice with your kin for much longer, you had best stop that,” he muttered, something terribly desperate entering his tone. He wanted to make this night perfect for Bilbo, and he had already selfishly indulged once. The rest of their evening would be about Bilbo, as it was meant to be.

Firmly, he lifted Bilbo’s hand and put it back down on his knee, keeping it a safe distance from where he wanted the gentle touch most, but still maintaining the contact. Even if they finished their dessert now, it would be well over an hour more before they would leave to Bag End, what with how many people they would have to speak to and thank and bid farewell to before they could disappear and revel in their marital bliss.

Bilbo pouted before he began to dig into the cake that was set in front of them. A few tinkling glasses every now and again signaled for a kiss. The first few times Bilbo had gone in, the king was clearly perplexed but allowed the kisses anyway, chaste for the sake of the partygoers, and between these prompted kisses Bilbo explained the tradition. "So yes, we are basically at their whim on this. Whenever someone decides—” He was cut off as Otho began instantly chinking his glass with his fork, the rest of the partygoers followed suit, and Bilbo and Thorin's lips met again, smiles on each of their faces.

It went this way through the night, a few speeches being made by Bilbo's kin, all very short and to the point. All concerned the happiness they wished and empty threats should Bilbo ever be broken hearted (if only they knew), and as it was all in good humor the room would have their laughs and chuckles.

Finally the night was ending and it was time to depart for home. Thorin was clearly itching to leave, as it had been nearly two hours since their stolen moment behind the garden shed. As they bid farewell for a final time, a shower of flower petals and bird-seed being flung haphazardly at them, they started the walk back to Bag End.

As they walked back in silence, something thick thrumming between them, Thorin ached for some form of contact. Before he could talk himself out of it, he was sliding his hand around Bilbo’s. It was awkward, being the first time he’d ever thought to hold his lover’s hand while they walked, but he was a love-drunk newlywed, and he needed to feel the heat of his husband’s palm to ground him to this world. If this was silly, or childish, something reserved for tweens, Thorin cared not.

He was more relaxed than he had ever been in his life, more at peace than he’d ever hoped to be, and if he wanted to hold his One’s hand as they walked home to enjoy their honeymoon, then he would do just that. Whether this continued was entirely up to Bilbo and their state of mind in the cold light of sobriety. Already, the dwarf was feeling a bit jittery, especially when Bilbo tensed slightly in Thorin’s loose grip.

Bilbo flinched slightly at the pressure enveloping his hand, but when he settled his gaze on the king who was looking resolutely ahead of them with the slightest tint of pink to his cheeks, Bilbo thought he would melt to the ground. He squeezed Thorin's hand reassuringly, going so far as to loop his other arm around Thorin's and embrace him in that way as they approached Bag End.

The Gamgee's had offered to take care of Frodo for the next week, so the house was thankfully vacant when they pushed into the hobbit hole and were instantly tangled around each other. Lips seeking, hands roaming, and they had just managed to shut the door behind them when Thorin pinned Bilbo to it and their starved kisses began.

Thorin groaned into the soft wet mouth against his, leaning down heavily against his One as he lost himself to the kiss. He wasn’t even sure who initiated the embrace, who had been the first to tug the other, or if they had both pulled each other close at the same moment. All the dwarf knew was that they would need to get to the bedroom soon or risk making love against the front door.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, panting and heavy-lidded, and began to divest himself right there in the foyer. Thorin could feel his lover’s hungry eyes on him as more and more of his skin was revealed, and it sent gooseflesh down the dwarf’s spine.

Bilbo was barely containing his desperation as he pressed a single hand to Thorin's chest and began guiding him back to the bed room. The kiss alone had Bilbo's cheeks and chin scraped red from Thorin's beard, and the look in his eyes was positively predatory.

Thorin and Bilbo had walked out of their clothes in full by the time they reached the bedroom, and were once again entangled with each other. Bilbo chuckled darkly as he tugged on Thorin’s lower lip teasingly with his teeth, a move that pulled the most deliciously helpless and needy whimper from his husband. He playfully shoved the dwarf down onto the mattress, his body supported from the waist up while everything from the hips down was at gravity’s mercy. Bilbo easily stood between Thorin's legs and stared down at his lover, marveling at the pretty blush that had rose to some of the more sensitive areas of the king’s skin.

The dwarf looked up at Bilbo, hunger churning in his gut as he took in their position. The feeling of those smooth, milky thighs brushing against the insides of his own had electricity tingling through his nerve endings. The need to be taken by his hobbit had a terribly soft sound spilling from his throat and his entrance fluttering in anticipation. This was Bilbo’s night, and by all rights he should be the one taking the reins.

So Thorin would let him. With his decision made, no matter how selfless it actually was, Thorin scooted backward on the bed. His eyes never left his lover’s, especially as he laid back on the mattress and spread his legs wide, exposing himself completely to Bilbo’s eyes. The submission was an instant relief, and tension he hadn’t known was there instantly whooshed out of him with a sigh.

The hobbit's breath hitched in his throat and he felt something profound wash through him. It was glorious, the sight of his love spread out on the bed and just begging to be taken. He begged without words, with merely his body open and prepared for Bilbo to take control, and with a gentle growl the hobbit surged forward to do just that.

He was on his knees between the dwarf's thighs, his hands traveling slowly up from Thorin's knees to his muscular thighs. He teased the deep V of the dwarf's pelvis, his thumbs tracing along and pulling mewls of pleasure from the king. It was heady, this control over a being so very powerful.

"You're sure this is what you want?" Bilbo asked quietly, his tone soft and soothing as he dragged his nails down Thorin's sides to tantalize his flesh.

“Yes,” Thorin sighed, nodding quickly and desperately. With a thick swallow, the king tipped his head back and bared his throat in further submission. He was so unaccustomed to this feeling of total surrender, yet it filled him with such undeniable lust and need that he had to shut his eyes momentarily to regain his composure lest he start whining and rutting into thin air. With a full-body shiver, Thorin relaxed fully against the bed, arms above his head as he waited for Bilbo’s direction.

Bilbo took in a deep calming breath through his nose, his lips pursing as he forced himself to restraint. Bilbo dipped close then, lying flat across the expanse of Thorin's body. With their height difference, Bilbo found his knees pressed to Thorin's thighs and the halfling’s ready and eager erection twitched against the king’s belly. With every little movement Thorin would jolt beneath him, little tremors that had Bilbo humming and groaning appreciatively.

He ran his tongue along Thorin's neck, lathing in wide circles before he would suckle the wetted flesh. His lover’s skin was salted and slick with sweat and the flavor drove the hobbit to nip at Thorin's skin. His teeth scrapped over the thick skin and had the dwarf shuddering beneath him as Bilbo slowly rutted against him, something deliberately slow and teasing.

Thorin shuddered beneath his lover, eyes rolling back and hips shifting upward but meeting no source of useful friction. Quiet sounds were rising in his throat as his Bilbo’s teasing became almost unbearable, the desperation that pounded through him becoming too strong to ignore. He was fighting the urge to cling, knowing how easy it would be to overpower the hobbit and take back the control he had given, but as he laid back and took what Bilbo gave him, Thorin knew it wouldn’t be enough for long. With a twist of hot arousal, the king wondered if the halfling expected him to beg for more.

Bilbo had learned many things about dwarves, specifically their hunger for bedsport, in all of his time with Thorin. He was testing these new waters that Thorin so eagerly allowed him to enter. Bilbo knew he could outlast the king in his control, without a doubt in his mind, and he could reduce the dwarf to a pleading mess that was at the hobbits whim. What took Thorin a strap of leather tying the hobbit off to achieve—a most beautiful submissive bed partner—Bilbo could achieve with his agonizing control.

His ruts became longer, dragging slowly over the skin as the beads of precome smeared across Thorin's body. When the king growled his frustration and made to move, Bilbo increased his pressure to pin the dwarf beneath him. Both parties knew that Thorin could easily over power Bilbo, but the hobbit was at least appearing to be confident in his ability to pin the dwarf.

"Behave," Bilbo chastised lightly, his voice firm and unyielding.

“Ah,” Thorin gasped, eyes rolling back once again. The assertive pressure against his front, the rocking erection against his stomach, and the commanding tone had the dwarf shuddering and sweating. This was beyond anything he had ever felt. He had been taken, by Bilbo and past lovers alike, but he had never submitted, never took down his walls and allowed another to enter him and control him, tell him what to do. In the rational part of his mind, he was ecstatic that he had saved this for his hobbit. In the less rational part of his mind, he just needed to be f*cked and was slowly working up the courage to beg for it.

“’M sorry,” the dwarf gasped out belatedly when his mind returned to himself. With a playful smirk, he quickly added, “Sir.”

A cat-like grin split Bilbo's face, his tongue darting out to slick his lips as he regarded his lover. His hazel orbs were nearly consumed by the black depths of his pupils, the greens and browns of the earth being absorbed by obsidian.

He pressed himself against that rock hard abdomen once more, containing a growl that threatened to give away too much. "I'm sorry; I don't think I heard you."

Thorin actually moaned outright, his body wracked with shivers, his thighs quivering against Bilbo’s knees. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, louder this time, voice cracking with his need. The dwarf wanted more, needed more than this, and he knew that Bilbo was playing on his lack of control. The hobbit was pushing his limits, and Mahal, if that didn’t have him wanting to prove he could hold out. Though this was taking back some control, Thorin wanted to see how far his hobbit’s dominance would stretch.

Bilbo pushed himself up and away, containing the whimper and swallowing it down from the lack of contact that his burning skin craved. He ran his fingers along his dwarf's length, teasing, tantalizing, purposely moving as slowly as possible to torture his lover into further submission. All the pleasure in the world was Bilbo's to give and he was going to savor this control.

A moan was ripped from Thorin’s throat at the light touch on his co*ck, the barely-there pressure sending shockwaves through his core and exploded through his body. His heated flesh was oversensitive with his arousal and the lack of attention it had been given so far. Hips rocking upward slight, against his will, Thorin groaned out, “Bilbo,” completely forgetting himself in the moment.

"You want more," Bilbo began, swallowing another embarrassingly needy sound before lathing his tongue over his lips to chase the taste of the king. "You'll ask for it."

With his statement finished he pulled the king closer by the hips and leaned over him. Their erections slotted together, a glorious dose of friction that was stilled by Bilbo's firm grip.

Thorin bit his lip savagely as the pressure of his husband’s co*ck pressed into his own, yet he was denied the pleasure of friction. The idea that he could easily surge upward despite the hobbit’s grip on his hips, and yet he didn’t was intoxicating to the dwarf. All pretense of holding back was shoved from his mind, no longer wanting to prove anything to Bilbo except that he could be pliant and perfect.

“Please,” he said, loud enough to be clear, though his voice shook with the force of holding back an undignified whine.

Bilbo gave the king a small rut as a reward, groaning appreciatively at the sparks it had flying through his body. The dwarf shuddered at the light touch and the hobbit had never been so pleased with such little ministrations.

"Please what? You'll have to be more specific, darling," Bilbo goaded, his voice now deep and husky with his own rising need.

“I want—” Thorin swallowed thickly as his One gave him another slow rut, and he released a shuddering moan at the fire it set in his gut. His fingers twitched above his head, twisting in the pillows as he held back from grabbing his lover.

“I need you,” he said, though he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself that he had indeed whined out the words.

Bilbo grinned and leaned over to the bedside. They had made a habit of leaving the flagon of oil out since their intimate reunion, and now it was always within reach. Bilbo took the flask in hand and uncorked it, making a show of slowly streaming the velvety liquid along his length and then Thorin’s. He palmed his erection as he dipped his hand down, into the cleft of the king’s arse. The oil was sliding ever down, to wet the dwarf’s entrance before reaching the sheets. Bilbo gently teased the tight, puckered hole with his forefinger.

"I need you too, Meleth nin..." he cooed, the elvish slipping past his lips accidentally. He had been careful (especially with Frodo) not to let his learned tongue slip since the dwarves had been at his home, but the words were so beautiful and he had never had anyone to dedicate them to. It was a subconscious slip of the tongue, but it felt so good say none the less.

The teasing pressure at his entrance had Thorin shuddering, but the elvish words that poured from his hobbit’s lips had his heart stopping for a moment. It was odd, and he should hate that Bilbo spoke the language so fluidly, but there was an obvious throb in his nether regions, his co*ck bobbing against his stomach. Heat was spiking through him, even if he did not know the meaning to the words (his grasp on Sindarin was rudimentary at best, and he had never heard an elf speak those particular words around or to him).

“Please,” he whispered again, rolling his hips downward, trying to take Bilbo’s finger into himself.

Bilbo breached his lover slowly with his slender digit, no warning besides the slight exhale before he began his ministrations. He probed lightly, his tapered finger pumping in and out, occasionally brushing that buried sweet spot with the lightest pressure possible. He was stretching his lover slowly, only sliding another finger in when Thorin had grown accustomed to the first.

Thorin jolted and shut his eyes every time his One brushed his prostate, a gasp bursting from his lips each time. The exhalation was always followed by a drawn out moan as the slow invasion into his body continued. He was writhing with his want, subconsciously drawing his knees up, feet flat on the bed, to expose himself to his One’s eyes even further. The dwarf wanted more, but gods, the preparation was so delicious and tender, and if the hobbit wished to take his time, Thorin would gladly let him.

It only took a few minutes for Bilbo to have three fingers imbedded in his lover’s core. The hobbit's co*ck gave a mighty throb, and the halfling only needed to lock eyes with his lover for an instant to know the time was right. He carefully drew his fingers out before he grasped his shaft and guided it down between those muscular globes of flesh. Thorin's entrance fluttered delicately as Bilbo pressed the engorged head of his ready co*ck to it. With another little sound of affirmation from his lover Bilbo began to slowly delve into the tight, hot furnace of Thorin Oakenshield's core.

Bilbo resisted any and all urges to slam forward, his muscles twitching as he bridled his burning need and held it at bay. It was slow, centimeter by centimeter as Thorin adjusted. When Bilbo finally bottomed out, deep inside his husband, he allowed a telling shudder to wrack his frame. Thorin was in his lap and Bilbo held him by the thighs. The hobbit kept his legs tucked neatly under his body as he allowed one hand to wander up to Thorin's achingly hard prick. "Tell me when."

“Now Bilbo, please,” Thorin sighed, the intense pleasure of fullness washing over him even as a burning ache settled into the rim of his entrance. His insides clenched around the length in his core, pulling a moan from him as he shifted his hips downward. They both needed movement and friction, and Thorin was no longer above pleading for it. “Move, please.”

Bilbo complied instantly, drawing halfway out of his lover before sinking back in with a groan. Thorin was always so tight and searing with his heat. It was more than intoxicating, it was nearly lethal in its pleasure. Bilbo started a slow and steady rhythm, pumping in and out as his hand kept pace. He worked each source of pleasure in tandem, with the exception of occasionally grazing Thorin's prostate or gliding his thumb over the dwarf's co*ck to smear the beaded precome.

"Please, who?" Bilbo finally ground out with a smirk.

Thorin’s mouth fell open with mute pleasure, back arching as the inferno in his gut was fanned by the steady pace into his body. The hand on his co*ck was exceedingly distracting as he tried to muddle his way through Bilbo’s words. Toes curling into the duvet as his One nailed his prostate with deadly precision, the dwarf whimpered, “Please, sir. f*ck—”

"With pleasure," Bilbo replied cheekily as he snapped his hips forward in reward, the pressure put on that hidden pleasure center sure to be blinding. A gust of laughter passed Bilbo's lips as he reveled in this delicious power he held over his lover, his body beginning to rise into the clouds of bliss that were always present with his dwarf. With the increase in pace, he had picked up force as well, panting breaths escaping him as he worked hard for his lover.

"Say it again, I love it when you say things like that," Bilbo groaned, realizing belatedly that he was beginning to babble and his control was slowly slipping away,

“Please, sir!” Thorin complied immediately, lifting his hands to Bilbo’s shoulders, trying to ground himself as the stroking hand on his co*ck and the rod in his core brought him closer and closer to his messy ruin. He was making weak thrusts down to meet his lover, the shifting movements completely out of his control. “f*ck me, sir. Please!”

At this point his voice had taken on a life of its own, babbling mantras of ‘please, please, please’ and ‘f*ck me, harder, please’ as Bilbo pegged the bundle of nerves inside him with all the force put behind each thrust. Thorin’s fingers clenched with bruising strength on the hobbit’s shoulders, forgetting himself and his strength as his release surged forward. He wasn’t ready for this exquisite torture to end, and he locked his body up in an attempt to hold himself back.

“Close—f*ck, I don’t know if I can—”

"Then don't," Bilbo cut him off as he ripped his free hand from where it hand been digging into Thorin's hip. He reached for his lover, catching the dwarf by his mess raven locks and tugging him upward. Bilbo met him halfway for a desperate kiss, lips sloppy and searing as his tongue f*cked into Thorin's mouth just as shamelessly as the rest of him. "I've got you, darling, come for me."

The sound that was ripped from Thorin’s throat as he came was close to a scream, strangled as it was by the effort to keep it in. Hot spurts of molten cum splashed across his abdomen and chest, dewing the thick pelt of coarse hair and tattooed scars. As he came back down from his high, he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his hand down to cup one of Bilbo’s arsecheeks when he felt his husband begin to pull out.

“Don’t stop, Bilbo, please! Use me,” the dwarf whined against his lover’s lips, the sound needy and shattered as his oversensitive body was plundered still. “Please!”

Bilbo hadn't worked so hard in so long. Though it had only been two years, chasing around Shireling's was not nearly as through a workout as trekking across the whole of middle earth.

He kissed Thorin in turn, allowing the dwarf to devour his lips, the scrape of his beard delicious against his skin. "Calm," Bilbo nearly begged of Thorin, his muscles screaming and his loins aching. He wasn't sure what would hurt more, the release or when his muscles finally gave out afterward, but he wasn't entirely willing to find out. "Calm, my love, I...oh Mahal, that was..."

“Please, come inside me,” Thorin begged, even as his own body began to fail him, his arms falling away from Bilbo’s shoulders. Exhaustion was wrapping him in a thick, hazy blanket and he was having a difficult time staying conscious. His stomach was so full of delicious food and the touch of alcohol in his system had him feeling fuzzy and sleepy. The adrenaline of need and sex was wearing off, but he was desperate to feel Bilbo spend deep inside him. “Please, Bilbo, I need it.”

Bilbo gave a few half-hearted thrusts into his lover, but his release continued to elude him. With a sigh he resigned himself to his unsatisfied fate, though he was more than pleased with his performance. Thorin was painted with his own seed and evidence of a job well done, and that was more than enough to put the hobbit's mind at ease.

"Not my night it seems," he replied quietly as he withdrew slowly, his co*ck still defiantly twitching even as he willed his arousal away. He flopped to the side of his dwarf, instantly snuggling in close to his lover’s warmth with a contented sigh as he peppered Thorin's cheek and neck with apologetic kisses. With a soft, sleepy voice he whispered, "I'm sorry love."

The dwarf let out a weak sob of protest, but with the evidence of his satiation splattered across his front and his husband pressing up along his side and snuggling in, Thorin couldn’t find the strength to argue.

“You keep making things about me,” Thorin murmured tiredly and somewhat guiltily, his blinks growing slower as sleep began to take him. He had come twice this night, and Bilbo hadn’t, not even once. At this thought, the king began to struggle to find the energy to take care of his One, though his limbs were jelly and his torso heavy with his exhaustion. “This was meant to be a gift for you.”

"And it was a wonderful gift," Bilbo replied firmly, the smile that tugged his lips adding warmth to his words. "It's not every day someone gets to take a king." Bilbo placed a few more kisses on Thorin's neck, lazy and slow with the sleep that was creeping up.

"No more fussing now. Your husband is sleepy." Bilbo's tone was light, his lips still brushing across the dwarf's skin with his murmured words.

“Mm, ‘night,” Thorin murmured noncommittally, still vaguely upset but too tired to properly remember why. As his eyes shut, somewhere in his mind he knew he had to wash, and that blankets would be nice, but the world was quickly melting away and he hadn’t the real desire to rouse himself to move.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Their week in Bag End was one of the greatest times in Bilbo's life, and the memories of their peaceful morning and heated nights would forever bring comfort to him on gloomy days. Together, the king and his consort bonded in ways they would not have been able without the afforded privacy of the Gamgees caring for Frodo.

Many days they would spend quietly enough, laughing and enjoying each other’s company while Bilbo tended his garden or simply sitting in comfortable silence. They would cuddle up on the floor before the fire place at night and share in glasses of wine, sharing their deepest secrets and confided their darkest thoughts. At midweek, after calling an early night for the sake of their lust to be played out in the bedroom, they spent the entire night in each other’s arms naked as the day they were born, just talking until the first light of dawn bathed their bedroom. As it was already said; it was one of the greatest times in Bilbo's life.

Now their week was drawing to a close and they were soon to leave for Erebor. It was their last full day alone in the Baggins smial, with Frodo to be brought home by the Gamgees and Dwalin returning from the inn all the next night. They would do their packing and go over their plans once more the day after, and then the day after that they would be departing from the Shire.

As the weight of that reality began weighing on Bilbo, now that it was no longer just a distant dream, he found himself in a dreadful state. Bag End was home. His home. He had been born and raised in this hobbit hole that was so well and meticulously built by his father's hands, and now he was leaving it. He had the deed for the home ready to hand over to those he saw fit to care for it in his indefinite absence; the Gamgees had far too many little ones and Bag End would do well filled with the laughter and patter feet of children.

Bilbo wandered the halls of Bag End, fingers gliding along the curved walls as if they held an energy of their own. In a way they did; these walls had seen him take his first steps and utter his first words, had seen his mother and father dancing on their anniversary, and had seen Bilbo's first stolen kiss when his parents weren't looking. These walls had seen Bilbo's parents take their final breaths, and had kept Bilbo company when he filled them in solitude. They had seen a company of dwarves barge in and make it home for a single night, had seen Bilbo scamper out his door for an adventure, had waited patiently for his return, had given an orphaned boy a new comfort and the word home once more. Most of all and most recent, this home of Bilbo's, the home of the Bagginses of Bag End, had seen love rekindled and nurtured.

Tears stung the halfling's eyes and he paused in an archway, the pads of his fingertips appreciating his father’s excellent handiwork as well as the memories that carved wood held. He would miss his home dearly, more than he could have fathomed when he first accepted the offer to leave, but he knew where his home was now; in the arms of his beloved.

Thorin leaned against the door frame of the master, watching his husband patter about the halls. This day had started out with a touch of melancholy, Bilbo having seemingly woken up surrounded by nostalgia. The dwarf let him have his privacy, or as much as he could have, knowing that leaving one’s home was never easy. In a way, it was easier having your childhood home taken; to leave willingly was to take it upon yourself to let things go for the hope of something better.

Now, as the sky darkened outside, Thorin decided it was time to draw his lover out of his down mood, not wishing to see him with barely restrained tears any longer.

“Love,” Thorin said softly, smiling warmly when hazel eyes met his. He pushed away from the doorframe, standing straight and holding out his arms in silent offering. “Will you be alright?”

With a barely contained whimper Bilbo gladly flung himself into those arms, fingers curling into the dwarf's blue tunic as he buried his face.

"As long as I'm with you," he replied, his words muffled by the soft fabric and rock hard chest beneath. It was a difficult reality to face. He thought he would pass away in Bag End just as his parents, that Frodo would inherit his beautiful home, but they were destined for mountain halls and fresh mountain air; a new life full of promise. He could not dwell on this loss, but at this moment in time it was too great a burden to bear. "As long as I'm with you, I will be alright."

“Do you need a few more days here?” Thorin asked, voice soothing as he rubbed his large hands up and down the hobbit’s back. The man was shaking, ever so slightly, and the dwarf knew he was trying to regain some of his composure. Lowering his lips to Bilbo’s curls, the king whispered, “We can spare perhaps another week, if you would like?”

The hobbit shook his head and turned his gaze up to his lovers. The concern on Thorin's face was plain as day and he smiled fondly for his husband, defiant of the tears that still pricked his eyes.

"I will not want that week to end either," Bilbo said with a chuckle, the sound awkward and heavy with his emotions. He shook his head once more, his honey curls bouncing. "No, no. It will not matter when we leave, it shall hurt all the same. I've never been one for goodbyes."

Bilbo turned in Thorin's grip, the dwarf's arm like an iron band around his midsection, and hugged it closer to him. "It will hurt, I was expecting that, but it comes with the promise of a home with you in your kingdom. I cannot let such a blessing pass me by because I'm shedding tears over my childhood home."

“If you insist, my love,” Thorin murmured, lowering his mouth to the side of the halfling’s throat, kissing the smooth expanse of flesh there chastely, breathing deep the faint scent of floral soap. Bilbo hadn’t been this dampened in weeks, since the night Thorin had gotten drunk at that blasted party held for him. It wasn’t a mood he wanted to see his hobbit in, ever again if the dwarf could help it. “I only wish for you to be happy. Seeing you like this…I much prefer to see you light and smiling over this heaviness.”

"It'll pass, like all things," Bilbo finally huffed with a sigh as he brought up one hand to scrub at his glassy eyes. He craned his neck and gave Thorin a smile, hoping against all things that it was reassuring. "Thank you for being so patient with me today. I must have been a bother."

Bilbo let his weight fall back against the strong chest that held him up. Thorin's warmth seemed to be the same as a freshly lit hearth; not sweltering and unbearable, just comfortable. The halfling had always thought it was simply an inherent quality of one who spent so long at a forge, as was the smell of metal and charcoal that always seemed to linger on the king.

The dwarf tightened his arms around his lover for a few moments, eyes scanning the silent home around them, and in his heart he knew this would be the last time he would see these halls. In his short time here, Thorin had come to think of this place as comfortable, almost a home for him, and he would miss this place dearly. He had met his One here, and rekindled their love here. They had married here, and he had gained a real family within these round halls.

“Well, Master Baggins,” he began, turning his head to smile lightly against Bilbo’s ear. It seemed time to settle down in their nightly routine, something that was so pleasant that Thorin fully intended to continue it when they reached Erebor. “Would you like to take our wine in the sitting room, or in our bed?”

Bilbo thought on it for a moment before he settled on the bedroom for their evening. Thorin collected the glasses and the wine, and Bilbo had rushed ahead to light a candle at the bedside. He also threw open the bedroom window and let the crisp night air in, the perfume of his garden also drifted in and filled the bedroom chamber. The sweet scent of honey suckle and tiger lilies soaked into the sheets, a sensation that Bilbo found more than enjoyable as he stripped out of his clothes and pushed back the coverlet. Bilbo lay on the bed in naught but his skin, the clean air of the night running over his body and raising gooseflesh in its wake.

When Thorin strode in, two wineglasses and a bottle in hand, he smirked at the sight of his husband on the bed. “Mm, I don’t think I will ever grow tired of this,” he murmured as he put the glasses down on the bedside, leaning over the bed to give Bilbo a long, slow kiss. When he pulled back, he filled each glass, a little liberally if he was honest, but this would be the last night in quite a few weeks that they would be able to enjoy such pleasures as a good bottle of wine.

Once he handed one of the glasses to his lover, the dwarf straightened to pull his tunic up over his head and began untying his trousers. He had forgone his smallclothes that morning when he dress, having grown used to their lifestyle in the past week of sating desires when they had them. Finally bare to the world, the king slid into the soft bed, sidling close to his lover and wrapping an arm around the hobbit’s waist. Thorin left his wine on the bedside for now, simply enjoying the heat of his halfling against his side.

Bilbo sipped politely as he shifted around slightly in Thorin's grasp, pulling himself forward so he could rest with his back against the king's right pectoral. It brought them closer, the king's arm tugging him even closer still as the hobbit relaxed with a gentle hum.

"You've been wonderful to me this past week," Bilbo began, his gaze fixed on the ruby red pool that filled his goblet, "and to Frodo, and all the children. You've been wonderful since you arrived in the Shire."

The halfling turned that gaze now to the king. There was something heavy there, but not with sadness. It was heavy with Bilbo's gratitude and love. "I cannot thank you enough Thorin. You've made me—no, you've made us, Frodo and me, so happy."

“You’ve treated me just as well, my love, if not better,” the dwarf murmured, voice thick with his adoration for the hobbit. This was more than he could have dreamed, something so sweet and pleasant, something so warm. He hadn’t expected forgiveness, and had barely even thought to hope for it. Now here he was with his hobbit back in his arms, and a child he loved as dearly as he loved his own nephews.

“And there is no need to thank me, as you’ve made me far happier than I thought I had deserved,” Thorin said softly, reaching for his wine and taking a gulp of it before looking down at Bilbo with a smile. “You and Frodo, both. I thought I would never have a true family of my own, and after you had left…but now I have you back, and we have Frodo. I love you both.”

Bilbo hummed again before taking another deep swig of his wine. It was a sweeter wine than the others they had indulged in so far, not nearly as dry and sharp on the palette. It was fruity with a few floral notes that was complimented by the perfumed summer breeze. Bilbo swirled the liquid in its chalice, the candle light catching it and making it shine ruby and garnet.

"When we return to Erebor," Bilbo began after clearing his throat. He set his wine on the bedside table next to Thorin's, the twin glasses uneven in the contents they held. "Will the wedding occur shortly after we arrive, or will it be in many months’ time?"

“It will take about a month or so after we arrive for all of the honored guests to show and get settled,” Thorin replied, his thoughts turning to the wedding and bringing a smile to his face. It would be a grand affair, and the consummation…he could feel the thick heat filling his veins at the imaginings of it. The publicity of the act hadn’t been spoken of between them for a long while now, so the king hadn’t a clue as to how Bilbo felt about it now.

The halfling was much more confident now, much bolder if their quickie at the reception of their hobbit wedding was anything to go by, but that had still been private. Even their rowdy lovemaking with the windows wide open wasn’t a stitch on what their reception would be.

“It will be as immediate as possible, in other words,” Thorin continued, sucking in a deep breath as his body reacted to all of his thoughts of lovemaking and dwarvish ceremonies. “And there are courting rituals we are to observe, especially with my high station in dwarven society.”

"Alright then," Bilbo replied, trying his best to sound unshaken. He could recall the ritual that Thorin had spoken on vaguely at Beorn's home those years back, but it was just that; a vague recollection. Thorin had mentioned in passing part of the reason for the hobbit wedding was Frodo would not be able to attend the traditional dwarven ceremony, and for good reason if Bilbo's memories were correct.

"What exactly will be expected of us?" Bilbo asked, his voice dropping down just a touch quieter, as if it were some sort of secret. Truth be told, he was slightly embarrassed to ask and his cheeks were already tinted with a faint, telling blush.

“Before the wedding, we must abstain completely for at least two weeks. The ritual is keeping in mind a union between a male and a female, of course, and is in the interest of making the act of consummation a…fruitful one,” Thorin said thickly, noticing the way Bilbo heated up with a fiery blush from the tips of his ears to almost his toes. With a sigh, he resigned himself to his body’s reaction, only vaguely embarrassed at the way his co*ck slowly filled at the simple thought of the whole thing.

“But the ritual is set, and we must observe it. We will be expected to spend our days together, so there will be no avoiding each other in order to ease the temptation. To keep us honest, we will have chaperones accompanying us at all times. I’m sure you will have no trouble during those two weeks,” the king added with a short chuckle. He knew Dís would be all over being their chaperone, if only to watch him agonize over his One’s closeness with morbid glee. Thorin remembered being her chaperone, and suddenly felt deep regret for how much he had teased her. “The ceremony itself is rather simple. We exchange our vows, and as you are my One, they will be considered everlasting and unbreakable. And then, we consummate the bond.”

Bilbo let the words sink in. A lump had formed in his throat that was resisting the hobbit's attempts to valiantly swallow it down. A beat hadn't been missed in that explanation. It was just as he had recalled.

Make your vows, consummate the bond.

It had that light blush flooding the rest of his features and spreading down to his neck and chest. "And...this is before witnesses if I recall?" Bilbo asked hesitantly, looking up to his husband through thick copper lashes, his hazel orbs slowly being consumed by the darkness of his pupils.

“Aye,” Thorin said, clearing his throat as his voice came out hoarse and scratchy. There was something dark and desirable about claiming his One so publically, and he damned himself for being affected so. Despite his new-found boldness, Bilbo was still a modest creature. He decided not to sugarcoat the magnitude of this crowd they would have as he continued, “In front of all those invited, and since I am King Under the Mountain, most of my kingdom will be in attendance, as well as key special guests. Meaning, the elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell, as well as the Men from Dale and Lake-town.”

Bilbo thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would be able to handle Thorin's people watching him. They were all dwarves, it was their culture, they would be able to appreciate it in a way. But when Thorin mentioned the elves...Bilbo's mind was flooded with Arwen's aghast expression, then Legolas'. He thought he would surely die of embarrassment, and he hoped against all that was good and green in this earth that Eru would have mercy and he would not be in his dearest elven friend’s line of sight. He had shared much with Legolas and they were exceptionally close for two of such varied breeding, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle looking the silver-haired prince in the eye when he was being debauched in front of hundreds, potentially thousands.

"I-I see..." Bilbo fanned himself quickly, his eyes wide as he focused on the ceiling. In his head was a mantra of ‘keep calm, relax, everything will be alright’, but the hobbit looked just the opposite. Finally Bilbo managed to stutter out, "H-How will you take me?"

“There is no rule on this, but the usual way is from behind,” Thorin said, swallowing hard around a lump in his throat. Shame filled him at how aroused he was with talking about this when his lover was so clearly distressed. “You have to understand, this is a custom almost always fulfilled between dwarves. We aren’t generally hindered by modesty or anything of the like, so most revel in facing their guests.”

There was a long pause before Thorin rolled over, slipping between Bilbo’s legs and pressing a warm, wet kiss into the hobbit’s lips. “But I will take you like this, if you would prefer. I know how you love to be held and kissed as I claim you,” he whispered soothingly, moving his teasing lips to the halfling’s throat. “You needn’t even see the crowd. If you would like, you can indulge in some Old Toby before the ceremony even.”

"Now I won't have you coddling me," Bilbo reprimanded lightly. He thought the idea was capital, he was all on board with the bit about Old Toby, but he would rather not be inebriated for their wedding ceremony. No, he had made his decision and he was sticking with it.

"You can position me as you see fit that day, darling, do not fret. If it is a tradition to be heeded then, by Eru, it'll be heeded. And as for the Old Toby," he cut himself off, sealing their lips together with a frustrated sigh as he cemented that stance in his mind as well. "I won't be off my arse for our ceremony."

“I don’t mean to coddle, and I don’t think you weak by suggesting a more modest position,” Thorin said soothingly, running his hands up and down his lover’s sides. He pressed in closer to Bilbo, his growing erection sliding against the hobbit’s inner thigh and smearing precome in its wake. “I prefer seeing your face when we make love, but if you would like a true, proper dwarven wedding, then I will happily oblige.”

Bilbo's lips quirk up in a smile and he hated to admit it but his heart skipped a beat at Thorin's confession. After all they indulged in, the littlest words and actions could have him blushing like a maiden. Bilbo didn't entirely mind, but he was worried one day Thorin would begin to tease him for such silly notions.

Bilbo wrapped his arms up around Thorin's neck, not missing the heat and clear desire in his last few words as he pulled the king down to him. "A proper dwarven wedding? You find the idea of me on my hands and knees for the world to see, begging for it, appealing?” he teased.

“Yes,” the king admitted reluctantly, heat spiking through him at the mere description of such an act. His mouth was on Bilbo’s, desperate and hungry as he licked into the hobbit’s mouth. Thorin slung a leg over his One’s, humping lightly against the plump thigh was somewhat straddling now. He pulled back and confessed, “To have you beneath me and writhing, crying out for me, and only me, in front of my kingdom…it has been a fantasy I’ve entertained since the first time you braided my hair.”

That had Bilbo eager and ready to please. He moaned, the sound broken and strained as he shut his eyes and heat flared in his belly. He knew that blush must have returned, but the friction against his leg and Thorin's adamant confession seemed so dirty, private. It was something that, had the circ*mstance been different, would've been an entirely inappropriate glimpse into the dwarf's mind. It spoke to Thorin's nature, spoke to the person he was, and though Bilbo knew he would be endlessly embarrassed and probably never be able to look some of his friends in the eyes again, he could not find it in him to begrudge his husband.

"So....It would make you happy if I indulged this fantasy?" Bilbo asked hesitantly. He still hadn't managed to chase away the flush that had spread from his cheeks to his chest and up to the tips of his ears. "I would you know. For you. Only ever for you."

Thorin groaned, pressing another hard kiss against his lover’s mouth, the heat of Bilbo’s blush sending want careening through him. The fact that the hobbit was so mortified by the idea, yet still aroused and willing; it had the dwarf’s blood boiling with desire and his heart stuttering with overwhelming affection.

“I would be incredibly happy,” he forced out, part of him wanting to keep it in and insist they have each other more modestly, but he could no longer hide his true wishes. If Bilbo would give him this, he would take it. If the day of the wedding came and Bilbo changed his mind, Thorin would let his fantasy go.

"That settles it then." The hobbit left it at that as he pushed up onto his elbows and sealed their mouths together. Thinking about it would only make him more nervous, so he forced it out of his mind and focused on Thorin; his scent, his taste, the feeling of his skin. It wiped his mind of the things that worried him, or caused anxieties to bubble up inside.

The hobbit swept his tongue over the seam of Thorin's lips and took advantage of the king's needy groan. His tongue sank into to the intoxicatingly warm and wet cavern. He stroked his way through Thorin's mouth with his tongue, exploring all over again, memorizing each texture and taste as if they were they world’s best kept secrets.

The king gave the hobbit control of the kiss, sighing into the soft mouth and invading tongue, flicking his own against the slick appendage. Thorin was back to rutting against Bilbo’s milky thigh, wondering on what other fantasies his lover would happily oblige if asked. His co*ck throbbing at just the thought of some of the things Bilbo might agree to.

“I need—” Thorin began, but never finished as he whined against his One’s mouth, unsure of what it was that he needed. It seemed just as simple as that. He needed. There was no better word to describe his desperation, and if this was the last time they would be able to make love until they reached Rivendell, he wanted anything and everything his lover would give him.

"What is it you need, love?" Bilbo nearly growled with his lips still so thoroughly pressed to Thorin's. The heat was rising, preparing to crackle and snap with the kind of electricity only they could share. When he felt the king rock down against his leg again he pushed it up to meet him, the supple flesh grinding intimately against the heavy co*ck that was taking it's pleasure where it could get it. Precome smeared liberally and left a glassy trail against his flesh.

"I'll do anything for you Thorin," Bilbo reaffirmed as he rocked back against his lover again, his thigh pressing insistently against the weeping erection.

“Anything,” Thorin groaned, heart pounding in his chest as his lover’s voice got deeper with a matching arousal. How he was able to turn this gentle creature into something so wanton and even commanding at times, was something he would treasure, even as it destroyed his ability to think and would have him quivering with the aftershocks of his release for hours. It was becoming an addiction, this bold side of his One that only came out in the absolute privacy of their bedroom.

“I want so much, I just need you,” he gasped out eventually, eyes rolling back as the halfling began moving his thigh up against his co*ck in earnest, not giving him a moments rest between the jolts of thick pleasure that wracked his body on each grind downward.

Bilbo grinned as he watched Thorin's barricade of regality, something that the halfling had come to accept was an air he was born with, began to crumble. The king would reduce to a whimpering, pleading mass of nerves and pleasure, and it had the same effect on the halfling as a heady wine. It was consuming and delicious and Bilbo craved it more than he liked to admit.

"Well, I know what I would very much enjoy." Bilbo's voice was still edged with his predatory growl but he was nearly purring as his hands stroked their way up Thorin's sides. The hard lines of the dwarf's strong abdominal muscles twitched under his feather-light touch and left goose-flesh rising in its wake. "It's been a few days since you've ridden me."

Thorin’s hips stuttered against Bilbo’s thigh as he choked on a gasp, eyes screwing shut at the growl in Bilbo’s voice. The dwarf knew this sight was shameful, how wanton and broken he already was, how close he was to just sinking down onto Bilbo’s co*ck, how disastrous this submission would be if the wrong people learned of it. But in their bedroom, where no one else was permitted and where secrets can be made and kept, he gladly gave over all control of himself. The king was nodding, letting out a loud huff that vaguely sounded like the word “yes” before he was lifting up on his knees and reaching for the oil on the bedside and almost knocking over their wine in his haste.

“Do you…?” he began to ask, holding the flask of oil in his hand between them, his entrance already feeling too empty and needy. This part of their bedsport was still on the foreign side, and Thorin didn’t know what his lover liked in this respect yet. He didn’t know if Bilbo enjoyed the act of preparing Thorin, or if he just preferred to watch his husband open himself up on his own. Before waiting for an answer, Thorin was slicking his own fingers and reaching behind himself, a fingertip sliding into his hole and just barely teasing the rim, pulling a low sound from Thorin’s chest.

Bilbo captured the oil before Thorin had a chance to discard it and mimicked his actions. While they rarely made love in this way, Bilbo knew he appreciated the care and attention Thorin would afford him were it the other way around. Yet the king had begun his work and Bilbo was entranced. It was a sight he would never tire of; Thorin so lost in his pleasure that he actually forgot to school his features. There was no mask of control when they spent their time alone, and Bilbo was grateful for it.

The halfling slicked his fingers adequately and sat up in the bed. With his free hand he readjusted the pillows to support him as his lubricated fingers worked their way between the king’s thighs. Bilbo teasingly brushed at the heavy sac that hung between the dwarf's legs, pausing on his journey to tenderly massage the dwarf's perineum, before his fingers reached their destination.

He joined Thorin's tentative preparations and when the dwarf made a move to withdraw his hand, Bilbo grasped his fingers and pressed them back to his tight, puckered hole.

"Together," Bilbo said, his voice quiet and yet undeniably firm as he pressed his slender digit beside Thorin's.

The dwarf shuddered and nodded, returning his fingers to their work inside his body, now up to two of them. The added pressure of his lover’s fingers against his tight rim was intoxicating, just the feel of Bilbo’s skin on his setting him aflame. Before long, he was impaled on the girth of their six fingers, stretched and panting as he writhed back against the burn of it. Thorin’s free hand was reaching over Bilbo’s head and gripping the headboard tightly, knuckles white with the effort it took to keep himself upright and sane.

Suddenly, the devilish halfling beneath him crooked his little fingers and nailed his prostate, pulling something dangerously close to a scream from the king. He was removing his fingers—though Bilbo kept his in place and continued to f*ck his digits up into Thorin’s willing body—and scrambling to grab the oil again. This time he did knock the wine off the table, the glass bottle shattering against the floor, but you could hardly blame the dwarf, seeing as he had a hobbit three—now four fingers deep in his arse and pegging his prostate mercilessly while he fumbled with the cork on the oil.

“You’re terrible,” Thorin almost whined as he spilled most of the oil on his husband’s stomach in his attempt to slick the hobbit’s prick.

The grin that split the halfling's face was feral, something dangerous glinting in his eyes that spoke of his Tookish nature. Damn the wine and his hardwood floors, he had Thorin so desperate to be filled the king was making a proper mess. "You really think that?"

The halfling chuckled lightly at the king’s garbled attempt at an answer before it was cut short by another embarrassing moan. Bilbo thought it was the most wonderful sound in the world. "If this is what it means to be terrible than please, by all means, call me a villain, darling."

Another gurgling moan broke from Thorin’s throat as he ran his hand through the mess on Bilbo’s stomach, collecting some oil before stroking the hobbit’s co*ck. That seemed to take the smug look off of the halfling’s face, if only for a moment, and it helped Thorin calm his desperate movements before he hurt one or both of them in his haste. Taking a deep breath, he moved to lift himself off of the hobbit’s fingers, only for Bilbo to follow the movement, keeping his fingertips pressed firmly against the dwarf’s sensitive pleasure center. The wide grin on Bilbo’s face had the king choking once again.

“f*ck,” Thorin groaned, the word drawn out as he rutted into the air between them, throwing his head back as his lover began to fingerf*ck him with an enthusiasm he’d never had a chance to exhibit before. The king was lost to it and was eventually thrusting back onto those fingers before he finally reached between his legs and halted those fingers. Eyes on fire with his lust, Thorin met the hobbit’s gaze as he ground out, “f*ck me.”

The hobbit's world snapped. Something internally was cast away with the tension that had been building and there was little hope of getting it back.

With a savage growl Bilbo removed his fingers from his dwarf's core before one hand was on the angular cut of Thorin's hips and the other gripping his own co*ck. He lowered his lover onto his rod, a barely restrained growl constantly thrumming in the back of his throat as his world was slowly consumed with pleasure. He only vaguely realized he was baring his teeth, like some beast, but only had the will power to press his lips into a line and withhold all of his appreciative sounds behind clenched teeth.

Thorin was as he always was; positively intoxicating and entirely too tight. The grip on Bilbo's shaft was almost painful. It was a vice-grip of pleasure that he doubted he would ever fully adjust to. As the dwarf was now seated in his lap, muscular thighs straddling the soft curves of Bilbo's waist in contrast, the hobbit's free hand came to rest Thorin's opposite hip. He massaged the stiff, stony muscle with trembling hands, more for his own sake and keeping his wits about him than anything else. The ministrations had Thorin clenching lightly around him, and the feeling of the dwarf's tight furnace milking him so snuggly had Bilbo's hips bucking without his consent, and his muscles locking up to fight back an embarrassingly all-too-early org*sm.

Both of Thorin’s hands were on the headboard, his breath coming out in hard pants as he adjusted. Mahal, he was just so full, felt so stretched and strung tight around Bilbo’s prick. Since they rekindled their relationship, it always felt as if he would split in half with the pressure of his husband deep in his core, that this was too much and too dangerous, but then Thorin was moving and his fears gave way to new ones; that this was too good, too intoxicating, and far too addictive. When he opened his eyes and found Bilbo’s shocked gaze on him, Thorin knew he had said at least part of his thoughts aloud.

“Need more,” he gasped out, pausing his bouncing and choosing instead to roll his hips in tight circles, trying to find that spot that would have him shouting for his lover. The co*ckhead only barely brushed the hidden pleasure center and Thorin released a sound that could only be called a whimper. He had to stop moving for several long moments, collecting himself and wiping the sweat from his brow. Smirking slightly, he clenched his hole around the halfling’s shaft and immediately burst out with a broken sob and would have fallen over if not for his grip on the headboard.

Bilbo steadied his lover with his sure grip, but his world was reeling and tilting on its axis at the sudden burst of pleasure Thorin sent spiking into his gut. It was utterly delicious and had him nearly delirious for more. The hobbit held the dwarf's hips firm, steadying him and withholding his movements, if only so Bilbo could claw his way back to rightful state of mind. In control; he needed to get it together and be in control.

Bilbo very careful took Thorin's co*ck, which was weeping from neglect, in his hand. The halfling did little to relieve the pressure except squeeze around the middle of the shaft which was arguably more tortuous. Then, without warning, he bucked up into his lover, the force of it rocking Thorin upward. The king's member glided in his grip, echoes of their wedding night and how the king had f*cked with reckless abandon into his grip coming back to them both. Bilbo took a moment to adjust, spreading his thighs a little wider and bending his legs at the knee so his large hobbit feet were planted against the mattress before he bucked into his lover again.

Thorin was babbling and cursing in no time at all, thrusting into the grip on his co*ck and then rolling back onto the co*ck buried deep in his core. The filthy noises of their f*cking filled the room, the air damp with salty humidity as their movements grew faster and harder. The dwarf was whining, head thrown back and teeth biting down on his lower lip as he tried to contain some of his noises. He felt his release cresting, the burning heat of it in his gut searing him and he groaned at it. It always rose overwhelmingly quick when Bilbo was inside him, his quickness to come almost embarrassing, except it seemed to please the hobbit so much.

“Gods, I’m about to come,” Thorin gasped to the ceiling, his voice perhaps a bit louder than he had originally though as it echoed in the room. As their momentum picked up and Bilbo’s co*ck was thrust into his prostate every time, the king fairly begged, “Tell me you’re close, Bilbo. Please, Aulë, I need—!”

"Look at me," Bilbo commanded, the words nearly ripping from his throat in a snarl as he could feel his own release rushing up on him fast. It was only when he had Thorin's watery gaze, those gorgeous blues clouded with lust, that he allowed the sensations of his impending org*sm to continue any further. "I want to see you come for me."

Bilbo’s tone punched through the dwarf and he was coming in thick white stripes across his lover’s abdomen and chest, shouting ‘Bilbo!’ loud enough for all of Hobbiton to hear. His vision whited out as he ground down against his husband’s pelvis, his body clenching and fluttering around Bilbo’s co*ck and pulling whimpers and low growls from his throat. The king continued to move, even as oversensitivity began to overtake him and the pleasure began to take on a painful edge, determined to pull his lover over the edge as well.

When Thorin’s eyes refocused, he found that his eyes were still locked on his lover’s. The need to have Bilbo’s release deep inside him was overwhelming, and it was something he had not received on or since their wedding night. Giving a pleading whine, the dwarf said, “Come, Bilbo. Please.”

The words barely left Thorin's mouth when Bilbo's hips snapped up once more, violently, his eyes screwing shut as heat bloomed across his body and he spent himself within the furnace of his lover. He stuttered up into that wonderful clenching hole that milked him so thoroughly a few more times, a broken moan slipping past his lips with each additional effort before his muscles gave up on him. He collapsed completely into the cradling mattress, his body pliant as if he had been sleeping for days.

He reached up to cup Thorin's face, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "So good," Bilbo murmured between pants, his eyes heavy lidded and still locked on the kings. "So very, very good."

“By the gods, you’re absolutely perfect,” Thorin gushed as he pulled off, wincing slightly before flopping face down on the mattress next to his lover, a tired and sated grin on his lips. Looking over at his lover, he couldn’t help the pleased hum that rumbled through his chest. The hobbit had given him everything he wanted, and even more, and Thorin was once again blinded with relief that he’d come to the Shire to get his One back.

“I would not be opposed to doing that again,” he sighed, almost giddy with his post-coital exhaustion. As far as saying goodbye went, what they had just shared was the perfect way to end their intimacies in Bag End. This was the last time he would entangle so intimately with his lover in this bedroom, the last time he would smell the flowers of Bilbo’s garden on the breeze wafting in and mingling with the scent of their love, and the last time he could scandalize his husband’s gentle neighbors.

Grinning again, he lifted his head to press a kiss to the corner of Bilbo’s mouth before rolling onto his side. “We should get some rest. Dwalin will be back just after first breakfast, no doubt, to start preparing to leave,” he whispered, pulling the hobbit against his chest.

Bilbo wholeheartedly agreed to that suggestion and eager burrowed himself against his king’s side. The last night alone with his lover, and then one night as a family under the bowed roof of Bag End before they left for the mountain. Now however, in the arms of his One and slowly drifting to peaceful sleep, it didn't seem so daunting a task after all. Yes they would say goodbye to Bag End, but they would be saying hello to a new life forever with their newly formed, abstract and perfect little family.

"Get some sleep darling. The dawn is coming."

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

The next few weeks passed quickly enough, but not without some struggle. Their abstinence was lengthened due to Dain taking longer than expected to arrive again, and Thranduil had experienced problems within Mirkwood that made it impossible for him and his guard to leave. Though part of Thorin was frustrated with this, most of him was thankful for it as he had been stressing about the little show Bilbo had put on for him.

Now, with the extra fortnight it took for all of their invitees to arrive, they had had more than enough time of complete abstinence to make their union valid.

It was a tough thing though, and Thorin had to put an end to all physical contact with Bilbo, and even had to take to seating himself several chairs away from him when they supped in their private quarters. In the grand hall though, they had to sit next to each other and the noble dwarves looked on with approval at their king’s control and restraint, even if the effort not to bend his lover over the table and take him right then and there made it almost impossible to eat.

The final days before the ceremony, after his cousin and the Elvenking finally arrived, the dwarf insisted on almost complete isolation from each other. He and Bilbo would only see each other in the morning when they awoke, and at night when the bid each other to sleep well. They ate separately, and Fíli and Kíli did an amazing job of redirecting the intended duo if their paths were about to accidentally cross.

Thorin felt raw, his nerve endings on fire and his gut gnawing at itself no matter how much he fed it. A near-constant fever settled into his body, a low-thrumming arousal always burning. It left him breathless, and it did not matter how much he pleasured himself at night. It refused to go away. There was no reason for him to feel this way, as he had gone far more than three weeks without the touch of his hobbit. Perhaps there was some merit to the rumors of magic in the courting rituals, or perhaps it was just the knowledge of what awaited him after this short period of time.

It wasn’t just the act he anticipated, but what it would mean. That his hobbit would be his lover, his husband and consort, and all would know who his One was. It had him counting down the days and fuming at Dain and the Elvenking, mad that they were taking so long to arrive.

Dís reassured him that it was completely normal, having gone through this when she married her husband. She was incredibly understanding, and promised to explain to Bilbo exactly why Thorin couldn’t see him, and if the king send his hobbit ridiculously romantic letters in apology for the forced isolation, Dís didn’t even tease him.

Finally the day arrived, and Thorin was shrugging on his ceremonial robes. They were white and loose, the trousers billowing around his legs and the tunic held shut by a single sash around the waist. The king was already shifting a bit uncomfortably, as the formal attire left him barefoot for the vows, and he had to smile thinking about how utterly normal that would seem to his lover. The clothing was light and comfortable, easy to get out of when the time came.

It was quite customary for the newly-weds to remain unclothed for the duration of their reception, as it was common for them to go several rounds together. Though Thorin did not have his hopes up for such behavior from his lover, he had made sure to have some funny leaf brought in from Dale, as Bilbo had mentioned the last time they were intimate.

The roughest part of this ceremony would be that they had to walk in together, with their arms hooked. It was yet another test of restraint, and actually something many couples failed. Taking a deep, calming breath, Thorin turned to look at Fíli, who stood with him in his chambers and holding his crown. It would be the only article of clothing the elder dwarf would wear, as he was required to for the entire event.

Taking the crown from his nephew, Thorin put it on and nodded, smiling stiffly at the blond. When he received a similar expression from the young dwarf, they left the room and strode out of the royal wing and waited for his One outside of the throne room.

Back in the royal chambers, Dís and Kíli were helping Bilbo with his outfit. They had had one fitted for him, so it was his proper size, though the elder hobbit seemed to be uncomfortable with his entire legs covered by the flowing, white material. Frodo was further down the royal wing, spending the day and night with the lady Arwen. She was quite happy to watch the little hobbit, and perhaps that aided in Bilbo’s surprisingly relaxed demeanor, considering what was to happen within the hour.

“My brother has asked that you consider wearing this,” Dís said softly, lifting Bilbo’s mithril vest from the bed and holding it out to him, “instead of the traditional wedding garb. It will show how high in regard he holds you, that he would have given you such a gift. It is up to you of course, as he knows how modest you prefer to be.”

To say Bilbo was nervous was the understatement of the century.

He could remember this feeling, the sea-sick churn in his stomach that seemed to make his entire body tingle. However the last time he had experienced such nervousness was when he was facing down the fire drake that once called these halls home and hoard. The hobbit was doing a commendable job of hiding his nerves though, his features schooled to calm; a mirror-like stillness on the surface with a hurricane whipping and roaring underneath it all.

The hobbit accepted the garment with only a moment of hesitation, a wide-range of emotions flickering across his face. This shirt of impenetrable silver links, delicate and deceptive, had been one of the many glittering things that had stolen his dwarf's eyes all those years back. It was in the past, and his lover had passed his test in the treasury, and those were the only reason that Bilbo agreed and was currently being helped into the precious shirt by Kíli.

The archer caught his eyes, a smile on his face though there was a clear understanding there as well. Kíli would not forget either, could recall how Thorin had sunk his teeth into Bilbo's skin and regardless of the hobbit's efforts to hide the injury at the time the evidence of dried scarlet rivulets were left behind on the mithril vest.

With a few final adjustments, the bowman tugged Bilbo into a hug, thumping his hands against the hobbit's back companionably. When Kíli pulled back to regard him, the smile he wore was a mile wide. It was a happy day, that was all that mattered, and the love was palpable.

"How much longer to wait, then?" Bilbo asked as he turned to Dís, a tremor setting into his muscles and refusing to leave. Now that he was within minutes of something he had feared for so long, it was becoming impossible to pretend that he wasn't nervous.

“We can head out there now, if you are ready,” Dís replied, cupping Bilbo’s cheek softly as she gave him a warm smile. She could feel him shaking, and she worried for the man. “Thorin will be waiting for you by now, but he will understand if you need a few more minutes.”

At that, Bilbo shook his head slightly and sucked in a determined breath, his brow furrowed despite the way he shook all the more harder. Dís glanced at her son, and when she received a short nod and a shrug, she led the way out of the room. The halls of Erebor were all but deserted as they made their way to the throne room, so she took some time to explain a few things to the hobbit.

“You will have to walk in together, with Kíli on your other side. You will have to be arm-in-arm as you walk up to the altar, and remain like so throughout the vows,” Dís began, looking down at the hobbit. “It is important that you keep all contact completely chaste for this. Try not to lean into him, if you can. Keep all contact to the crooks of your elbows, and avoid any skin to skin. It will make things easier for Thorin. I would imagine it would make it a bit easier for you as well.”

They were approaching the final corner when she said softly, “When you kiss to seal the vows, be prepared to be toppled immediately. Thorin has a surprising amount of control since being with you, but I don’t expect him to be able to resist after such contact.”

Bilbo sucked in a deep breath as he went over Dís words, a check-list for perfection, over and over again in his mind. Elbows, toppled, chaste, easier for everybody, all swirling around and in line at the same time.

With a final shaky breath as they rounded the corner, Bilbo's heart stuttered in his chest; there stood Thorin Oakenshield, the love of his life, clad as he, only substituting the mithril for his crown. It was odd in every sense, foreign and strange and nothing like Bilbo would have expected for any sort of wedding (besides their bare feet, much to the hobbit's surprise), yet it felt perfect. More so, it felt right.

"Headlong into another adventure, then?" Bilbo asked Thorin hesitantly as Kíli goaded him forward, linking their arms as instructed and keeping the rest of their bodies well apart.

Thorin stiffened noticeably as his lover’s warmth came close and the pressure of Bilbo’s elbow hooked with his. He dipped his head slightly, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he met his One’s eyes. With a strained, but wide smile, he nodded. “I look forward to it,” the king murmured and nodded to Dís.

She opened the doors, pushing them wide and letting them swing the rest of the way. Stepping aside, the dwarven woman let the couple, flanked by her sons, stride into the room. The only sound was the din of a crowd of murmuring voices as the four of them made their way down the aisle, Dís following them, only to take here seat well before they reached the altar.

Ahead of them, before the throne, was a golden altar that rose to about mid-thigh on Thorin, and next to it stood Balin, their officiant. The dwarf had a jolly smile, and nodded approvingly at the couple. The crowd broke out in mad whispers as they realized what exactly Bilbo wore instead of the standard ceremonial tunic, and Thorin could feel the hobbit twitch.

As it was, Thorin was holding his breath and didn’t dare look down at his lover.

The walk across the huge room seemed to take hours, and when they finally stepped up onto the dais and circled around the altar so they were facing the crowd, the king took a deep breath. Finally, he allowed himself to look at his lover and smiled thinly at them.

“Shall we cut to the chase then, your highness?” Balin said, winking at them as he stepped around to the front of the altar and faced them.

“Please,” Thorin replied, surprised by how wrecked his voice already sounded. His tunic was sticking to his back as a sheen of sweat broke out across his shoulder blades, and his breaths came out in pants.

Balin nodded. “Then, speak your vows, your highness.”

Thorin took a deep breath through his nose, calming his mind and his body enough so that he could at least say this without his voice breaking completely. “I, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, claim Bilbo Baggins of the Shire as my lover, my consort, and my One.”

A startled murmur raced through the crowd at the final oath, and many happy coos filled the silence that followed.

The old dwarf nodded with a smile and turned to Bilbo. “And you, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo swallowed hard around the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. His tongue felt heavy and awkward in his mouth, and he was positive his heart was going to hammer itself right out of his chest. When he inhaled deep to take his vows, his lungs stung and his head swam, the attention of every single eye in the room a bit too much for the hobbit. Bilbo would remember to thank every deity he could remember if he made it through this embarrassment from all of this undivided attention alive.

"I-I, Bilbo Baggins, of the Took and Baggins clans, t-take Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, as my lover, my husband, and my One." The room went silent once more, and Bilbo could feel Thorin tense at his side.

The dwarf had been on edge before, but now that tension radiated off of every inch of him, searing with invisible heat that Bilbo wondered if anyone else could feel. The room full of dwarves and elves and men were on the edge of their seats, or so it seemed, and the fiery blush that splashed across Bilbo's cheeks was a fair indication he knew what was coming; ever the modest hobbit, he could still look like a blushing virgin in front of a room full of strangers.

Thorin sucked in a breath as Balin nodded and turned to the crowd that was gathered. “Does anyone here have any reason to object to such a union between Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins?” he asked, his voice booming through the hall.

There was silence, and Thorin found Fíli and Kíli sitting in the front row with the original company, flanked by Bofur and Nori. Kíli was grinning encouragingly, and the blond was smiling and nodding. When only silence met the old dwarf’s words, Balin turned back to them and nodded.

“Well then, your highness, you may kiss your consort and consummate the bond,” he said before stepping down from the dais and taking his seat next to Dwalin in the front row.

Thorin turned toward his husband stiffly, leaning down close so that their breath mingled between them. There was warning and promise in his gaze as he waited for Bilbo to close the space. He would give the hobbit enough time to gather his wits, and a few more moments to prepare himself. They couldn’t back out of this now, not after exchanging their vows, so this was all the king could afford his hobbit.

Bilbo felt oddly stiff as he turned to his lover, the man he had married once already; newly-weds all over again. Not that it was a curse. Perhaps they would be afforded another honeymoon? Doubtful, but a halfling could hope.

The air was thick with tension, but the tight-lipped smile Thorin afforded him spoke to the caged beast within him. He was straining as it was, that much was clear, and as they had begun their relationship all those years ago with a stolen night on the banks of a wild stream, by the light of the stars and watchful gaze of the moon, Thorin waited for Bilbo to close the distance. That thought, in addition to the thousands of eyes on his person, did indeed leave Bilbo feeling very much the blushing virgin.

Bilbo breathed, in through his nose, out through his mouth, rolled his shoulders, and slipped his tongue over his lips. And oh-so slowly stood on tip-toe, aware of every individual in the room with them at this moment, to press his lips tenderly against his husbands for the first time in weeks.

The king snarled and shoved Bilbo back against the altar, one hand tangling in the hobbit’s tawny curls as he deepened the kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, and Thorin was already tearing at the halfling’s trousers, yanking them down before rucking the mithril vest up Bilbo’s torso.

There wasn’t much time for foreplay, the king’s patience wearing far too thin, but he did pause to swipe his thumb across his husband’s nipples before pulling away. They only parted just long enough for the dwarf to pull the vest up over Bilbo’s head, and when they met again, their teeth clacked together and both of their lips split with the force.

Copper flooded Bilbo's mouth and he was sent reeling back once more, leaning heavily against the altar that seemed to end at the jut of Thorin's hips. Bilbo was left breathless and off-kilter from the ferocity of the kiss, the fiery blush sent spreading like wildfire to the tips of his ears and down his neck and chest.

The halfling was vaguely aware of murmurs and a few cheers going up here and there. Bilbo tried to keep the kiss with his husband, his tongue flitting out to work into the dwarf's mouth, but with a snarl and more pressure than was strictly necessary, Thorin made it clear that he had the reins. All Bilbo could do, as the dwarf began tearing away the remains of the clothes between them, was cling to Thorin's shoulder's like a life line.

The hobbit was finally naked against the king, whimpering and shivering in his arms. Thorin growled lowly and pressed his erection into the supple flesh of his lover’s tummy. Sucking in a deep breath, he wrenched away and began working at stripping himself bare and maintaining eye contact with the halfling before he mustered the will and thought process to ask, “Facing me or them?”

Bilbo clung so tightly to Thorin he thought he might fly apart if the king pulled away. The world was tilting on its axis, and though Thorin found the ease of mind to form a coherent thought, be it the nerves or the audience, Bilbo could not. Perhaps it was a combination of the two, along with the absence of the king from his daily life over the past weeks, intimate or otherwise, that had mixed this deadly and thoroughly intoxicating co*cktail of chemicals that pumped through his body and helped him to forget his modesty.

"Your choice," Bilbo whimpered out as he sought Thorin's lips once more, the growl his lover rewarded him with sending the most beautiful tingling sensation through his body.

“I will claim you properly, then,” Thorin rumbled against Bilbo’s mouth, and spun the hobbit so he faced the crowd. Pushing down on the hobbit’s shoulder blades roughly, the man fell forward across the altar and braced himself on his elbows.

There was a bottle of oil next to them, and Thorin had it in his hand and open within seconds. With his fingers slicked and ready with oil, the dwarf pressed the tip of his middle finger against Bilbo’s puckered entrance. He only teased for a moment before pushing in and beginning a strong, determined pumping action with the digit.

Bilbo was staring at a sea of faces, all watching with rapt attention, the din of the crowd murmuring drowned out only by the sound of his own pulse rushing in his ears. He could feel that fiery blush darken impossibly further, a whimper escaping his lips as Thorin teased for those few seconds.

He had only those few precious seconds for doubts to whirl in his mind, doubts that he couldn't really do this with all of these people watching, but when Thorin's thick digit sunk into his tight core his mind went thankfully blank. They had abstained long enough for his body to dearly miss the slight burn of his lover intruding, and his hips jolted backward against his will. His co*ck, half-hard from stage fright and the pressure of cold metal, was sandwiched between his stomach and the golden altar, something that he found himself oddly grateful for.

Thorin couldn’t help the groan that left him as he watch the halfling take his finger so beautifully. Without any warning, he was pressing his second finger in, letting out a shuddering growl as the hobbit almost sucked his fingers into him. Thrusting his fingers in and out, Thorin scissored them and twisted them as he poured more of the oil over his co*ck.

With a growl, he was teasing a third finger into Bilbo’s core, but the halfling had clamped right up. “Relax, Bilbo,” he rumbled, crooking his fingers and pegging his husband’s prostate. “Please, Bilbo, I can’t hold off much longer and I don’t wish to hurt you…”

"Don't hold back," Bilbo panted out, thankful that the roaring in his ears made the room sound preoccupied. "Been so long, don't hold back Th-Thorin, please."

Bilbo pressed his forehead to the altar, the cool metal against his sweat slicked forehead a comfort. His body was indeed clenching down on the king's fingers and it took focus to relax himself enough for Thorin to work in his third digit. With his lover massaging the hidden pleasure center deep in his tight body the hobbit began mewling prettily for the king, little puffs of breath breaking the tinkling sound apart into something ragged and rough.

Thorin massaged Bilbo’s lower back, the touch soothing even as he f*cked the hobbit mercilessly with his three thick digits. Finally the hobbit was moaning and crying out, his hips making aborted half-thrusts back onto his fingers. He desperately wanted to drag this out, but he also needed to be wrapped up in that impossibly tight heat.

“I need you, âzyungâl,” he groaned and spread the oil on his throbbing prick before withdrawing his fingers from the halfling’s core. With a low growl, he positioned himself at Bilbo’s entrance and pressed in with one long, hard, unrelenting thrust. He almost shouted at the tightness that engulfed him.

Even after such a short time, Bilbo was impossibly tight, almost virginal with the way he gripped Thorin’s co*ck. Snarling, the king began to thrust, his fingers still massaging the halfling’s lower back to help him relax. When the hobbit made a pained noise, Thorin flinched.

“Relax, Bilbo,” he said lowly, so only his lover could hear. His thrusts slowed, but did not stop. Thorin didn’t think he had it in him to stop, not unless Bilbo used the safeword. “It feels as if I might break you if you don’t.”

"Won't break," Bilbo ground out, his shoulders shaking with the tension that afflicted seemingly every muscle in his tightly wound body.

The halfling was trying his best to ignore the cheers and the occasional groan that spoke of something dark and carnal rising from the crowd. He thought the world might just fly off its hinges, and that he would be sent careening headfirst into oblivion at this rate, but the satisfaction of his lover buried to the hilt more than made up for the lack of stability.

The king’s request was impossible with every eye in the room on their coupling, and besides feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, he had gone long enough without his husbands touch to be left a quivering mess of nerves.

"Don't think, j-just f*ck me, Thorin. Please," the halfling was begging, his voice low enough for only the king to hear, and the only indication Bilbo received that Thorin had indeed heard him was an animalistic snarl and a savage thrust forward. A pleasure-pained cry left the hobbit's lips, his face contorting into a mask of bliss that he tried his best to school away.

Thorin’s hips were slapping roughly against his lover’s arse, the sounds of their skin connecting filling the hall. The rest of the world melted away and his consciousness narrowed to the impossibly tight ring sliding along his co*ck with each thrust he made. He was barely aware of the sharp grunts and growls that escaped his throat as he savagely f*cked his lover’s perfect hole. But soon that heat was so punishingly tight, and Thorin was made aware of the halfling choking off his sounds.

“Focus on this,” he growled, a bit too loud, and brought one of his thumbs over to massage the rim of Bilbo’s entrance where it was pulled taut around the king’s prick. “Feel me here, focus on this, c’mon sing for me, my hobbit. Let me hear you.”

Bilbo was visibly shaking from the sensations that were being forced through his body to each and every nerve ending; pleasure like wildfire coursing through his veins and devouring him whole. The hobbit had a hard time complying with Thorin's order as the shift in intensity had made it difficult to keep his face planted against the altar.

He was braced up on his elbows once more, and blearily staring out at the audience. All of those faces which had seemed so distinct minutes ago were blurry as his hazel eyes watered, tears threatening to spill over if only for the embarrassment of being watched during such an intimate act.

A few moans and whimpers were ripped from the hobbit's throat, though he preoccupied himself with worrying his lower lip between his teeth. When the pleasure or pain became too intense he would clamp down on the kiss swollen petal, grunts and appreciative groans mingling with and rising into the great hall with Thorin's feral growls and the echo of slapping skin.

Bilbo couldn't find his center, could allow himself to let go, because this churning sea of faces was watching him and it made him feel dirty and exposed. But then his eyes landed on a familiar face, a beacon of silvery blond hair and ethereal blue eyes; the prince of Mirkwood was smiling at him, albeit looking a little flushed, a small comfort that had Bilbo focusing on Legolas.

His elven friend was not only smiling though. Legolas was clearly enjoying the show, if the obvious bulge under his tunic was anything to go by. It was then that Bilbo realized it was much the same for others, some like the king's nephews palming themselves hastily, while even others still such as Bofur and Nori pawed at each other.

It filled the hobbit with confidence to know that even if he was a small part of this equation, he had something to do with this overly aroused room of people. The halfling finally let go of his inhibitions, his back arching beautifully and muscles twitching and flexing beneath the milky canvas of his skin, as he tossed his head back and cried out his ecstasy.

“That’s it, Bilbo!” Thorin groaned, his thumb still rubbing at the rim of Bilbo’s entrance as the other hand moved to grab the back of his husband’s neck. His movements grew even more rapid and needy, his angle shifting to rip every filthy sound he could from his hobbit, and soon Bilbo was driven so far onto the altar that his toes could barely touch the ground. The heat around his co*ck was still a vice, strangling and milking his shaft as each thrust inward had Bilbo clenching.

“Scream for me, that’s right,” he snarled, tipping his head back to stare down the line of his nose at his flushed lover, his teeth bared as he took the hobbit with a ferocity that almost rivaled their coupling in Mirkwood.

Bilbo complied, every possible obscene noise he could possibly make, every noise that had ever aroused his husband to this punish pace, leaving his slack mouth. The world narrowed now, only to the feel of Thorin in side of him, the scent of oil and sex hanging thick in the air around them, Legolas' gaze which burned with a dark desire that the halfling had ever seen before, and the lewd sounds of this animalistic f*cking.

Thorin's hand on the back of his neck forced Bilbo to keep his gaze up and toward the crowd, and the hobbit never tore his eyes from his elven friend. The halfling's devilish pink tongue glided invitingly over his lips, wetting them in a way that seemed to communicate his desire for that particular hole to be filled. No relief would come for that desire, at least not for a while yet, so Bilbo appeased himself with teasing the elven prince with his ministrations from afar.

It was oddly satisfying to the hobbit, that his dear friend could become so obviously aroused, but what had the halfling's blood pumping most of all was that Legolas couldn't have him. He was Thorin's, completely and undisputedly, and Legolas was made to watch as Thorin claimed his consort.

"S-So good," Bilbo groaned, his eyes screwing shut as white hot pleasure boiled under his skin, and he meant it for so many different reasons.

“You’re perfect,” Thorin shuddered as the heat around him finally relaxed enough so that perhaps this would last a bit longer. He could tell his lover’s mouth was gaping, as it always ended up to be when he was taken like this from behind.

Leaning down so that he covered the wanton creature’s back, and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s ear, his thrusts become slow and teasing rolls of his hips as he whispered, “Your slu*tty little mouth wide open, you wish someone could come up here and f*ck it don’t you? Take your mouth and throat, spill on your tongue while I f*ck you raw and bleeding. We’d take you like a plump little pig on a spit before the eyes of my kingdom, and you’d beg for more, wouldn’t you?”

Bilbo groaned, his eyes rolled back into his skull as he screwed his eyes shut once more. His tongue lolled from his mouth and he was panting like a dog, groans and moans and delicious keening pleas from more all becoming a babbled mess. He wanted more, needed more, why in the world had the dwarf chosen now of all times to calm down?

Bilbo turned his head, his lips pressing against Thorin's cheek. The well-trimmed raven beard was thick and coarse and tickled his lips and nose. "Please," the hobbit groaned out, not caring who did or didn't hear him, though he kept his voice as low as he could manage. "f*ck me open, Thorin Oakenshield. Please."

“As you wish,” Thorin growled, lifting off of the hobbit so that he was standing straight again. He moved his hands so that they gripped Bilbo’s hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise, and held him down against the altar. Taking a deep breath, Thorin pounded into the halfling, his thrusts short and shallow, just enough for Bilbo to feel him, and each inward stroke had him dragging along the hobbit’s prostate.

Stars burst behind the hobbit's eyes, the edges of his vision spotting red and white, and the sound that left him was positively primal. A guttural moan that seemed to echo on forever in his head, his body quaking now as Thorin pounded into him relentlessly.

It was bliss, the pair of them rising to the heights of nirvana together for all to see. Bilbo reached back with one hand and gripped at one of Thorin's where it was clamped down mercilessly on the slope of his hip. They were being reduced to their most base instincts, and like any submissive mate the hobbit canted his head to the side to effectively bare his neck for his lover to have as well.

Seeing the gorgeous line of the hobbit’s throat, Thorin had to let out a thick moment. Sliding his free hand around and against Bilbo’s chest, he pulled the halfling up so he was exposed completely and utterly to their audience. His other hand slipped out of Bilbo’s grasp and he wrapped his arm around the mewling creature’s waist. Now they stood, Bilbo still pinned to the altar at his thighs, and most of his body on for display, Thorin’s hips a piston against the soft mounds of his arse while he bit and sucked a dark bruise into the crook of Bilbo’s throat.

The position became too difficult quickly, and the edge of the altar would be painful for Bilbo before long, so Thorin pulled out and lifted the hobbit so that he was kneeling on the golden surface. The king pushed his lover down, forcing the hobbit to spread his legs impossibly wide before reentering the halfling without warning. Bilbo absolutely wailed at that, his cries echoing through the cavernous hall as Thorin took him brutally, teeth and lips finding his throat and shoulder once more. This was a much easier position for him, as he was no longer forced to bend his knees slightly to claim his lover.

Reaching down with one hand, the dwarf fondled Bilbo’s heavy balls and leaking co*ck, his touches feather-light and teasing. It wasn’t nearly enough stimulation to bring the hobbit any closer to his release, but it still pulled the most deliciously needy whines from the halfling’s throat.

Bilbo did whine for his lover’s touch, his neglected co*ck weeping against his lover’s palm and forearm. It was just enough to leave him begging for more, on the knife's edge of his release which promised to be explosive. A fine sheen of sweat coated both the newlyweds and they shined in the torchlight that flitted around the altar, their forms bathed in golden light.

"P-Please, Eru please, Thorin," the halfling babbled as Thorn pinned his head against the golden altar once again, the metal beautifully cold against his fiery skin. He managed to reduce his voice to nearly silent whimpers, for his lover’s ears only, and he begged for more. "Thorin, please, I n-need you to fill me, please darling, you're going to r-ruin me, please."

Thorin growled, and though he was tempted to give the hobbit what he wanted, the thought of ruining him sounded so much more perfect and enticing. Removing his hand from the halfling’s co*ck, he wrapped it around the swell of Bilbo’s shoulder, and the other was hooked into the bend of Bilbo’s thigh and hip, and used the hobbit as leverage. The king was grunting loudly on each inward stroke, teeth grinding with the effort to f*ck his lover bow-legged.

“If you want to come, you’re going to have to beg prettier than that, Bilbo,” he growled, voice loud and followed by a lewd groan. He’d all but forgotten their audience surrounding them, overcome as he was by the furnace of his husband’s core.

Bilbo nearly screamed at the loss of stimulation, his co*ck throbbing and twitching, bobbing desperately in search of friction where there was none. The halfling attempted to thrust back, to skewer himself further on his lover’s rod, but abandoned his efforts when the king growled and rewarded his meager efforts with few savage thrusts.

Bilbo was beyond words, his mind melting as the dwarf successfully buggered him to the point where the respectable hobbit of Bag End forgot his own name. All he could do was moan and groan and react to his lover thoroughly destroying him to any other thought in the world.

Thorin couldn’t help the triumphant shout as Bilbo submitted completely beneath him, the hobbit completely lost to his pleasure as he cried out and screamed, body quivering with overstimulation and need. The king was startled slightly as his shout was echoed by a roar of voices, and he blinked up at the immense crowd gathered before them.

The part of him that had been trained by Bilbo to seek some modesty in their couplings was reeling, but the bigger part of him, the repressed dwarven instinct, brought a wide smirk to his lips and he deepened his thrusts. The sound of the cheers around the hall was obscene, and Thorin thrived off of it. His release was approaching quickly, and he could tell by the way Bilbo was shuddering, his as well was close.

It was then that he realized that he didn’t wish for anyone but himself to see the hobbit’s release, the way his brow would furrow and his mouth would go completely slack, eyes straining to stay open but ultimately failing as his co*ck spat thick streams across his own belly. This hobbit was his, and that perfect look of rapture was his. Thorin wouldn’t have the whole of his kingdom watch his husband come undone like that.

With a hiss, he pulled out once more and rolled Bilbo over, shushing the desperate sounds the left the halfling by sealing their mouths together. Taking only a moment to put more oil on his co*ck, and pushed back into the hobbit and encouraged the man to wrap his legs around Thorin’s waist.

“Do you want me to touch your co*ck?” Thorin growled as he pinned Bilbo’s wrists to the altar next to his ears.

"Just take me," Bilbo managed to ground out through the fog of his passion. His head was thick with the haze of desire, the chemicals of love pumping through his blood stream in an unending torrent. The halfling was just where he wanted to be, pinned and blissed out beneath his dwarf, and his legs wrapped around the king’s waist with the power of a constricting snake, tight and unyielding and pulling Thorin impossibly closer. "Take me until you fill me, please!"

The king lost control of his movements, their bodies crashing together erratically as the coil in Thorin’s gut finally snapped and his release was surging forward. He could never deny his husband for long, and if he wanted to be filled to bursting, by the gods Thorin would oblige him.

His co*ck pulsed, spitting his cum deep into the hobbit’s convulsing body as he bellowed “Bilbo” for the entire room to hear. There were shouts and hollering, and suddenly the sounds of booted feet moving about, but Thorin was lost to the ecstasy of his release, his mind only conscious enough to reach down between them and pump Bilbo’s co*ck desperately before his muscles failed him completely.

It took very little stimulation to have the hobbit's co*ck, hard and pink with arousal, spitting pearls. The king milked him through his explosive org*sm, the raw sensations of pure pleasure rocking through his body and causing his mind to go deliciously blank.

Bilbo cried out Thorin's name, the king having abandoned his wrists, freeing the hobbit's hands to scramble for purchase. He hugged himself close to the king, shamelessly clinging to his lover and trembling in his arms as he lost himself to the pleasure Thorin was giving him.

Thorin fell forward onto his elbows and crushed their lips together, panting and rocking his softening co*ck in and out of Bilbo’s twitching hole lazily. Panting against his lover’s mouth, he chuckled while they cooled down, connected and clinging to one another. “That was entirely perfect,” he groaned, pressing soft chaste kisses against Bilbo’s slack lips.

The halfling's chest rose and fell with his panting breaths, his eyes struggling to stay open as he forced the exhaustion that threatened to drag him into slumber. He pressed himself as close to Thorin as his weary muscles would allow, their kisses languid as the king finally withdrew.

Bilbo was forcing himself to sit up, his head spinning as the king pulled off his body fully, and then the hobbit realized where they were; still in the great hall, with what he dreaded was a sea of faces still watching. He slowly turned, the silence seeming strange, and was greeted with a sight that had his face turning red as a beet and spluttering; every member of the audience had vacated the hall, save for Elrond, Thranduil, a handful of elves, Balin, and Dís.

If what Thorin had told Bilbo those weeks ago to be true, that most liked to sate their own needs after witnessing the consummation of union, then the whole of Erebor had run off to shag. Even Legolas it seemed had vacated the hall to take care of his personal needs, and Bilbo was still spluttering and blushing as he curled forward and buried his face against Thorin's chest.

Despite his husband’s obvious distress, the king couldn’t help the smug smile the split his face. Pride went through him, both of himself and his hobbit. This boded quite well for their marriage, and also of how desirable they were as a couple. It also spoke to how well the people accepted Bilbo as their king’s consort, and the fact that they had even affected the Elvenking’s son was something he would hold over Thranduil’s head for years.

Getting over his pride for the moment, he sent a pointed look to their remaining audience, and all of them averted their eyes politely.

“Come, âzyungâl, let us get you into your coat and we will wait for our guests to return,” he coaxed, pressing a firm kiss to Bilbo’s lips before helping him off of the altar and into his mithril coat. Preferring to remain naked, as was generally customary, Thorin slumped down into the throne and pulled his lover and husband-twice-over into his lap.

Covering their legs with the furs laid out on the wide arms of the massive seat, Thorin pulled Bilbo into a slow kiss, licking into his mouth and teasing him until the hobbit was no longer trying to hide his face and even beginning to chuckle.

All that was left to do was wait for their well-wishers and for dinner to be served. There would be much entertainment for them, as it was not expected of the newly-wed couple to leave the head seats, and already a troupe of servants were moving the temporary wooden benches and setting up tables and even a small stage for a small quartet to play.

So the happy couple had these few minutes to themselves to bask in their new bond and the afterglow. Thorin couldn’t help the easy, happy smile that rose to his face, and he wouldn’t have stopped it even if he could.

Thorin and Bilbo sat in an easy quiet, the hobbit puffing away at more of that funny leaf and growing looser and more languid next to the dwarf. His erection had subsided a bit, still at half-mast but no longer rigid and dripping. The king would never understand the hobbit’s ability to wait out his arousal, and felt a few moments of envy at that skill.

It was nearly fifteen minutes later, once Thorin’s plates were cleared and he had a lit pipe of tobacco between his lips, when he watched his nephews finally limp into the room. He raised an eyebrow at their thoroughly disheveled appearance, even though they’d obviously taken a bath by the state of their damp hair. Fíli’s hair was not even braided, just slicked back and tied with a leather strap at the base of his skull.

“There they are, and look at Kíli’s gait,” Thorin murmured mischievously to Bilbo, nodding his head in the princes’ direction as the two of them made their way over. The hobbit looked on with a slow gaze before grinning, giggling in a way that was most likely meant to be quiet but rang clearly in the room. Luckily, the din of the crowd was boisterous with laughter and clanging mugs, so the halfling’s own noises were swallowed and ignored.

To say the boys were limping was an understatement, at least as far as Kíli was concerned. Save for the time he had been stuffed full of both his uncle and brother, or the time he and Fíli were graced with Dwalin's presence in Lake-town, the archer couldn't remember a more thorough bugger.

Bofur and Nori, apparently a pair of somewhat secret lovers, had taught both princes a thing or two about adventurous bedsport and succeeding in buggering them beyond walking straight. Kíli still wore a sated grin, though his usual co*ckiness was absent. The bowman had almost forgotten how very much he enjoyed being put in his place, in the studious sense of course.

Kíli met the newlyweds’ gazes, smirking like the devil he was when he caught the sound of Bilbo's laughter. Ribbing or not, the archer felt rather confident he could show his them both a thing-or-two they hadn't tried yet, after the experience he and Fíli shared with Bofur and Nori.

They made their way up to the throne to give their congratulations, something that they sped through before shuffling off to their seats and began their merry-making. Not only would they have time later, but the newly-weds reeked of sex and the tension for more was rising off of them.

Bilbo snuggled in close to Thorin's side once they were left alone once more, humming lightly as he lazily kissed his lover’s chest. The halfling had smoked an exceptional amount of his leaf, his head now thoroughly fogged and his sensibilities scattering to the wind. Even if he were entirely aware of the large crowd he was beyond the point of caring, and he had to admit that going so long without his husband’s touch seemed to leave him a bit sex-crazed.

"We'll have to ask them what they got up to.” the halfling murmured, his lips still dragging teasingly along the king’s chest.

Thorin hummed, distracted by the lovely ministrations Bilbo was leaving on his skin, one hand lifting to run his fingers through the hobbit’s curls. They were damp with sweat and tangled from the pair’s vigorous f*cking. Bilbo’s braid was all but falling apart, and the king figured his own were in roughly the same state.

“I’m sure they will show us at the earliest opportunity,” he finally said, gasping as his lover’s lips passed over one of his nipples, lips catching the dark nub in a quick suck before moving on. Thorin resisted the overwhelming urge to pull the halfling back over to that spot.

"That sounds lovely," Bilbo was practically purring, the smoke in his system making him all loose and languid.

He didn't miss his lover’s reaction as he teased his nipples, regardless of his inebriation, and he was working slowly back and forth. The hobbit soon found himself in his lover’s lap, the mithril shirt lop-sided on his frame and the furs about their waists keeping them modest. The halfling would tease with his tongue and nip with his teeth playfully at the dwarf's perked buds, suckling gently before journeying back to the opposite across the expanse of his husband’s chest.

“Oh,” Thorin sighed, hips stuttering forward from the pleasure of his lover’s attention, his nipples now thoroughly saturated with saliva and over-sensitive. The dwarf’s flaccid co*ck twitched against his thigh, and he outright moaned as it began to fill. Letting his head fall back, his eyes shut with a smile, “Are you certain about that? You saw the way they lads were moving.”

"Mm, looks like they'll feel it for weeks," Bilbo replied breathlessly, his heart rate picking up at the thought. Be it the leaf in his system or just missing it for so many years, the notion of being shared had Bilbo’s skin burning, his prick full and twitch greedily between their bodies. The halfling rutted lazily against Thorin's abdomen, his precome smearing glossily across the muscular planes. "I'd love the chance to be so well used."

A loud rumbling groan erupted from the king and his hand yanked Bilbo up by those tawny curls he loved, and sealed their mouths together. Just as the hobbit began responding properly to the kiss, Thorin pulled back and smirked at the needy sound the burst from his lover’s throat.

“Mm, my slu*tty little thing wishes to be f*cked bow-legged by my nephews, then?” he murmured, eyes dark with want just imagining the sight of them together.

He cast his gaze over Bilbo’s shoulder and found the two princes eating, but watching the couple on the throne. Glancing over them and taking in the signs of their play, he turned his attention back to the hobbit in his lap with a smirk.

“Oh, the things I would love to see them do to you, if you were willing,” Thorin groaned out, slipping his free hand down Bilbo’s back to tease his fingertips along his entrance.

"M-More than willing, lover," Bilbo whimpered needily. The halfling ground down onto the dwarf’s thick digit until it slipped in, a satisfied sigh rattling from Bilbo’s chest. "I'd do anything for it, anything you asked."

Bilbo pressed his head back into Thorin’s hand, baring his neck submissively to beg for more. What he wouldn't do, now so addicted to his kings lust, to be the subject of such a marathon.

“My own little whor*,” Thorin growled, pressing a second finger into his lover and f*cking his loosened hole in earnest. Bilbo hardly needed anymore preparation, the king just wanted to drag this out just a bit longer. “Should I shackle you to our bed, have one of the boys stay with you to keep you prepped and ready for me whenever I should want to have you? Plug you full of my cum while you wait, never knowing when I might come back?”

The king took a deep, shuddering breath as the fantasy came to life in his mind, his fingers slowing in their thrusts as he lost concentration of his current task. Whispering, he continued, “Perhaps the lad will get impatient and use your pretty body while you both wait for me to return. I would have a ring for your prick, as you wouldn’t be permitted to come without my co*ck in your tight little arsehole.

“Just imagine how sloppy and loose you would be,” Thorin sighed, eyes shutting at the imaginings. “My seed sliding down your thighs, and the limp you would have! By Aulë, Bilbo you would be all but crippled by my love by the end of it.”

Bilbo shuddered at the thought, his eyes falling shut as his mind was consumed with the carnal images his lover provided. Tied up, plugged up, and f*cked all day...by Eru, when had he become such a wanton creature? He wanted it so desperately, wanted to beg for it this very second, but he kept it to himself. Instead he continued his enticing mewls and moans, grinding down onto the pair of fingers that filled him.

"W-When can we start?" Bilbo stuttered, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips.

Thorin paused, his mind slowing as he realized his lover was agreeing to something so obscene. When his mind processed Bilbo’s words, a dark grin spread his lips and he leaned close to the hobbit’s lips. “You would be my willing slave for a day?” he asked in a low rumble. “Give your body to myself and anyone I ordered you to?”

"Once a week, if you'd fancy it." Bilbo one-upped his lover as he closed the distance between them with an insistent kiss, his hips still gyrating slowly on the dwarf's fingers.

He swept his tongue across the seam of his lover’s lips, and when he delved into his lover’s mouth he, lured Thorin's tongue out to play. It was sloppy and perfectly filthy, their kiss deepening and intensifying until they had swollen lips and saliva slicking their chin.

“We will discuss this when you’re sober,” Thorin growled as he pulled away from the kiss, teeth bared and eyes flashing with hunger.

The thought of such a thing, having his hobbit chained to his bed stretched and waiting for him whenever he wanted him was intoxicating. It made Thorin’s head dizzy, but he couldn’t possibly hold Bilbo to such a request, to such a promise with how much of the sweet leaf he’d imbibed in.

Surging forward, Thorin sealed their mouths together once more and shoved another digit into his husband’s core, f*cking that perfectly willing hole with them and aiming for that spot that would have him screaming.

Bilbo sagged, boneless against his lover as the assault of his prostate began, the violent waves of pleasure rocking through him and leaving him malleable. He was like putty in the king’s hands, willing and ready and begging for more.

"I wonder how surprised you'll be," Bilbo gasped out between half-hearted, stuttering thrusts onto the king’s digits, "when my answer remains the s-same."

“I want to be sure,” he said seriously, pausing the movements of his fingers and collecting his thoughts. It was hard to do, with his lover sprawling against him and shifting his hips back and forth. The shuddering thrusts had Bilbo rubbing his co*ck against the king’s and it was incredibly distracting.

“I won’t expect that of you when you agreed to it like this,” he finally said, meaning the befuddled quality of Bilbo’s mind and his complete compliance to more than one round of public sex. As it was, they were well on their way to round three.

Bilbo's frustration was growing and becoming impossible to ignore, the friction against his co*ck and the scissoring fingers in his arse spurring him to demand more. He reached up, his hands sliding up Thorin's shoulder and clumsily fisting into the curtain of obsidian tendrils to give a sharp tug.

"Are you just goin' to tease me all day," Bilbo growled lowly, his lips a breath away from Thorin’s. "Or are you goin' to f*ck me bow-legged, your highness?"

Thorin snarled and dragged the mithril shirt up and over Bilbo’s head with his free hand. He need to feel his lover’s flesh against his, uninterrupted by cold metal. He attacked his lover’s mouth once more, teeth biting Bilbo’s plump lower lip and tugging on it harshly. When the halfling whined at that, Thorin grinned wolfishly and licked into his mouth.

His free hand played with Bilbo’s nipples, fingers pinching and twisting the pink nubs relentlessly while Bilbo writhed on his lap. Absently, Thorin realized the furs were slipping away with their vigorous movements, but as both of his hands were busy doing much more interesting things, the dwarf wouldn’t rearrange them. There was a dark desire in his mind, to claim Bilbo once more in plain view, and part of him wanted to see just how much of the crowd remained after watching them f*ck like wild animals.

Bilbo was beside himself with the sweet torture the king was subjecting him to. For some odd reason, images of their first reunion in Beorn's lodge all those years ago, when they rutted like wild beasts until they were sated and left with lifeless appendages giving out, leaving them to collapse together into slumber. It was just as hot and sticky, just as desperate. It lacked the edge of their initial union this night, but was pumped full of another kind of desire; something purely primal, animal, the need to fill and be filled and f*ck until you couldn't remember your own name.

The hobbit groaned as he felt the warmth of their furs begin to slide away, but as his modest hobbit sensibilities seemed to be nowhere in sight, he made no move to fix them. Let them see, it wasn't as if this room full of people hadn't lined up and watched them f*ck twice over already. Bilbo rode his lover’s fingers with more enthusiasm, begging for more, more, with his mewls and moans and spit slicked lips.

As the furs finally slipped away, baring the hobbit’s cum splattered arse to the hall and revealing the way he bounced on Thorin’s thick fingers. There was a roaring in the dwarf’s ears as his blood pounded through him, the need to claim too overwhelming to ignore any longer. The king fumbled around for the oil on the table, and when he finally seized it he wasted no time in withdrawing his fingers to slick his co*ck.

“Hold on,” Thorin warned in a deep rumble before grabbing the globes of Bilbo’s arse tightly and lifting out of the throne. Turning around, he pinned Bilbo against the high back of the chair, one knee bent on the seat, and moved his hips until he felt the head of his co*ck press against his lover’s hole. Before Bilbo couldn’t even fully register their change in position, let alone the touch against his raw entrance, Thorin was buried to the hilt inside him and f*cking him in desperate abandon.

Bilbo scrambled for purchase, his fingers and nails clawing desperately at his lover’s shoulders, as a hoarse shout was ripped from his throat. The dwarf sunk in so quickly and had set a punishing pace, and all Bilbo could do was hold on for dear life.

He did his best to wrap his legs around Thorin's thick middle-section, all pure, hard muscle that the hobbit would always find deliciously arousing. He barely managed to lock his ankles before the dwarf was wrenching them apart. Thorin pinned his legs back against his sides, hands at the backs of his knees and pressing them hard out of the way. The stretch was an additional burn that was strangely good, something in the way his muscles and sinew connected making the now taut muscles of his thighs sing with a unique ache.

They grunted and growled, Bilbo's hands grasping and clawing desperately while Thorin f*cked into his hobbit wildly, the pair of them kissing and biting and licking with little regard for the audience.

The king was mindless with his pounding thrusts into his husband, deep-chested growls pouring from him as he kissed Bilbo hard enough to get them both bleeding. The blunt nails biting into the flesh of his back and shoulders had Thorin snarling, hips snapping even harder and deeper into Bilbo’s core, his sac slapping the soft mounds of his arse on each brutal inward slide.

There was no mercy in the piston of his hips, though the halfling did not ask for it. Bilbo’s cries of ecstasy filled the cavernous room, even as they were muffled by the dwarf’s mouth. With a grunt, Thorin shifted his grip on the hobbit’s legs and hauled them upward, forcing the creature to curve his back in such a way that each savage thrust had the king’s co*ckhead drilling into Bilbo’s prostate.

The hobbit outright screamed with his pleasure as Thorin struck home with each savage thrust. He threw his head back, baring his neck which the king was only too happy to pay attention to, as he cried his ecstasy into the great hall.

The din of the crowd had shifted, something like wonderment and hungry groans piercing through Bilbo's haze long enough to set the hobbit's skin on fire. He blushed dark at the thought, being watched once more, only this time around Bilbo found that he very much liked being watched.

"Eru, yes!" Bilbo cried out, his eyes screwing shut as he attempted to meet his dwarf thrust for thrust. It became obvious that wasn't going to be an option, Thorin beyond all coherent thought besides 'f*ck it hard, f*ck it fast', so Bilbo tangled his fingers in Thorin’s hair once more and teased the dwarf's sensitive scalp. The halfling would tug and pull insistently for more, and massage with all the grace of a toddling drunkard when the dwarf did something he liked in particular, all the while ragged moans and gasps slipping past his lips.

Thorin was growling in Khuzdul now, filth pouring from his lips in his rough language as he plowed his wailing lover. He felt the stuttered press of fingers against his scalp at the first words he uttered, and Thorin allowed a twisted smirk to split his face. The dwarf’s thoughts broke apart as Bilbo’s body clenched around his length, forcing a growl from his chest.

“Oh, my little whor*,” he moaned with surprising softness as he pounded into the clench of Bilbo’s core with even more force. The hobbit screamed again, voice ragged from his shouts. “Squealing for me so beautifully, f*ck—”

Bilbo pressed his forehead to his lovers dropping his voice to a volume tame in comparison to his screaming, just long enough to growl, "That's it, f-f*ck your whor* open—"

His words were broken with a thick moan as he slammed his head back against the throne, shouting out enthusiastically once more, "Oh, gods, yes!" He dug his finger nails in, applying the pressure liberally before tugging at his dwarf's mane, his breath leaving him in ragged pants. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Thorin felt his org*sm barrel forward, the sudden snap in his gut prompted by the needy shrieks of his husband. Attacking the gorgeous curve of his lover’s throat, Thorin’s thrusts became erratic and unmeasured, hips snapping upward and pegging Bilbo’s prostate mercilessly. “Gonna come,” he warned, his lips moving against his lover’s salty flesh before he bit and sucked a dark bruise in that spot. “Aulë, I’m gonna come.”

"Fill me up!" Bilbo whimpered loudly as he curled forward and clung to his lover. He would weather this storm, make it through and feel gloriously floaty and ready for another round come an hour or two.

His stamina was improving, his ability to hold out on his lover and enjoying the pleasure without succumbing to the abyss of his release gratifying in its own way. Besides, Bilbo knew that the longer he held out, the more of this beautiful torture he would get to endure.

He held tight to his lover, the fingers thoroughly tangled in the dwarf's mussed hair tugged relentlessly as he attempted to shakily rub at the sensitive scalp and maximize his husband’s pleasure. "Come for me!"

“Bilbo!” Thorin shouted into the crook of his lover’s throat, hips slapping against Bilbo’s arse three more times before they stilled. He shot his load deep into the hobbit’s core, his co*ck throbbing with brutal intensity that pulled a soft whine from the back of the dwarf’s throat. Bilbo was moaning and petting him, and despite the copious amounts of precome oozing from the tip of his flushed erection, he was still completely hard.

“You—” the king had to pause as he gasped for breath, his thighs shaking with the exertion of keeping them up. “I will never understand how you can deny yourself completion like this.”

"Trust me," the halfling began breathlessly, his chest heaving and his hazel orbs clearly dazed under heavy eyelids. “It’s worth it when I finally finish."

He smiled, lazy and warm, as he felt Thorin's seed dripping out of him. He'd been pumped full so many times this night, it was already seeping out around his lover's softening member. Bilbo felt heavy, his body only supported by his tense muscles that were quivering like jelly. The halfling stroked his lover’s hair adoringly, placing soft kisses on Thorin's lips and cheeks, his breath hitching and a dark blush covering his face as Thorin finally slipped out and the king's seed poured from his loose entrance.

It was slightly humiliating, to be left gaping and slick, ready for another go with his co*ck twitching greedily and leaking precome. When he dared to look past his lover, he noticed that once more the majority of the audience was headed hastily to the doors in groups of two or more.

Grunting again, he placed the hobbit down carefully on the throne, staring at Bilbo’s co*ck hungrily though he knew the man didn’t want to be brought off just yet. This was a promise of more, and the dwarf couldn’t wait until he could have his lover again. When he slid into the seat next to Bilbo, the king reached down and pulled the furs back up over their laps before coaxing the halfling to sit snug against his side.

When he finally looked out at the significantly thinner crowd, he allowed a smug grin to split his face and relaxed back against the throne. “We will not be leaving the royal wing for at least a week,” Thorin declared, voice tired but content. “It is my right as a newly-wed, king or not, to lock myself away and bugger my husband senseless for as long as I like.”

"You better!" Kíli called over his shoulder, Fíli hot on his heels, as the brothers exited the great hall to sate themselves once more. Bow-legged, or not.

It was several hours later when Thorin decided it was late enough to carry his hobbit away for some privacy. By most standards, it was still early in the reception, but almost everyone they cared about had walked up to give them their blessing and congratulations, and with Bilbo’s elven friend making his way back into the hall at long last, the dwarven king figured they wouldn’t have to stay for very much longer in the eyes of their guests.

During the time since their last romp, the final members of the original company had trickled in one by one, that last one to reappear being Dwalin. The mighty dwarf hadn’t returned to the hall until then, having been missing for the entirety of the reception thus far. From the smug look on the warrior’s face, Thorin didn’t have to wonder just what he’d gotten up to, only who.

Dwalin’s words of praise and encouragement were gruff and crude enough to get the intoxicated hobbit blushing and spluttering. Had it not been for the hot erection pressing into his hip as Bilbo cuddled closer, Thorin would have thought him to be truly humiliated by it.

And finally, almost an hour after that, the elven prince slipped into the room and was traversing the length of the hall, and Thorin leaned in close to Bilbo’s pointed ear. The hobbit was dozing lightly, but awoke when he felt the dwarf’s hot breath puff across his sensitized skin.

“We leave as soon as your friend is done speaking to us,” he murmured, tilting his head toward Legolas as he approached the foot of the stairs.

From the looks of the prince, you wouldn’t think he had gotten up to anything at all, ever bit of him smooth and clean as always. Thorin was almost convinced the elf had only slipped away to avoid the festivities, but he immediately doubted that. Elves enjoyed merrymaking, whether dwarvish or not. The elf must have been partaking in their unorthodox customs, and the late hour had the king raising an eyebrow in reluctant respect.

Bilbo stared at his friend bleary eyed as Legolas made his way up to the throne. Bilbo wasn't quite sure, but he thought he spotted his old friend jolting when he bowed for them, just a flinch that seemed so out of place on the graceful man, but when the archer stood back up to his full height his smile was beaming.

"All of the congratulations, for you both. May your days be plentiful and full of joy." Bilbo nodded lazily, returning the smile, and the prince gave the hobbit a smile that promised they would take time and catch up later.

Once Legolas was returning to his comrades ("I merely got lost on the way to the water closet, ada."), Bilbo began pushing himself up in his seat.

"To bed, then?" the halfling asked, his voice strained as he stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. A stiffness had set into his muscles and bones, and he was very much hoping to get a bath before finally going to bed.

“First a bath, then bed,” Thorin murmured, slotting his mouth against Bilbo’s for a slow, deep kiss. When he pulled away there was a perfect pink tinge to his round cheeks that brought a lazy grin to the dwarf’s face.

Slipping off the throne and out from under the furs, Thorin stood nude before the throne and sorted out their clothing, smirking when he caught the halfling’s darkening, lusty gaze. There was a low murmur around the hall as people began to notice him standing there, baring his impressively scarred flesh for their eyes, but he didn’t bother to look out at the crowd. Instead, he pulled on his clothing and scooped the hobbit up into his arms, furs and all, Bilbo’s clothes slung over his shoulder.

Grinning at the way Bilbo squeaked, Thorin winked down at his husband. “To the bed chambers, my husband?”

"Please," Bilbo squeaked, regardless of how stable he felt in his lovers grasp. The dwarf lifted and carried him effortlessly, making his way down the main isle with a hobbit in his arms wrapped in furs, and as it had been earlier, every eye in the room was on them. Thorin, ever the steadfast and confident king of dwarves, strutted proudly with his head held high, and proceeded to do so until they were safely tucked away in the royal wing and in their own chambers.

Once behind their door, the bolt slamming home and keeping them well separated from the world outside, Thorin put his hobbit back on solid ground. The halfling in question wasted no time in standing on tiptoe and throwing his arms around his husband twice over and sealing their lips together.

Bilbo put all of his weight on the king until they fell back against the door, Thorin promptly sidestepping and rolling them both so it was Bilbo with his back to the door and Thorin doing the pinning. Thorin hoisted his lover, the halfling wrapping his legs around the dwarf's waist and locking his ankles together, and Bilbo proceeded to properly snog his husband.

The king groaned into his hobbit’s mouth, eyes rolling back at the heady arousal that washed through him from neediness of his husband. The passion Bilbo had shown in the hall was nothing compared to this, the desperate clutch of fingers in his hair and the back of his neck. The blunt bite of nails against his flesh had Thorin groaning and spinning them away from the door. As much as he wished to drop onto the bed with the gorgeous creature in his arms, he still wished to bathe them both long and properly.

Perhaps they could combine both of their efforts, and that thought brought a smirk to Thorin’s lips even as he licked into Bilbo’s mouth.

With that, he walked them to the adjoining bath, the furs falling away and leaving the hobbit nude against his clothed chest.

Bilbo felt something hard and cold hit his heels and calves, and the halfling tore himself away from his lover just long enough to see what it was he had run into.

It was an over-sized bath, one that was nearly the size of the one in Beorn's home, fed from a natural spring and made of obsidian with what seemed like a tile floor inlaid in an intricate pattern. With the pure black and shining stone, the waters within appeared to be turquoise and fogged with the heat. Steam rose invitingly from the baths surface, and when Bilbo looked back to his husband the dark look of desire that consumed his dwarf's eyes spoke of his intentions.

A playful smile tugged at Bilbo's lips and he understood. The halfling pulled himself from his lover’s grasp and stepped into the gloriously hot water with a hiss, the heat seeping into his skin and loosening his tense muscles.

Thorin palmed his clothed erection as he watched his lover slide into the tub before tearing his shirt over his head. He heard a seam pop, and his hair got caught up for a moment, but he was half-naked soon enough. When Bilbo turned to look back at the king, Thorin smirked mischievously and slowly shimmied his loose ceremonial trousers down off of his hips.

The waistband slowly slid down, hooked as it was in his thumbs, and caught his erection. Thorin shuddered as the smooth material dragged down the length of his girth, pulling it downward. When the band finally slipped past the head of his co*ck, and his girth bounced upward and slapped lightly against his hard belly. A lewd moan broke from his throat at that and he finished removing the garment, stepping out of the pool of fabric.

Standing up straight, nude once more and hopefully staying that way for most of the next week, he smirked down at his hobbit while lifting a hand to lazily stroke his co*ck.

Bilbo drank in the sight of his lover with hungry eyes. They had consummated their union so many times already tonight, and Bilbo had a feeling they would continue to do so until the sun rose a week from now.

Bilbo waded back to the edge of the tub and locked eyes with his dwarf. The halfling slowly licked his lips, glossing them before he dropped his jaw to leave the moist cavern of his mouth open and inviting. He had been craving this act all night, and now that they were in the privacy of their chambers he had every intention of indulging this particular desire.

Thorin groaned and stepped closer to his lover, taking his hand off of his co*ck and cupped Bilbo’s chin. “Just a moment,” he murmured, grabbing a cloth from a pile that had been set out on the edge of the tub and dipped it into the heated pool. With the wet cloth, he wiped himself down, making sure he was thorough in cleaning the length before his husband took him into his mouth. The feel of the rough cloth on his co*ck had him groaning loudly before he dropped the material to the floor.

Returning his hand to Bilbo’s cheek, he stepped closer so that his co*ck hovered tantalizingly close. “Nice and clean for you, my love,” he murmured, sliding his hand down to pinch the point of Bilbo’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Bilbo leaned forward, taking a few moments to slowly flick his tongue over the tip of Thorin's co*ck. He already caught a bead of bitter precome and it flooded his palette. Bilbo moaned at the salty, bitter flavor; an acquired taste that he couldn't get enough of.

With a grateful moan he consumed his lover’s prick, swallow him whole until the halfling was gagging and forcing himself back. He set up an easy pace, his tongue swirling and writhing expertly around the dwarf's dick in his mouth, all before returning to the meaty head to suckle lovingly.

“Oh, you’ve a true talent for this,” Thorin moaned, hands sliding into his lover’s messy curls and thrusting lazily and shallowly into the mouth around his co*ck. Though he knew just how much the hobbit could take from him, that the creature could handle his girth battering his throat, Thorin held himself back. He had a whole week to ruin his husband’s throat.

“We should’ve done this first thing tonight, show everyone what you can do with your mouth. Should’ve had you suck me off beneath the table as I ate my meal. Ahn, I could f*ck your pretty mouth forever, so good…” Thorin trailed off as his head fell back, mouth falling slack as Bilbo worked his co*ck expertly.

Bilbo gave a particularly harsh suck as he forced himself further onto Thorin's thick member. Only when Thorin's hips bucked forward did Bilbo slip off the king's co*ck, his attentions leaving the heavy organ a vibrant red. Bilbo licked his lips but abstained for the time being, reaching out to take hold of his husbands prick instead.

"Join me, love," Bilbo murmured seductively as he moved away from the edge of the tub, his arms open wide in invitation. "You've been wanting to bugger me blind in a bath since you showed up at Bag End." The halfling smirked knowingly, that unholy Tookish glint shining in his hazel orbs.

“It could easily be said that I’ve desired such a thing since the first time I arrived in Bag End all those years ago,” Thorin groaned, eyes going dark with his hunger, a fantasy finally being realized after wanting it for so long. He was almost giddy with it as he climbed into the bath, and he immediately turned to crowd the hobbit against the wall of the tub. Claiming his lover’s mouth, Thorin rutted against Bilbo’s soft belly and moaned almost helplessly with his desire.

Everything was fluidity and waves around their slowly entwining bodies. Bilbo felt weightless from the chest down, another benefit he found that these sort of activities acted out in a bath had. Bilbo explored Thorin's body with his hands as he often did, his touch insistent, yet undemanding. Eventually he found Thorin's co*ck and the halfling took hold of it with both of his hands.

"Can you imagine?" Bilbo continued huskily, his own fantasies beginning to form in his mind. "If you'd been so bold as to go for me that first night, in Bag End? Pinned me to my bed and taken what you wanted?"

“We’d have never left the Shire if I had,” Thorin grunted, shuddering at the delicious sensation of Bilbo gripping his engorged prick. He was sensitive and shaking all over, his breathing coming out in damp puffs as he twitched his hips forward into the hobbit’s hands. “Or at the very least, you wouldn’t have been able to run after us like you did, if you reacted as eagerly as you had our first time.”

Thinking of that night in the woods, spread out on his old traveling coat, and the way Bilbo took him without so much as a finger to prepare him first, had Thorin whining low and quiet in the back of his throat. Though the hobbit had been quite sore after, the king couldn’t help but ache at the memory of how tight Bilbo had been.

“Gods, I need you,” Thorin moaned, hands reaching up to their favourite place in Bilbo’s hair and pulled the hobbit up into a deep, searching kiss.

Bilbo made happy little noises into his lover’s mouth as the dwarf snogged him thoroughly. It was the tantalizing slide of tongues and nip of teeth, lips moving and smacking against each other hungrily; perfect as always.

"Then take me, love," Bilbo mewled as he moved to reposition himself, treading through the water until he pressed his stomach to the curved, smooth tongue of the tub.

Thorin followed his hobbit, staring at the smooth expanse of Bilbo’s back, interrupted only by the faint webbing of scars that wrapped around from his side, and ached to mark it up with teeth and finger marks. Perhaps with some persuasion, Thorin could use his crop on the blank canvas, but that was something for another time.

He pressed close, slotting the line of his co*ck into the cleft of Bilbo’s arse and rubbed insistently, groaning loudly as he rutted like an animal against his lover.

Bilbo mewled for his lover and canted his head to the side to bear his neck invitingly. He submitted completely as he had in the throne room, his hips wiggling back temptingly against Thorin. He was teasing his dwarf into action, his hole still loose and ready from their last less then gentle coupling a few hours back.

The king growled and leaned forward, propping himself above the hobbit with one hand on the edge of the tub while the other slipped between them to grip his co*ck. With a drawn out grunt, Thorin guided himself into Bilbo’s hole, and he groaned as he bottomed out. The slide was slick, both with the water around them and the remaining oil and spunk that still coated his lover’s core, and Bilbo was still so perfectly stretched to take him.

“I’ve f*cked you right open,” Thorin groaned, moving his hips against the hobbit’s arse in short bursts, the slide easy but still intensely stimulating. “I’ve taken you until you’re loose and gaping around my co*ck. Should a put a finger in there as well? Pull your greedy hole tight again?” Even as he said this, he spread his free hand across the halfling’s tailbone and dipped his thumb into the cleft of his arse. The rough pad of it massaged the puffy rim, threatening to press in before easing back to a teasing pressure.

Bilbo tried to wiggle back into the tantalizing press of Thorin's thumb, willing for that extra pressure and craving it desperately. He recalled Kíli’s experience, filled with two beautiful co*cks and screaming with the violent pleasure of it, and he wanted that same sensation for himself.

"No, please, I-I want it," the halfling begged shamelessly, his body jolting when he found the delicious pressure.

Without any warning, Thorin pressed his thumb into Bilbo’s hole, sinking the digit into the hobbit’s core as he pounded into that heat with abandon. “Oh,” the king sighed, friction tugging at the skin of his co*ck and sending delicious jolts of sensation through his body. With a groan, he dropped his head down onto Bilbo’s shoulder and bit the flesh there, sucking harshly until a vibrant bruise rose to the surface.

Bilbo wailed at the glorious friction that had him coming apart at the seams. He was unraveling, a slow tug on his mental thread that was uncoiling his mind and reducing him once more to a needy pile of primal desire. His body shuddered and Bilbo gasped when teeth sunk into his flesh, but he returned the thrusts backwards with an energetic growl. What he wouldn't give to tug his lover into bed and not leave for days...

"M-More," Bilbo fairly commanded, his timid nature fading away now that they were in the privacy of the bedroom. The dwarf king couldn't allow such displays out in the open, but behind closed doors Bilbo had little trouble allowing himself to slip into the more demanding role. "H-Hard, f*ck me harder, love—!"

Thorin almost whimpered at the command, and complied immediately, f*cking into the halfling with an almost violent force. The king tugged upward on Bilbo’s rim, relishing in the cry that motion ripped from his lover. Leaning forward, Thorin sought out Bilbo’s prostate, desperate now to hear the halfling scream for him.

Bilbo did cry out, the sound of his ecstasy echoing in their cavernous room as the dwarf slammed into him over and over. The pressure on his sweet spot was still so violently glorious, making stars burst behind the hobbit’s eyes. His mouth fell open as his cries escalated once more, an almost constant garbled sound of pure bliss being ripped from Bilbo as his dwarf followed through with his demands.

It had the hobbit growing bolder by the second. "That's it, f*ck me hard, f*ck me blind, Eru yes!"

“I’ll break you in half if I take you any harder,” Thorin gasped out, eyes widening at his lover’s commanding tone. The last time they had been privately intimate had been their first night in Erebor together, and Bilbo had been impossibly tender with him. Since then, he’d been the perfect picture of a compliant consort, if a bit mischievous. Here, finally away from prying eyes and judging minds, it seemed the hobbit was taking on a much more assertive role.

The thought of that had his co*ck throbbing and a desperate whine building in his throat.

"I'm not made of glass," Bilbo goaded, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips as he pressed himself backwards and braced himself on the smooth tongue of the tub.

Thorin had ruined him to the world outside their door for at least a week, something driven purely by carnal desires sweeping the Baggins name and all notions of respectability from his mind. He intended to be nothing but the perfect little bedmate, and to indulge whatever fantasies his lover had in mind.

“If you could see how raw you are,” Thorin groaned thickly, his remaining restraint almost snapping at the halfling’s taunt. Instead he stood to his full height and stared down at the reddened, puffy rim wrapped snuggly around the combined girth of his co*ck and thumb. With a shuddering moan, Thorin tugged upward with his thick digit once again, stabbing deeper into his perfect lover’s core.

Bilbo moaned thickly, the sound garbled with pleas for more. He swiveled his hips on each backstroke, twisting his lover’s girth with his movements and pegging his sweet spot all at the same time.

"Gods, you feel fantastic," Bilbo groaned out, the words more of a thought that he let slip past his lips than anything else. He was beyond caring or maintaining his filter, and the praise just kept coming. "So good, so perfect—Ah!—I love you, oh gods yes, I love you!"

“Love you, too,” Thorin panted, snapping his hips forward, his desperate movements turning the water around them into a frothy pool, each forward thrust sending waves splashing forward against the tongue of the tub. Their coupling was loud, if only for their exultant cries as they barreled toward release together.

“Aulë, you’re amazing, clench just like that, just like—f*ck, Bilbo so good, love you so much, so much!” the king babbled breathlessly, bending over the hobbit once more to suckle more bruises into his flawless skin.

Bilbo was gritting his teeth against his org*sm, something that was building rapidly and so fiercely pleasurable that he felt he might pass out. The world was spinning, turning on its axis and leaving him off kilter. Everything was in motion and everything stood still, constant contradictions from the roiling passion that burned through every fiber of his being.

"C-Close," Bilbo ground out, his body slowly tensing, each muscle locking up as the coil in his gut threatened to snap. "S-So c-close darling—!"

“Let go,” Thorin moaned, eyes rolling back as the hobbit’s entrance convulsed around him. He withdrew his thumb to better brace himself against the edge of the tub and plowed into his lover with renewed force, nailing his sweet spot with ever brutal slight inward. “Let go, I have you!”

It didn't take much after his husband assured him, that constant stability that his dwarf was, and Bilbo came with a ragged cry. Thorin's name was on his lips and branded into him where they were joined, an invisible mark in the shape of Thorin's name that would never leave.

Bilbo soiled the pristine bath water with his seed, thick and white and quickly breaking down in the hot water. His whole body stuttered in Thorin's embrace, his head thrown back as his grateful cries of adoration echoed through the room, until he went limp under Thorin pressed to the smooth edge of the bath.

The king continued to stab into his husband’s trembling body, taking and taking and taking, listening as the man’s cries turned sharp with his hypersensitivity. The vice around Thorin’s co*ck dragged at him, and he groaned at the near-pain of the pleasure. His lover finally came, and now his body was wound so tight and clenching with such power.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried, the sound of his voice weak as his org*sm finally ripped through him, pumping Bilbo full of his seed. Only then did his hips still, his throbbing co*ck buried deep in Bilbo’s arse while it spat the last of his release into his slick hole.

Once Thorin had come to a halt behind him, his thick co*ck pulsing in the hobbit's core and filling him to bursting, Bilbo went completely boneless. He had his arms hooked at the smooth edge of the basin and it was the only thing keeping him from slipping fully into the hot water.

"Might pass out," Bilbo managed to mutter between weak, rattling breaths. The halfling pondered briefly that perhaps he had overextended himself, over-estimated his ability to deny himself org*sm and then finally be in control when he allowed his release to consume him.

“Just hold on, let me wash us both up,” Thorin groaned, peeling himself away from his hobbit and slipping out of him completely. Bilbo hung off the lip of the tub and remained in that spot for the entire time it took Thorin to fetch a cloth and a bar of soap.

The dwarf started on Bilbo’s hair, neck, and arms, scrubbing away the layer of sweat that accumulated there over their hours of passion and need, before turning him around slowly. The king made sure to hook the halfling’s arms up over the edge of the tub, even if those hazel eyes were still open and blinking at him. Smiling tenderly, Thorin scrubbed his hairless chest before hoisting Bilbo up to sit on the edge.

The cleaning went on like this, and once he’d washed himself, he was helping the halfling out of the tub and into one of his many plush towels. They dried off as quickly as they could in their drowsiness, and quickly made their way back into their bedroom. They tumbled into bed together, Bilbo completely boneless and sighing contentedly as he cuddled into Thorin’s side.

“I love you,” the dwarf whispered, and once again he was struck with the fear that he’d wake up and this had all been a terribly perfect dream.

"Love you," the halfling murmured dreamily as he began to drift away. His lover was perfection, all the warmth of home and hearth, and Bilbo thanked his lucky stars for this wonderful dwarf as he fell asleep.

To say Bilbo Baggins was sore was the understatement of the age.

He awoke to a pain, a little more than just a twinge. It was a constant dull ache, and every time he so much as twitched there was an acute stabbing pain in his rump. It was the twitching that woke him, a hiss between clenched teeth escaping him as morning grogginess set in. A bit of a hangover accompanied the pain but didn't distract from it in the slightest.

The halfling was curled on his side, curled against his soundly sleeping dwarf. Thorin it seemed was still dead to the world, snoring loudly in a way that made Bilbo completely forget he held the title of king. Bilbo had little trouble wriggling out of his grasp and slipping out of bed unnoticed. Thorin merely grumbled at the slight disturbance before resuming his dwarvish sawing.

Bilbo barely managed to bite back a mournful groan as a fresh wave of pain twinged his well-used arse, but he smirked at the thought of it none the less. He could recall what he had said, demanding his lover to f*ck him bowlegged and brainless; the dwarf certainly hadn't disappointed him. Bilbo would walk like a duck for the next week, if not more, of that he was certain.

Bilbo made his way over to the bath, the steam rising enticingly, and Bilbo wasted no time in stepping into the pool. The heat seeped into his skin and soothed his aching body. It also seemed to be the remedy for his hangover, the headache that had been becoming more pronounced seeming to evaporate with the steam.

Bilbo soaked for a good half-hour, until the ache in his arse had melted away and only the occasional uncomfortable twinge remained. A few more baths like this and the hobbit was confident he'd even get over his awkward gait, not that it was really high on his list of priorities.

The halfling pulled himself from the bath, water beading and clinging to his skin, dripping from his hair and creating rivulets down his chest and stomach, even as he reached for a fluffy towel to dry himself. He couldn't stop the slightly awkward sway to his hips as meandered back to the opulent bed and his husband.

Thorin was still snoozing soundly, settled back into the many plush pillows. He was even clutching one of cushions to his side in lieu of his hobbit, something that was so ridiculously endearing it had Bilbo grinning like a fool. Bilbo crawled back onto the bed and eased the pillow from Thorin's side and replaced himself there, skin still pink and blonde hair still dark and damp from his bath. Thorin smiled gently in his sleep and Bilbo giggled when the dwarf king hugged him close and nuzzled him drowsily. There wasn't any need to wake his lover quite yet; they were on their honeymoon, after all.

It was some time later when Thorin finally awoke, and when he did he was pleased to find his arms full of a warm hobbit. A lazy grin came to his face and he rolled them so they were on their sides. Bilbo squeaked as he was roused from his light doze, but relaxed into the kiss the king offered him.

“Did you sleep well, my love?” he asked quietly, words slurred with the remnants of sleep still clinging to him

"Very," Bilbo responded quietly as he snuggled further into his lover’s warmth. He absent-mindedly peppered Thorin with kisses, each undemanding and slowly rousing his dwarf from slumber. Bilbo turned onto his side and propped himself on his elbow, settling in so the slight burn of shifting his rump would fade away. "And you, melleth nin?"

“Best sleep I have had all month,” he admitted, and it was the truth. Without his lover’s warmth at his side, Thorin hadn’t been able to sleep soundly for the month of their official courtship. Even with dropping into bed, weighed down from the exhaustion of holding court did nothing to get him to sleep deeply. For the first time in weeks, the dwarf had awoken well-rested, if a bit achy from the strenuous activity from the night before.

With another slow, lazy grin he pressed in close and sealed their mouths together, licking into the parted seam of Bilbo’s lips.

Bilbo returned the kiss slowly, shallowly teasing his tongue just past his lovers lips in return. It was sweet and slow, the floaty feeling of sleep still clinging to them both. Thorin's lips were pliant beneath Bilbo's and it took very little to ease into control, the halfling taking the initiative to deepen the kiss.

It was still beautifully languid, but when the king under the mountain began moaning softly into the halfling's mouth, Bilbo took the reins further. He rolled up onto his lover’s chest, settling himself between the king's legs easily, and tangled his fingers in Thorin's raven hair. He would tug at Thorin's lips gently with his teeth and suckle his tongue lovingly, humming appreciatively at every lovely sound the dwarf afforded him, and soon he could feel his co*ck filling out against the king's solid abdomen.

Thorin’s thighs spread as a lewd moan burst from his throat, allowing the hobbit to settle between them more snuggly. He relaxed against the bed and took whatever the hobbit gave him, and it made the king all the hotter. Letting go like this was an addiction he hadn’t fully anticipated, and it had been months since his husband had dominated him in the way he craved most. At the thought of it, Thorin’s entrance twitched in anticipation.

Bilbo broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against the king's cheek, trailing feather light kisses down the slope of his face until he was whispering against his ear. "Breakfast in bed then, love?" Bilbo's voice was deep and grizzled, rough with his desire as he could feel Thorin submitting for him.

The halfling had to admit, it was intoxicating, knowing that he had the ability to dominate this king, even if it was only in the bedroom. After being claimed the day before, Bilbo felt he owed his husband a good, thorough buggering.

“Please,” Thorin sighed with a soft smile, pupils dilating as his arousal grew. Bending his knees, he drew them up to hitch at Bilbo’s waist, his feet flat on the bed for the moment. Already, he was thrumming with excitement, his chest constricting with each shift of his lover against his filling erection. “I’ve missed this.”

Bilbo sat up, leaving a few kisses on the king's brow, before he reached for the pot of lotion on the bedside table. The jar was half empty (Bilbo could guess where it all had gone, with their forced celibacy during the formal courting period) and liberally coated his fingers. He returned to his lover and the gentle kisses they shared, wasting little time in dipping his lotion slicked fingers between Thorin's legs.

The hobbit circled the king's entrance slowly, teasingly, and once the dwarf began to relax Bilbo began pressing in. His touches were as undemanding and languid as his kisses, the rhythm slow. It took some careful probing but Bilbo found that hidden pleasure center in his dwarf's core, the shuddering gasps of the dwarf beneath him as good of an indicator as any. Bilbo was grazing Thorin's prostate on each inward stroke, and with the pleasure soothing whatever burn there might be the halfling slipped in another well lubricated finger to join the first.

Thorin moaned, eyes rolling back at the gentle invasion, and he rocked to meet the hobbit’s movements. The drag of those digits in his entrance had delicious jolts of pleasure shooting through him, each nudge against his prostate having him clench and squirm. “Bilbo,” he groaned, tilting his head back and offering his neck to his lover.

Bilbo followed the silent request and showered his lover exposed neck with attention, gentle kisses and licks, and the occasional delicious scrape of teeth. Soon Bilbo was slipping in a third finger, the tight outer ring of muscle clamping down on him. Bilbo was sure to take his time in preparing his lover, praises leaving his lips. His co*ck was weeping and twitching greedily, his desires growing to feverish heights with the sheer need to sink into that mind-melting heat.

"Still so tight," Bilbo murmured as he laved his tongue lovingly over a dark bruise he had sucked into Thorin's neck. "I keep forgetting we've done this before with as tight as you are."

“Should do this more often, then,” the king murmured, smirking lightly even as he groaned at the stretch around Bilbo’s digits.

He really was tight, though a part of him like it. It meant that Bilbo had to take his time and open him up each time they did this, that slow intimacy that Thorin so rarely had the patience for when he handled his husband. But another part of him desired to be taken long and hard, left loose enough that he only needed a quick fingerf*ck before he was ready to be taken again.

“Break me in properly so you can slip in whenever you’d like,” Thorin added, letting out a shuddering gasp when Bilbo sucked harshly at the crook of his neck.

Bilbo choked back a groan at Thorin's words, his mind reeling for a moment while any number of scenarios Thorin had already put him in raced through his mind, only with the tables turned; Thorin pinned to the wall, Thorin gripping the head board, Thorin getting f*cked over a table with his mouth full of co*ck.

His imaginings had his co*ck giving a might throb and with one final press against the dwarf's prostate he withdrew his fingers. He slicked himself with the remainder of the lotion and wasted little time in lining himself up with Thorin's puckered entrance. The halfling slowly began to sink into his lover’s core, the dwarf's body tight and searing hot.

Thorin's canal gripped him firmly, so much so that it took Bilbo's breath away, and once he was fully seated inside his lover he stayed his movements to catch his breath and keep his lust bridled.

The king sucked in a sharp breath at the steady invasion, his entrance twitching around Bilbo’s co*ck. Releasing his breath with a long groan, he shifted his hips up to take his lover even deeper. “Ooh,” he sighed and rocked his hips. There was a stinging with each movement as his body became adjusted to his husband’s girth.

It had truly been too long since they’d last done this.

Bilbo hesitated, his hips stuttering with each clench of his husband’s hole. The pressure was exquisite; he would never tire of the snug feeling of being enveloped in his husband’s core. The hobbit began to pump in and out slowly, each movement measured and undemanding. He showered his husband’s neck and shoulders with kisses while he tangled his fingers in the king's thick hair; a curtain of obsidian and silver tendrils. The halfling massaged Thorin's scalp, reveling in each shiver and groan he was awarded.

The stimulation on his scalp had Thorin melting against the mattress, letting out a soft sound of pure need. It was unfair that he had such a sensitive erogenous zone, one that rendered him completely mindless within seconds and had him almost coming all over himself, untouched. Sliding his hands down Bilbo’s sides, Thorin grabbed his hips and urged him deeper.

The pace was perfection, and this early in the morning he didn’t want it particularly hard (there was plenty of time after breakfast for that), he just wanted to feel his husband as deep as he could.

Bilbo began dipping deep into his husband, his strokes long so that the dwarf could feel every inch of him entering and exiting his body. He would nearly pull himself all the way from his lover, his head at the tight ring of his lover’s entrance before pushing back in balls deep. Thorin was perfectly tight, even with such thorough preparation, and he could lose himself in the pleasure and stimulation that he was feeling.

"You're perfect," Bilbo murmured sweetly as he hefted Thorin's legs at the crook of the dwarf's knees to press closer and align himself more perfectly with Thorin's front. He kissed him softly, his praises murmured between the undemanding slotting of their mouths. "So wonderful, so perfect, love you so much."

The king gasped his pleasure into Bilbo’s mouth, eyes screwing shut, and pinching his brows inward. His lips were parted and slack, and he slid his hands up from Bilbo’s hips and up the insides of his thighs to grip just under his knees. Pulling them up and out, he groaned as the shift had Bilbo sliding even deeper into his core.

Now that he was spread wide and positioned perfectly for his hobbit, he lifted his hands to tangle in Bilbo’s hair, pulling him down for a slow, scorching kiss.

“You feel so good, Bilbo. So good,” he moaned pitifully into his lover’s mouth, eyes rolling back behind his closed lids as his husband nailed his prostate with each inward stroke.

Bilbo growled his pleasure into Thorin's mouth as he returned the kisses with just as much vigor, his tongue delving into the moist cavern to seek out the kings; a sensual duel where neither was defeated. The hobbit's strokes were not nearly as long now, instead grinding himself up against the muscular rump of the king under the mountain, his co*ckhead a constant pressure on the king's prostate.

"I love you so," Bilbo gasped as Thorin clenched around him, and turned his head to kiss the dwarf's strong, toned forearm. "Love you so very, very much."

“I love you,” Thorin panted, rocking his hips as best he could in this position while keeping their mouths pressed together. His release was burning low in his gut, not yet an urgent need, but it was swiftly reaching that point.

Bilbo groaned against Thorin's neck, his massaging coming to a stuttering stop to clench the raven tendrils as his pleasure rose. Soon he would boil over, give his offering to his One.

"A-Are you close?" Bilbo asked with a gravelly voice, panting desperately as his release crept up on him.

“I’m close,” Thorin whispered, and he indeed felt his sac tighten at the desperation he heard in Bilbo’s voice. Knowing his lover was so close, about to pump his side deep inside him, it had his own release rushing forward. Slipping a hand between them, he began tugging at his weeping co*ck, his eyes fluttering. “So close.”

Bilbo reached between their bodies and gripped Thorin's shaft, his pace erratic as his release boiled just beneath the surface of his skin. Every inch of his was slicked with sweat, prickly and hot, and he begged his lover, "Come with me—!" as he felt his sac tighten against his body and the tension in his body finally snap.

He groaned with his release, his seed pumping into Thorin's tight body with three pulses. His head swam with his org*sm, the release not nearly as mind numbing as the night before, but fulfilling and glorious in a way that was uniquely its own.

Thorin’s back arched his back when Bilbo’s hand joined his on his back and he was coming at the first sensation of heat flooding the area centered on his tailbone. His release was loud, a thick growl erupting from his throat that ended in a desperate whine of his One’s name, his seed painting both of their chests.

The king fell back against the bed, panting and smiling dazedly up at Bilbo, his entrance clenching around the hobbit’s softening prick as he waited out the aftershocks.

Bilbo breathed in deep, the scent of their love-making perfuming the air as he caught his breath, before slipping out of his lover slowly. His seed leaked from his lover’s loose hole and onto the silk sheets that were going to be changed more than once this next week.

They were quite the mess, Thorin's spunk smeared across their abdomens, and Bilbo was looking forward to another relaxing bath. Who know, maybe even a leisurely f*ck in the tub? They had all week together and Bilbo a feeling Thorin had little intention of wasting it.

Bilbo knew there were challenges ahead. Of course there were, Thorin was a king. But all of those things were not here for the time being. Through all of their time together Bilbo learned a valuable lesson; live for the moment. The now is all you have. Save for death, everything in life is only 'for now'. Yes, one day he would pass, or the kingdom would be attacked, or any number of horrible things could happen but that wasn't now. That was tomorrow.

Tomorrow could wait its turn.

As Bilbo flopped down next to the king, Thorin turned his head to smile at him. Rolling onto his side to face the hobbit, Thorin reached up and cupped his cheek gently. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing in close and kissing Bilbo slowly before pulling away. “I look forward to the rest of our days together.”

Those words were heavy with meaning. They spoke of raising Frodo with his One, and helping Fíli with his memory loss and rehabilitation. Those words meant the day that would come when Thorin outlived his lover and would have to continue on without him. But they also spoke of countless mornings waking up in the halfling’s arms and just as many nights tumbling into that same embrace. The words were bittersweet, and full of promise.

Thorin settled on a smile, pressing a chaste kiss to the soft petals of Bilbo’s lips before repeating, “I love you.”

Bilbo smiled into the gentle kiss, his fingers wandering up to tug at the original promise braid he had woven into Thorin's hair, with the same old leather strap he had used all those years back. His response was just as true now as it was back then. "And I love you, Thorin Oakenshield."