The journey has been well so far, since they left Beorn’s, even as they climb into even wilder territories. Bilbo has been too used to the rolling drumlins of the Shire and finds the going tough, even on the back of a pony he’s not entirely sure how to control, but he keeps up determinedly.
This day in particular has been too hot and too clammy. Gloin reckons there will be a storm coming in the next few hours and his brother agrees whole heartedly. They decide to find shelter – finding a cave that stinks of nothing worse than fox in a steady looking rock face, which happily has a dense copse to the front of it for the ponies to shelter in and a shallow river a minute’s walk away.
Everyone is evidently grateful for the stop, none more so than Bilbo; he’s sweaty and sticky and his clothes stink of himself and horse. A quick dip in a nice cool river will wash the filth away very nicely, even if it isn’t his lovely cast iron bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles and warm water. If he has managed without a handkerchief, then he can manage without a bathtub, he tells himself as he clambers off his pony with a minimum of grace. He would also be incredibly happy if most of his companions had a wash as well – dwarves don’t smell bad naturally, but they certainly wrapped up in thick armour and tunics and furs and heavy boots in all weather and the result was less than fragrant after a hot day’s ride. Even the less savoury of the company are starting to complain about the smell. The only one amongst them who isn’t flushed and sweaty is Gandalf, but then again he’s a wizard so Bilbo wouldn’t put it past him having a cooling charm on himself or something.
Gandalf volunteers to remain with the ponies and guard the cave, which is well received by all. Fili and Kili dart down to the riverside first, under the pretence of scouting although soon their yelps and hollers of joy accompany the sound of them leaping into the water. Thorin rolls his eyes and Dwalin shakes his head at their childishness, but no one is in any sort of a mood to complain. Most of the dwarves pause to stretch their legs or gather big bars of honey soap from their packs, but Bilbo patters off quickly to find a nice spot first.
The river bank is lined with grass, and there is a small lawn on which Fili and Kili have thrown off all their layers with great abandon. They’re too busy apparently trying to drown each other to notice Bilbo pad past with his quiet hobbit feet, and choose a little spot just upstream, where there a boulder has blocked the flow and a shallow pool of calm water has formed.
Eager to get clean, Bilbo begins to strip immediately. He scrubs each item of clothing hurriedly clean when he removes it, and lays them out on the bank so that they’ll be dry when he comes to put them back on. They’re also close enough so that if he needs to grab them hurriedly, always a possibility in the wilderness, he’ll be able to grab most of them. Only then does he slide into the water.
It’s cold but refreshingly so, and he finds the current is not strong enough to prevent him from swimming out even to the middle of the stream. Few hobbits are keen swimmers, Bilbo least among them, but he can manage a half-decent doggy paddle that keeps his head above water and a few widths of the river warms up his body and stretches out his pony-stiff limbs and back. When he settles back into the pool again, the water is relatively warm in comparison to the cool of the current, and it feels good just to relax there.
Behind the boulder, he can hear more dwarves arriving at the riverside; the clicking and clacking as they undo big buckles and straps and deposit piles of weapons on the lawn, and then the splash and holler as they enter the cold water. Bifur in particular curses something fierce in Khuzdul when he splashes in. Bilbo finds if he moves to the other side of the pool, where past swirling waters have cast up a low ridge of shingle and sediment, he can warm his back with the sun and watch the gathering of dwarves through the thin reeds that line one edge of the boulder without them noticing him.
Many of the older dwarves have ploughed straight in, crossed to the opposite bank someway further down and set themselves up in the shallow water there. Dori is carefully undoing the intricate braiding of his hair, while Nori has entirely dunked his head underwater and his previously rather spectacular hairdo is a damp mess trailing down his back. Gloin, Oin and Balin are leaning against the riverbank and smoking somnolently from pipes they had carved while waiting about in Beorn’s abode, while Bofur and his brother and cousin are scrubbing themselves with their soap.
Fili and Kili have recruited poor Ori for their games, and their gallivanting is most amusing, especially to Bilbo since he’s out of range of the splashing. Eventually the scribe gets lured away by one of his brothers, who are insistent he must wash his hair, and the two brother of the line of Durin are left to their mad roughhousing by themselves again.
Bilbo collects his soap from the bank and sit back down on the shingle ridge to wash himself. His hands are ingrained with dirt up to his wrists and he scrubs hard to get himself clean: he knows his feet will be much, much worse, but he daren’t look at them just yet. Instead he scrubs down his arms and shoulders with the suds, eager to rinse the layer of sweat off. He even stands to do the same to his legs, before dunking himself entirely underwater for a moment to rinse off.
Afterwards he feels very much refreshed and happier with the world. He rests a foot up on one of his knees to tend to it more thoroughly, and then realises that Dwalin has entered the water downstream as well, standing where the river laps around his navel. All Bilbo can see from his current angle is a huge bare shoulder, covered only in blue and black tattoos, and a tree trunk of an arm. The big dwarf has even removed his knuckledusters, and the great paw that Bilbo can see has pale lines on the back where the metal rested on the skin for so long.
Long ago Bilbo had worked out that all the dwarves were powerful creatures, physically strong in a way that was not entirely proportionate to their size. But Dwalin had always appeared to be in a class of his own. Now, Bilbo Baggins wasn’t adverse to muscular men – the Shire was fairly lenient in what a young hobbit could do with themself before marriage, and Bilbo had often spent his summers wandering through the Northfarthing or the Eastfarthing where all the farmers’ boys lived, seeing how many he could lure away a day – but a wiry hobbit teen was nothing in comparison to the living granite that someone had apparently carved Dwalin out of.
Quietly, pretending to himself that it was completely the fault of the river currents, Bilbo shifted along the ridge a bit, until he could see all clearly. Dwalin was rinsing his shoulders and his hairy chest down with great handfuls of water, and Bilbo followed a few of the trailing droplets down until he noticed something very odd indeed. He even leant closer as if that would make it easier to tell what the hell it was he was looking at, partially hidden by the hair and disguised by the heavy blue-black tattoos.
Now, in the Shire, lady hobbits would every so often get their ears pierced – especially those from the richer families – and maybe a few of the madder male youth would join them, like the Tooks and the Brandybucks who were prone to being yobs. But Bilbo had never in his days encountered someone with their nipples pierced! Each brown nub, peaked by the cold, had a heavy looking steel loop passed through it, and Bilbo thought it looked terribly uncomfortable!
Kili then made an ill-advised attempt to spring on Dwalin and drown him too, and the resulting tussle had the water boiling and bubbling. Fili merely stood back with his hands on his hips and laughed, and when Bilbo had a good look, there too was a nipple piercing – only one this time, with a golden ring that was barely visible in his blond chest hair. And then Kili was hiding behind him, and he had one too, a silver bar through a pink nub. Bilbo made a hurried account of all the other dwarves he could see, and to his horror found that of all the dwarven chests he could see, all but Ori had at least one nipple pierced.
What on Middle Earth would prompt them to do such a thing? That is Bilbo’s main question, closely followed by what does it feel like? He touches one of his own nipples, biting his lip as it peaked under his light touch, and wonders what it would be like – the piercing must hurt, but how would the jewellery feel? Would it be a constant little weight tugging and rubbing, or would it be nothing in the end?
“Something wrong with your chest, burglar?” rumbles a cavern deep and peat dark voice from above him. Bilbo looks up so quickly he cracks his neck and tips himself backwards into the stream all at once, which is perhaps the least embarrassing thing someone’s seen him do in the past five seconds. Thorin Oakenshield is sitting atop of the boulder the hobbit had been using as cover, and thankfully doesn’t seem bothered that he’s just found Bilbo touching himself in such an unseemly fashion.
Someone drags him up from the river, and Bilbo finds himself face to chest hair with Dwalin’s torso.
“I was wondering where you’d got to,” rumbles the dwarf, squeezing the back of Bilbo’s neck in a manner which Bilbo wouldn’t describe as affectionate except in this huge dwarf who could have so easily snapped his neck with that one hand. “Come on and help me entertain the louts. His majesty up there’s too busy being stuck up his own arse to join in.”
Bilbo looks up in horror, but Thorin is chuckling quietly with laughter and merely flashes Dwalin a gesture which the hobbit is fairly sure is something very uncomplimentary in Dwarvish. There’s no way the little hobbit can resist, so he lets Dwalin tow him around the boulder and into the games, which still seem to revolve about how many people you can drown in a short space of time. Bilbo is not very good at this, and mostly seems to spend his time dodging from shingle bank to shingle bank so he has some place to leap away from if anyone seems to be approaching him. Thankfully, the hobbit is quick and dodges plenty of attacks, before Kili manages to steal one of the beads on Fili’s moustaches and the brothers give up the game in exchange for the elder chasing the younger in and out of the water and hollering insults about his parentage at him. Bilbo’s not entirely sure Fili’s thought most of the insults through, but doesn’t say anything to distract them. Dwalin crosses to the opposite bank to borrow some soap, and dear Elbereth, when he strides across one of the shallows, the water dips well down his furred thighs and Bilbo gets a good eyeful.
There is no way, he thinks, that that can be comfortable. Not only is it the biggest prick he’s ever seen – how can Dwalin walk with that thing between his legs?! – it’s also lined with heavy piercings down the underside. Bilbo daren’t look at Fili or Kili again for fear of getting a similar view, but then Thorin starts to shuck his many layers of clothes and the hobbit’s brain is rather distracted by this new development. He slips backward on a submerged rock and ends up perched up to his neck in the river, suddenly happy to have some cover.
It has become clear that dwarves are not bothered with privacy at all. No one has batted an eyelid at the nakedness, or the roughhousing while naked, and no one seems to care that their prince is joining them naked. Bilbo thinks he might care, especially when Thorin pulls his heavy velvet tunic off with a groan of relief, and there are all those muscles, great blocks of them glistening with a faint layer of sweat under a heavy trail of black chest hair and a few lingering bruises from Azog’s warg. Bilbo’s fingers itch at the sight, especially when he realises that, yes, Thorin’s nipples are pierced as well. Heavy steel grey rings, and Bilbo wants to find out why and how, and to touch and find out if they make it easier to drive dwarves mad with lust. They’re certainly driving him fairly insane at any rate!
Thorin kneels to unlace his boots, and Bilbo can’t help but watch still. He would be lying if he denied liking Thorin’s shoulders – broad and strong, and previously always covered in armour and furs. Finally, Thorin steps out of his boots and starts to remove his trousers, and only now does Bilbo avert his eyes, blushing furiously.
Thorin half throws himself into the water, dowsing himself well and throwing a wave over Bilbo in the process. Another of the dwarves tosses the prince a bar of the rich honey soap that Beorn had gifted them, and Bilbo just has to sit there, completely unable to move and display his embarrassment to the whole of the company, as Thorin lathers himself down from his thick hair to his ankles.
And when he stands to wash down his thighs and lower legs as Bilbo had done himself not that long ago, he’s facing the hobbit. Bilbo gets his second look at dwarven cock, and finds that Thorin too has been pierced. It’s no row of metal bars on the underside, but a thick curved barbell jutting from the very tip and the underside of the head, and another steel loop tucked at the join of cock and bollocks. With a whimper – because that must surely hurt! – Bilbo tucks himself a little further down under the water and looks pointedly elsewhere.
The other dwarves are starting to leave, complaining of hunger or cold, but Bilbo remains put and pretends to be watching the clouds drift past instead of pointedly not looking at more dwarf cocks. This is difficult, as Dwalin pauses on the shore to speak with Thorin at length, sharing rumbling Khuzdul sentences that they seem to find far too amusing before the warrior dwarf moves off. There is plenty of clacking and swearing and rustling as they dressed again, and soon Bilbo thinks he might be alone and dares to look down again.
Thorin is sitting down and watching him, a smirk quirking his lip upwards. He doesn’t say anything, and Bilbo can’t seem to trust his mouth anymore for fear the first thing he’ll say being, “I notice you’ve got some piercings” and then that would just lead to embarrassment. He shudders at the attitude Thorin would develop then – after Azog’s attack and the eagle flight, Thorin had been much more pleasant to Bilbo, smiling at him and scrubbing his hair and once or twice giving him the sort of half-hug he’d give his nephews. Bilbo likes it, and even though he finds Thorin unbelievably attractive, he’s not prepared to lose the closeness. So he sits still and quiet, and tries to think of anything but thick dwarf cock and hard warrior bodies.
It has to be said that he fails entirely, and so ends up sitting in the river for a very long time, staring ashamedly at the water over his lap and wondering just how badly a piercing down there had to hurt. As the day cooled and a wind began to pick up, Bilbo finds himself shivering and even more miserable than when he had been too hot. Thorin checks the sky and frowns, removing himself from the water and standing naked and proud on the lawn.
“Time to get out, burglar,” he rumbles, and Bilbo’s cock – finally beginning to calm with help from the cold water – perks right up again. Nevertheless he can’t just ignore Thorin Oakenshield, and the cold is almost unbearable now, so he skips out and goes to gather his clothes from the other side of the boulder. He’s too damp to put his nicely dry clothes back on, but he can certainly hold the bundle in front of his own half-hard prick to disguise himself from Thorin.
The dwarf prince is still naked when Bilbo returns, lying on his back on the lawn and enjoying the last few minutes of sunshine. The cold wind doesn’t seem to concern him, but it makes Bilbo’s teeth chatter audibly and Thorin sits up and grabs his furs.
“Come here,” he says, patting the ground next to himself. “You’re cold. I’ll wrap you up and get you warmed.”
“Oh no, that’s really not necessary!” bleats Bilbo, but the dwarf prince merely growls and raises an eyebrow and the little hobbit can’t resist anymore. He puts his clothes down on the grass and sits down, almost gasping with relief when Thorin throws half of his thick fur lined cloak over his back and shuffles closer.
This is how Bilbo ends up tucked under Thorin Oakenshield’s arm as his shivers slowly die away. Thorin exudes heat like one of the furnaces he must have spent time standing over not long before, and, even freshly cleaned, he smells of metal and deep dark rich earth. Bilbo really does rather like sitting so nice and close, and he can’t help the flutters in his stomach that translate to a heavy blush across his chest and his cock filling out fully again. If Thorin notices his burglar’s distress, he doesn’t show it, and merely checks the sky again.
“Gloin was right,” he sighs, and Bilbo tilts his head upwards too. The clouds are a dark, burnished grey above them, and then the world tilts as Thorin presses two fingers to the side of his chin and brings his head about to look at the dwarf prince instead .
“You are very comely,” says Thorin briefly and then Bilbo finds his mouth, slack with shock, claimed by the dwarf prince. It was a very nice kiss indeed, and so Bilbo found himself perched on Thorin’s lap when they had to pull apart to breathe, with little idea of how he got there and no intention of getting off. Straddling two massive thighs is a tough prospect for a little hobbit, but he seems to fit nicely enough and Thorin throws his furs over Bilbo’s back again to keep him warm.
They kiss again, Thorin’s hands resting comfortably about Bilbo’s waist and Bilbo’s somehow finding themselves wrapped into the dwarf’s long hair, where his thick braids had once curled. The hair is damp and still soft with the effect of the soap, and Bilbo ‘s fingers are soon thoroughly entangled and he’s entirely trapped and happy to be there. Thorin’s mouth is firm against his own, controlling the kiss easily, and his tongue lures Bilbo’s out to play. The dwarf prince tastes of faint smoke and metal and something deep and dark
A droplet of cold water plinks on Bilbo’s head, startling him from the kiss and nearly making him head-butt Thorin, which would almost certainly hurt him much more than the dwarf. He looks up just in time to get another drop in the eye, and then Thorin is urging him up. They gather their clothes, the rain pattering in increasing intensity, and Thorin grabs Bilbo’s hand and leads him off at a fast trot.
Thorin finds them a cave just as the heavens open and the world is abruptly drenched in sheets of rain. The cave is little more than a shallow divot in a rocky face, but it’s protected by an overhang so that the rain spills over in sheets of water. Bilbo stands and watches in quiet awe at the small waterfall until Thorin comes up behind him and envelops him in strong arms.
“So easily amazed, my burglar,” he rumbles, his hair spilling over Bilbo’s shoulders as he lowered his head to nibble the tip of one of Bilbo’s ears.
“Sorry if I haven’t seen that much of the world!” gasps Bilbo, trying to sound affronted but fails spectacularly when Thorin chuckles and his laugh reverberates through the hobbit’s whole body.
With a particularly sharp nip and a lick to soothe the abused flesh, Thorin says, “I find it endearing. Come, we may as well rest until the storm dies down some.”
“Won’t the others be concerned?”
Thorin chuckles again, “They know where we are. I informed Dwalin of my intentions after I spotted you eyeing us up like we were prized stones.” Bilbo goes bright crimson, and he tries to deny it but Thorin will have none of it and wheels him about to settle him on his spread furs. “I am not bothered by it, of course.”
“Oh,” says Bilbo, as he’s coaxed down onto Thorin’s lap again. “Good, I suppose.” He shifts to regain the comfortable position they had been entangled in out in the open and then starts as there is a brush of cool metal against his belly. The warm hardness of Thorin’s cock is trapped between them, rubbing comfortably against Bilbo’s own prick, and just now it has pressed close enough to remind him of the heavy piercing at the tip again. The touch is electrifying, and Bilbo bites his lip and draws his courage, because he’s naked astride a dwarf prince’s lap so surely he should be able to ask a simple question.
“I can’t help but notice,” says Bilbo, his voice all warbled and high pitched, “That many of you have your… nipples… pierced.”
Thorin grunts and glances down absently. His thick fingers reach up and tug at one of his own piercings, and Bilbo’s fingers itch to be in their place. “Many of us do indeed,” he says, and when he looks up his eyes are sparkling with something that would have been mischief in a lesser dwarf. As it is, the expression takes Bilbo’s breath away entirely and he has to lean in for a kiss to regain his senses. “You wish to touch?”
A big hand captures Bilbo’s own, and his nimble little fingers brush first over thick chest hair and then press to hard muscle underneath. He has to sit back and watch his own hand, which pets over the dwarf’s broad chest and down his taut, muscle-packed belly and returns up, drawn still by the temptation of those steel rings. Perhaps he has some form of gold lust, he thinks to himself, to be drawn in by such odd pieces of jewellery – his Ring, still tucked in his waistcoat, and now Thorin’s piercings.
His touch on the first loop is ginger and delicate, stroking around the hoop of metal where it is warmed by Thorin’s furnace-like skin.
“I am not made of glass,” rumbles Thorin. “In fact, these piercings should tell you such.”
Bilbo gets the sneaking suspicion he’s being made fun of, because how would a hobbit know about dwarven culture?, but plucks one of the piercings up anyway, and Thorin gives a light grunt of pleasure.
“What do they mean then?” the hobbit asks, pretending to be fiddling absently when in actual fact he was twisting and pulling lightly on the ring for the reactions it was garnering. Thorin was trying to keep calm, even as his lips tightened and his belly twitched, his thick cock brushing against Bilbo’s stomach again.
“They stand for honour,” says Thorin, voice husky and deep. “We receive one as we achieve adulthood, and another when we accomplish some great deed. The second is normally placed on the side of our heart, to symbolise the inner strength of what we have done.”
Bilbo ducks his head and laps a kiss to the nipple he’s been abusing, drawing the ring into his mouth and smiling when the metal clacks against his teeth and he can torment and soothe Thorin at the same time with his tongue. Thorin laughs and calls him wicked, pressing a gentle hand into the hobbit’s curls to coax him to the neglected nub. Now the dwarf does groan and grumble when Bilbo toys with him, his thick fingers tightening momentarily on the nape of the hobbit’s neck when Bilbo tugs the piercing especially hard just to see what will happen.
“What was your great deed?” Bilbo asks, nuzzling kisses up to the taut tendons of Thorin’s neck and rasping his cheek against heavy black stubble affectionately.
“The preservation of my people,” says Thorin, “After Smaug took the mountain.”
“You did well,” Bilbo says, and he ducks his head to press a soft kiss to the piercing through Thorin’s left nipple. The dwarf growls and rolls his hips up, some dam over a hidden reservoir of lust almost audibly cracking, and the heavy barbell through his cock brushes Bilbo’s navel. “I would ask about the others as well.”
“Will you kiss them as sweetly?” rumbles Thorin, “I would have your mouth, dear burglar, if you would permit it.”
“I will more than permit it,” says Bilbo, pleased. He slides down Thorin’s powerful framed, until he is crouched between thighs that could certainly crush him if the dwarf wanted to. To tease, he follows the trail of hair down Thorin’s belly with his tongue and his lips, swerving to the side abruptly to avoid the dwarf’s erection, and moving to mouth kisses to a muscle strapped hipbone and the crease between pelvis and thigh.
His first touch to Thorin’s cock makes the dwarf grunt and curse, even if it is only the light hold of one palm and fingers, barely able to reach about his heavy girth. With his other hand, he brushes delicate fingers over the lightly furred balls, and carefully investigates the piercing at the base of his prick. It is a similar steel loop to those through Thorin’s nipples, though in a much more delicate place, and Bilbo considers bowing his head to mouth the dwarf’s bollocks and see if the ring clinks nicely on his teeth again, when the temptation of the other piercing becomes too great.
The barbell is thick steel; a ball protruding from the underside of the swollen, rosy head and another resting at the very tip, joined by a bar that enters through the slit. Bilbo runs his thumb around the lower ball, and considers the whole arrangement – piercing or no, Thorin’s cock is gorgeous, thick and heavy and flushed pink, and the hobbit’s mouth is watering at the thought of swallowing it down. After a moment he decides that the piercing only adds to the delight and, very gently, laps out his tongue and swipes it across the very tip.
“What are these for?” he asks, positioning his mouth so his breath ghosts over the wetted skin and Thorin shudders.
“Symbols,” gasps Thorin, his hand back on the nape of Bilbo’s neck as the hobbit blinks expectant eyes up at him and licks the tip again. The dwarf shudders, his head falling back and chest heaving briefly before he manages to get himself under control and Bilbo likes this very much; he can bring Thorin Oakenshield to such desperate pleasure with his tongue alone. “Of my strength and dwarf-hood. To show-“ He grits his teeth and makes a choked noise when Bilbo circles the top ball of the barbell with his tongue, dipping into the slit briefly. “-that I can handle all things…!”
Bilbo takes Thorin in his mouth, the thickness of him stretching his lips and urging his jaw open wide. There’s a surge of salty pre-come to slick his tongue as he sees how far down he can go before he’s threatened with choking. With a firm grip around the shaft, he starts to bob up and down, the flat of his tongue laving the swollen veins on the underside and the protruding end of the barbell until Thorin curses in Khuzdul and his hips jerk upwards helplessly.
“Mahal!” he growls, and Bilbo has to cast his gaze upwards again to catch the sight of the dwarf prince coming undone. Thorin’s chest heaves for breath, the tight muscles across his belly tense and contract as his hips thrust up into Bilbo’s mouth and set their own pace. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair a wild mess, and Bilbo thought he was the most gorgeous, lethal thing he had ever set eyes on. When he spoke, his voice was deep like mountain caves and rumbling like an earthquake. “I would have you on your back amid my furs, legs spread for me to take it like you take me in your mouth; if only we had some oil with us!”
Bilbo hums in thoughtful agreement – he can picture it perfectly, Thorin looming above him, this thick cock buried right to the hilt and the sheer heavy weight of it in his belly, the piercing rubbing at his walls… - and the pair of them both groan in delighted unison.
“When I win back Erebor,” says Thorin, his voice even deeper and now strained, like he is holding on with all his will, “The first thing I will do is find us a room. I will build you a bed out of the most precious metals and I will cover it in the softest down and the best silks sheets, and then I will take you on it, ‘til you scream with the pleasure I will give you. Oh!”
He gasps abruptly, hips jerking up once, twice more, and his hand locking tight on Bilbo’s nape to hold the hobbit steady as he spills. Bilbo gulps hurriedly, thick salty liquid spurting into the back of his mouth faster that he can take it down, and he can feel trails of seed spill from the corners of his mouth and run down his chin. Thorin takes one last look at him and drops his head back to the furs he lay on. His hand loosens from Bilbo’s curls but the hobbit keeps his lips in place for a moment longer to lap the last traces of spill from the softening cock. Finally he lets the prick drop from his mouth and wipes his face on the back of his hand.
“You are a wanton little creature, and you shall almost certainly be the death of me,” grumbles Thorin, sounding satisfied. He lies still for a while longer, and Bilbo stays crouched between his thighs, hand almost frantic on his own unsatisfied cock as he casts an appreciative eye over the dwarf prince’s body. When Thorin opens his eyes again, Bilbo thinks he might peak easily with that smoky gaze on him, but then the dwarf surges up.
Thorin rolls them over, knocking Bilbo’s hand away, and looming down. His hair falls about them like a curtain and Bilbo squeaks in shock at the sudden change in position just before Thorin inclines his head to kiss him.
“You taste like me.” Thorin quirks an eyebrow when they break apart.
“And whose fault is that?” Bilbo gasps as the dwarf nips at the underside of his jaw and shudders as a big, calloused hand trails right down the middle of his chest, finally resting on his belly just above his aching cock. How he wanted Thorin to touch him, or to be able to grind up and get his pleasure thrusting against the dwarf’s belly, but like this he was pinned and desperate.
“You are a very comely creature indeed,” purrs Thorin, as his mouth trails lower down Bilbo’s neck. “Soft and pretty and very, very fierce.” He bites Bilbo’s collar bone and soothes the mark with a kiss that completely kills Bilbo’s complaints about being called ‘soft and ‘pretty’. “When we are back in Erebor, I will have to dress you up so everyone knows whom you belong to. Would that please you?”
Bilbo can only make a garbled noise in the back of his throat – Thorin’s mouth has latched to one of his nipples, teeth squeezing gently and tongue rolling around the nub. He pulls off with a wet sound, and his beard scratches the reddened flesh, making Bilbo gasp and whine.
Thorin laughs and says, “Only the finest cloth for you, I think, and gems and golden strands to braid through your hair.” He brushes a gentle kiss to the other nipple and moves down, steadily and surely. “But you would be nicest with gold hanging from your ears, and a jewel just here, I think.” He kisses the hobbit’s navel, dipping his tongue in briefly. “I would have you with a stud through your tongue, so everyone knew that you were a wise little creature with a nimble mouth. And your nipples pierced with golden hoops, both of them for you are of age and you have completed a great deed already.”
“What have I done?” rasps Bilbo, tremors of lust shaking through him as he watches Thorin descend that last short distance to consider the hobbit’s cock. He can see himself as Thorin describes, with metal and jewels beading his skin, laid upon a great royal bed and at the mercy of a majestic, beautiful dwarf-king. His heart hammers even harder in his chest at the thought.
“You saved my life, Bilbo Baggins,” rumbles Thorin, and his eyes are smouldering and grateful all at once. “And you will help me save my people.” His mouth closes over the hobbit’s cock, and Bilbo keens at the sudden warmth and wetness around him. Thorin speaks of the hobbit’s nimble tongue, but his own was a devilish thing indeed, swirling and rubbing firmly.
Bilbo has no mission of resisting the pleasure that coils in his belly, just under the heat of Thorin’s palm. He gasps and whines and entwines his hands in Thorin’s thick hair, and spills into the waiting mouth with a cry of the dwarf prince’s name loud on his lips.
Thorin shuffles them again, so that Bilbo is half lying on the dwarf, head cushioned contentedly on a big shoulder. They lie in comfortable silence, the only sound their own breathing and the calming patter of rain still dripping down outside.
“You shall need to redo your braids,” says Bilbo, twining a strand of hair about his fingers. “I suppose those have meanings as well?”
“Oh they do,” chuckles Thorin, “But I don’t think I have the stamina to explain those to you as well!”