It is not so strange for a burglar to be silent in all he does. In fact, one would think that this is a basic necessity. And when Thorin takes Bilbo to his bed, he discovers that facet of the Hobbit’s personality extends to their lovemaking as well.
At first he had thought the Halfling unwilling – that Bilbo was too polite or had felt like he somehow ‘owed’ Thorin the use of his body. The idea had made Thorin almost physically ill. However, thanks to some well-meaning (if giggly) intervention from his nephews, it turns out that Bilbo’s lack of, er, vocal-ness is not due to any misplaced sense of duty.
He does not mind so much when they are on the road – his private matters are private, after all, and he appreciates Bilbo’s discreetness. But this trend continues on even when they are alone, with none to overhear. At first Thorin is insulted.
Then he just takes it as a challenge.
“Are all Hobbits as light-footed as you, Master Baggins?” He murmurs the question against the skin of Bilbo’s shoulder, smoothing one hand over a small wrist.
“I, ah, I expect so, yes. Unless there’s been a lot of pudding and cakes and things involved.”
Thorin hums. His thumb finds Bilbo’s pulse point and he notes the steady thrum of his heart – faster and lighter than a Dwarf’s. “And do all Hobbits blush so prettily as you?”
As anticipated, that charming blush does indeed dust Bilbo’s cheeks. Thorin knows for a fact how low it spreads, splotchy pink-and-red. “Not all of us, no. Some do not have much cause to be flushed.”
“That does not sound very exciting.”
“Yes, but you know Hobbits – not very keen on excitement.”
Abruptly, Bilbo finds himself on his back, one of Thorin’s hands easily going around both of his wrists. “And yet you manage.”
“I’m a special case,” is the cheeky reply as Bilbo raises his chin, angling for a kiss.
Thorin doesn’t indulge him, though. His gaze slides down Bilbo’s neck and chest with an intensity that makes the Hobbit shiver. “And tell me…” Thorin settles his weight a little more securely against Bilbo. “Are all of you so quiet?”
“Quiet? Yes, I suppose, unless there’s cause for celebration.” He arches delightfully, exposing his throat so Thorin may lavish it with attention should he choose. “Then we are merry and make music until the wee hours of the morn.”
“I meant in bed, burglar. Are all of you so quiet in bed?”
“Some are, some are not.” Confused as to why he’s being asked this, he adds, “I imagine it’s the same with Dwarves.”
“No.” Bilbo shivers again. “Not you.”
Thorin hums again in agreement, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His free hand traces a path along Bilbo’s skin, coming to a rest on his soft belly (though, admittedly, not as soft as it had been when he had been naively happy in the Shire). There is no shame in being vocal in the bedroom. It shows confidence and trust and a willingness to take pleasure as it is offered.
Perhaps he can teach this to Bilbo, tonight.
“Might you scream my name into the darkness?” Thorin asks, his lips a scant distance from Bilbo’s pointed ear. There is teasing in his voice, even if the question itself is serious.
It earns him a scandalised gasp – very Hobbity. “That wouldn’t be very proper. People would hear!”
“I do not care.” To demonstrate this supreme indifference, Thorin tugs the tip of Bilbo’s ear between his teeth. Bilbo makes an odd jerking motion, as if he wants to jump away and press closer at the same time.
“I do!” the Hobbit whispers fiercely. “Someone should have a care for propriety, even if you don’t, Thorin.”
He cannot help but laugh. “When I take you to bed, my burglar, propriety should not even enter your mind.”
Bilbo is blushing again, squirming underneath Thorin in a way that is entirely too delicious to be allowed. He doesn’t think that Bilbo knows the effect it has on him – until he sees a hint of a smirk.
Oh, but what hidden depths his burglar has! Thorin thinks that he will never tire of finding every single one of them. With this in mind, he leans down to chase that smirk away from Bilbo’s lips.
They kiss and kiss until even Thorin’s head is dizzy and muddled. He manages to wrench away and takes in his handiwork with pleased eyes. Bilbo gleams with a fine sheen of sweat, his eyes half closed and his lips utterly ravaged. But even with his chest rising and falling rapidly, Bilbo neither pants nor gasps noisily. His mouth is wide open and air passes through it silently, always silently.
It drives Thorin mad.
Benevolently (in his opinion), Thorin lets go of Bilbo’s wrists – though the Hobbit rather interestingly doesn’t move his hands, content to leave them above his head. Thorin files this information away for a later date and efficiently strips himself of his suddenly-suffocating tunic.
There had been baths drawn before dinner, and so Thorin’s hair is soft and still-damp as it settles on his bare shoulders and down his back. It is immensely gratifying to watch Bilbo’s soft smile turn into an expression of pure hunger as his gaze travels from the Dwarf’s no longer unruly mane down to his bared chest and belly.
Bilbo’s hands are now everywhere; palms pressing against the flat of his stomach, fingers digging into thick, wiry hair, nails scraping almost painfully against any skin he can reach. Thorin huffs a breathy laugh when Bilbo strays too close to his sides, and his eyes widen at the positively wicked curve of Bilbo’s lips.
The Halfling spares him, though, instead winding his arms around Thorin’s neck, pulling. Thorin takes greedily as he presses Bilbo against the mattress, as he devours Bilbo, licking filthily into his mouth.
When fingers tangle into his hair, tugs at the black locks, Thorin moans raggedly, moving to nip at Bilbo’s throat. He leaves marks as he goes, soothing the abused skin with his lips and tongue – and all the while there is no noise of complaint or pleasure from his Hobbit. Thorin growls and bites down on Bilbo’s collarbone, hard, enjoying the way Bilbo writhes beneath him.
But still silence.
Exploring Bilbo’s almost furless chest yields no results. Neither does tasting the inside of the Hobbit’s elbow and wrist, or the skin between his fingers. Nearly at his wits end, Thorin all but manhandles Bilbo out of his trousers – narrowing his eyes at the conspicuous lack of underclothing. So. The Hobbit had come prepared.
Bilbo grins at his surprise, and Thorin’s nostrils flare as heat pools low in his groin. If this is his reaction to a simple smile, what more can he expect when he has Bilbo keening and crying out underneath him?
Cupping Bilbo’s thighs in his hands, Thorin leans down over him, careful not to let their bodies touch. He presses a biting kiss to Bilbo’s lips, and then another, and another. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Bilbo grows ever frustrated. Hot tendrils of arousal curl and coil in his mind, clouding his thoughts as slender fingers wrap around his braids.
Inspiration strikes quick and suddenly as lightning, and Thorin starts to rummage around the clothes strewn on the bed with one hand. Bilbo blinks at him confusedly when Thorin works to disentangle Bilbo’s hands from black locks, but the Dwarf just leans down to mouth at his jaw to distract him.
Having found what he’d been looking for, however, his hands now turn busy above their heads – and that’s when Bilbo finally notices. He just shoots Thorin a look, as if to say, ‘What nonsense are you up to?’
Thorin says nothing and brushes a kiss against Bilbo’s throat. He moves down the Hobbit’s body, letting his lips trace a path where they will. He pays special attention to the places that make Bilbo’s breath hitch, that make him squirm. As Thorin reaches Bilbo’s navel, he intentionally breathes on the flushed cock lying against Bilbo’s belly – the Hobbit’s hips stutter in response. Then he leisurely and thoroughly sets about placing a mark on the soft flesh of Bilbo’s inner thigh.
Bilbo finally makes a frustrated sound – Thorin counts it as a small victory – and glares. “What are you doing?”
“I am merely… trying something.”
His frown deepens. “I’m suddenly afraid.”
Thorin grasps Bilbo’s cock. “No, you’re not.”
Whatever protest that had been forthcoming is forgotten as Bilbo throws his head back, arching his neck and biting his lip. Thorin hisses as he watches the play of expression on Bilbo’s face as he slowly, deliberately circles the head of Bilbo’s cock with his thumb.
He allows his touch to turn gentle, then, a barely-there presence as he runs his fingertips along the underside, and then back up again. It’s actually quite soothing.
Well. For Thorin.
“May I –” The expression in Bilbo’s eyes is fierce as he looks down at Thorin and swallows thickly. “May I ask what this is all about?”
“You may,” Thorin says lowly, lips twitching.
Bilbo scowls. “Why have you bound my wrists to the bed?”
Thorin hides his smile in the side of Bilbo’s knee. “I’m testing the strength of your braces.”
“My –!” Thorin watches as the Hobbit stops trying to wriggle free of his bonds. “You’re being cruel for no reason, Thorin.”
“Oh, I have reason.” He mouths his way up Bilbo’s thigh to his hip.
Bilbo’s voice is admirably steady. “Why not – why not my feet as well?”
“While that is an interesting prospect, my burglar, it has the distinct flaw of disallowing me from doing this.” Thorin hooks his thumbs behind Bilbo’s knees, pushing and spreading his legs wide. He doesn’t give Bilbo any more warning than that before swooping down and taking his cock in his mouth.
Bilbo’s reply chokes off into a curse, and Thorin counts it as another point in his favour.
Try as he might, though, he cannot draw any more sounds from Bilbo. Since his hands are occupied, his movements are sloppy with the cock in his mouth. He moans as the taste of Bilbo spreads on his tongue, and feels Bilbo thrum under his fingertips. A quick look upwards offers the view of Bilbo’s head thrown back and a mouth open in a wordless cry.
Wordless. At all times wordless.
Thorin gives one last, hard suck before letting up off Bilbo’s cock. He smirks at the wide-eyed look this earns him, again fumbling for something on the bed.
He prepares Bilbo with the ease of experience, knowing Bilbo’s limits as surely as he does his own. It takes maddening moments for him to shed his remaining clothes, for him to coat himself in the oil, to position himself just so.
Thorin cannot and does not stop himself from groaning as he fully seats himself inside Bilbo.
“You are a delightful creature,” Thorin mutters, almost growls against Bilbo’s neck. “And I would have you speak. I would hear your voice as you come undone by my hand.”
Bilbo looks utterly wrecked when Thorin glances up at him, damp curls clinging to his forehead. Thorin smoothes them away gently, caressing Bilbo’s cheek with his thumb.
Yielding to the temptation, Thorin captures Bilbo’s lips. His hand finds Bilbo’s cock, stroking him to full hardness as he slips his tongue past Bilbo’s teeth. His Hobbit presses against him with something like desperation, arching his body up against Thorin’s solid one and Thorin has to tear his mouth away, breathing raggedly.
“Say something,” Thorin orders roughly as his hand finds Bilbo’s hip, grip tight.
It’s a whisper, half-broken. “Th-Thorin – oh, please –”
“Please? Please what?”
Bilbo’s shoulders flex as he strains against his bonds. “I… I, um.”
Thorin shifts. A few millimetres, nothing more, and yet Bilbo’s back snaps ramrod straight. “Now is not the time to be shy, Bilbo.” He scrapes his beard against Bilbo’s shoulder and feels him shiver.
“Please move, please, I –” Bilbo breaks off with one long whine as Thorin snaps his hips forward, once. “You’re being cruel.”
“I’m not being cruel. You’re not telling me what you want.”
Bilbo grits his teeth and stubbornly lifts his chin, meeting Thorin’s gaze steadily. He truly is as fierce as any warrior and Thorin smiles smugly in the face of the clear challenge presented to him. Very well.
“You force my hand, then.”
“Is this what you want?” Thorin asks through clenched teeth, emphasizing his words with a short, hard thrust. Bilbo actually cries out; the light from the flickering candle catches the tendons in his neck as he bares his throat. Thorin grins fiercely. “Well?”
“I… I want –” He whimpers through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as Thorin relentlessly moves above him.
“I thought.” Thorin grunts, then carries on. “I thought you had a way with words, Halfling.”
The dam breaks.
“Take me,” Bilbo half-begs, half-orders. He’s lost none of his fierceness, sweat-drenched and half-senseless as he is. “Take me, make me yours, show me –” he breaks off, gasping for air. “Show me your desire.”
“Are you – are you certain?” Thorin cannot help but tease, cannot help but ensure his victory and lord it over his prize.
Bilbo’s glare is furious enough to be scorching as the sun, and he hooks his legs around Thorin’s waist in one motion, snapping their bodies together. Both of them groan unashamedly, unfettered by ridiculous notions of modesty (at least, in Bilbo’s case).
“Do it,” Bilbo snarls, “else I will make sure you regret it.”
“No fear,” Thorin says, and steals a kiss before brushing his lips by one pointed ear. “So long as you keep speaking.”
As they move, absolute filth drips from Bilbo’s lips, enough to make Thorin blush – if he’d ever been the type to do so. In any case, Bilbo is sufficiently flushed for the both of them. The sight of him is properly intoxicating, but it is nothing compared to the noises Thorin pulls from his throat, growing steadily louder and more incomprehensible.
Bilbo’s voice spurs Thorin on all the faster, control slipping from his fingers and leaving him in tatters. He lets his forehead rest heavily on Bilbo’s shoulder, lets his hands find their way up to bruisingly grasp Bilbo’s wrists.
If anything, Bilbo’s cries become more wanton.
Thorin peaks first, riding over the crest of his pleasure. He lets out a deep, shuddering moan as his thrusts turn erratic and unrestrained. Turning his head just so, his teeth again find the bite he’d bestowed on Bilbo’s collarbone, and, well –
It’s not quite a scream, but it’ll do.