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Lost in despair, the hobbit cried bitterly. He had been so happy, before the Company had arrived at Rivendell. But then the sweet dream of being in Thorin's arms had become a nightmare.

Bilbo had been ecstatic to see Rivendell. He had hoped that, once in a secluded room, their romance would progress from such secret kisses and nocturnal touches on their bedrolls as they had been sharing. Their coupling was good enough, even though Bilbo would have wanted a more gentle passion. But the hobbit had attributed the forceful nature of Thorin’s touches to the differences between dwarves and hobbits.

Just after their lovemaking —or what Bilbo thought had been lovemaking—, Thorin Oakenshield had thanked him for his devotion. Then the dwarf had sent him to pleasure Dwalin. It was a King’s privilege to share the royal paramour, a special boon for to honour his guard, who had fought three trolls with him. Thorin spoke of it majestically, but Bilbo just heard a list of disconnected words: Royal duty, pride, custom, debt, Uharam.

The hobbit’s dignity was so wounded he didn’t explain his thoughts on the matter. After getting dressed with unsteady hands, he just nodded and left.

Bilbo had thought what he had with the dwarf King was a romance.

Oh, he’d never been so wrong in all his life. Now Bilbo was crying in a dark enclosed balcony, blaming his own naiveté for his hurt and shame.

The hobbit had two choices. He could ask Gandalf for advice on avoiding the situation in the name of his ignorance of dwarves’ customs. The wizard would understand his hobbity perspective of love. Or he could utterly avoid shame and humiliation, seeking Lord Elrond’s shelter. After all, the elf had offered him asylum that day.

None of these paths offered Bilbo relief; his tears continued to fall, wetting his cheeks. What a fool he had been, thinking that he had enamoured a king. He was nothing but a whore, a royal courtesan not better than a common Bree whore. Bilbo sniffled loud, drying his face with his sleeve. Then he stopped his sobs, shocked by the incongruous idea of needing a handkerchief. Not the first time Bilbo had needed one, in that adventure. And the idea made him laugh hysterically.

After calming down, Bilbo thought of another choice. He knitted his brows and pouted. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was a burglar now, a burglar who was on an adventure. Maybe he was not fit for Prince Consort, but he was a king’s lover, thank you very much. And if he was going to become a loose hobbit, he was going to be a good one and enjoy the ride.

While he walked towards Dwalin’s room, Bilbo thought about the massive dwarf. Dwalin had been nothing but kind to him, except maybe that first time at Bag End when he had eaten his supper. Bilbo clearly remembered all the times the dwarf had helped him to get onto the pony or to dismount from it. Dwalin also was, along with Balin and Bofur, one of the members of the Company closest to the hobbit. And Bilbo couldn’t deny he felt especially safe around that enormous warrior.

At last, Bilbo was in front of Dwalin’s door. Just then all his courage left him. Bilbo wondered what, in the name of Yavanna was a Baggins doing in the Last Homely House, looking for a second lover on a night when he hadn’t even shared his bed for a long time. But before he could turn around, the door opened.

Dwalin was about to leave but he seemed to change his mind when he saw the hobbit. He smiled widely and let him in, putting his big hand on the hobbit’s shoulder after closing the door.

“I’m glad you’re here, burglar,” he said, winking. “I was about to go looking for you. Are you all right?” Dwalin asked, noticing Bilbo’s watery eyes.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Bilbo said. But his voice was hoarse and his eyes were puffy. The dwarf squinted at him, frowning. Bilbo shivered under his stare. He thought maybe the idea of touching him annoyed Dwalin. After all, he was small and hairless, surely not fit for dwarves’ tastes at all. “I think you know the reason why I’m here, Mister Dwalin,” he stated.

“That I know, Bilbo,” answered Dwalin, calling the hobbit by name. “And you can call me Dwalin. After all, we’re going to…”

“That’s exactly the thing I want to discuss, if you don’t mind,” interjected Bilbo. “Thorin can’t compel you to… I mean, if you do not want to…”

“What are you saying, burglar?” asked Dwalin. This time, the epithet sounded less friendly. The warrior body was suddenly tense, in a stiff posture.

“Well, we could avoid this whole issue, if we come to terms. Thorin doesn’t even need to know about it.”

“Would you do that, halfling?” Dwalin roared. “Would you dishonour your king, your beloved?” Bilbo chuckled, earning a feral look from the dwarf. Days ago he would have been so proud to be called Thorin’s beloved. Now the sole idea seemed silly and painful. “Thorin is my king, and he has granted me the greatest honour: Uharam, offering you to me.”

“Listen to me now, dwarf, I’m not just a thing to be lent!” yelled Bilbo.

“I said no such thing. And what if it had been Bofur who saved Thorin? Would you be as aggravated then?” asked Dwalin heatedly.

Bilbo didn’t answer that. For a while, he said nothing. He just stared at the flustered dwarf, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Was Dwalin feeling insecure? And what about Bofur? Was that a hint of jealousy? Because of him?

Hesitant, Bilbo approached Dwalin. He stood on tiptoe and touched Dwalin’s cheek, fearing it would be too tender a touch for such a transaction. But he seemed to lean slightly on his hand, so Bilbo decided to begin his duty and brought his face closer to the dwarf’s.

Dwalin shifted abruptly before their lips touched, startling Bilbo. The hobbit was annoyed by that move, and at the same time close to tears again. He had thought he really didn’t want to bed Dwalin; but after the rejection, he reconsidered his feelings. Why did his hand suddenly feel empty? Why were his lips colder than only seconds before?

“It’s not…” Dwalin muttered. “Your mouth is just for the king.”

Bilbo chuckled at that, irritated. “But he doesn’t mind sharing the rest of my body,” he stated with bitterness.

“That’s his prerogative. It’s an honour that he… that he allows me to…” Dwalin couldn't finish his speech, because Bilbo, having had enough of royal privileges and duties for one night, had begun to undress slowly. Dwarves’ customs were different, and he didn’t want to begin an argument in that situation. He was there to please his lover’s saviour and that was what he was going to do.

Dwalin’s hungry stare encouraged Bilbo. Thorin had claimed him with passion, but he hadn’t looked at him the way Dwalin was. Bilbo felt special under his watchful eye, as if he was one of these jewels Thorin had described to him with a haunting gaze.

Nevertheless, when he was naked his courage left him. His normally pale skin was flushed on his face and chest. His hands were trembling; his fingers interlaced over his privates, trying to preserve his modesty. It was ironic, given the situation in which he was. But he could not meet Dwalin’s eyes anyway, so he stared at the ground until Dwalin lifted Bilbo’s chin and leant his head forward to join their foreheads. Then the dwarf grabbed the smaller hands and pulled both of them to take the hobbit to the enormous bed, where Bilbo sat trying to cover himself again with his hands, his big feet hanging off the mattress.

Dwalin smirked, but he didn’t touch Bilbo again. He undressed fast and carelessly. When he dropped his pants, Bilbo gasped. He knew of the dwarves’ and hobbit’s differences, but this was ridiculous; Dwalin’s was really huge! He had feared Thorin’s dwarfhood, and the King’s was thinner and shorter than that monster. ’Gorgeous monster’, thought Bilbo, appreciating the dimensions after the first impression. Dwalin’s large log wasn’t even erect, but his thick flesh was astonishing. With every step towards the bed, Dwalin’s member flogged heavily his thighs, and Bilbo could not avert his eyes from that rolling movement.

“Don’t be afraid, halfling,” Dwalin chuckled; he was used to that reaction. “I do know how to use my hammer.”

Thorin had also used that name for his log, so the hobbit could restrain his laugh. This time.

“I’m not afraid of you, dwarf,” Bilbo said. And it was true, to his astonishment. His curiosity and want were stronger than his apprehension. “I’m no virgin, if you must know. It’s just that… before tonight I hadn’t shared my bed with anyone in a long time,” he explained, blushing again. Dwalin caressed Bilbo’s red cheeks.
The touch was so tender that Bilbo was drawn to kiss his fingers when he remembered the no-kiss rule. It reminded him that Dwalin was not his lover. Bilbo was just repaying Thorin’s debt of honour.

That night the hobbit was having a brutal range of emotions.

“Come on, burglar,” Dwalin said, noticing the change of mood. He knelt on the bed next to the hobbit. His erect cock was now resting on his left hip, just the side where Bilbo was. “You can touch it, if you want.”

Bilbo smiled shyly; he was a bundle of nerves, as he had been earlier with Thorin. But even if he was there just for the King, he wanted to please Dwalin in a way he hadn’t wanted with Thorin. This time he wasn't distracted by nervous worry that he live up to some romantic ideal; he just needed to enjoy what he could of the trial he had been forced to accept.

So the hobbit reached for that gorgeous staff. Its feel was so warm and throbbing that Bilbo moaned loudly. In spite of the Royal rule and even though he had lost practice in such matters, he was tempted to taste Dwalin’s most private flavour. Just his scent was excited Bilbo. It was obvious the dwarf had bathed for him, and that pleased deeply the picky hobbit. Bilbo could smell a faint musky aroma under the clean one, and that teased him too.

“May I touch you too?” Dwalin asked, his voice deep and rasping. Bilbo beamed and nodded without dropping the hot erection he was cradling in his hand. “Lay on the bed, on your back.” Bilbo tensed at the order. The tone was too like Thorin’s for his liking. Dwalin noticed the change when Bilbo quickly let his cock go. “Please.”

Wondering how that brute warrior could be kinder and more perceptive than a king, Bilbo obeyed. He blushed when he saw the wet spot he had left on the sheets, prove of his previous copulation. Dwalin saw it too and gasped with eagerness. “I want to mark you too,” he said possessively.

Bilbo spread his legs wantonly. “Do it. I’m yours for the night. I’m your reward; you can do whatever you want with me.” His eyes closed, embarrassed by his own boldness, Bilbo didn’t see Dwalin’s wide eyes, the dilated pupils showing the dwarf’s eagerness. “Quite the whore I have become,” Bilbo added bitterly and low, almost for himself.

“Don’t say that,” said Dwalin angrily. He cradled the hobbit’s face with his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “You’re a gift, a jewel. You’re Uharam.”

“You keep saying that but I don’t know the meaning of this word,” Bilbo said, trying to avoid his stare.

“The greatest honour a King could grant.”

Bilbo gaped, so flushed that even his neck was pink. Dwalin kissed the warm skin from his chin to his pointy ears. Bilbo moaned when he felt Dwalin’s tongue caressing the tip of his sensitive ear.

“I like the sounds you’re making, sweet little thing.” Bilbo couldn’t help but moan again. Thorin had been a quiet lover, but Bilbo had always had a weakness for dirty talk. “Will you whine for me if I touch you deeper?” Dwalin put one thick finger inside Bilbo, moaning in turn when the wet, flexible tissue almost sucked him in. He added another finger. “You’re still damp and oiled. Didn’t you wash before you came?”

Bilbo shook his head emphatically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. I should have done it, in deference to you; but I was so bewildered by Thorin’s request…”

“I bet you were, sweet little hobbit,” Dwalin said. He added a third finger, although not without meeting some resistance. “Things aren’t done that way in the Shire, are they?”

“No, certainly not,” Bilbo answered. Dwalin’s comment upset him, a remind of his recent proper past. Oh, if someone in the Shire knew the things he was doing with a dwarf! And not just one of them!

Ashamed of his desire, Bilbo moved his legs, trying to dislodge Dwalin’s fingers. Noticing the hobbit’s discomfort, the dwarf removed his fingers carefully. When Bilbo was free, he crawled to the headboard and offered himself on all fours, hiding his flushed face against his shoulder. Dwalin’s groan just made him flush more.

With his eyes closed, Bilbo waited for these thick fingers to fill him, but there was no touch on his most private parts. Instead he felt a light pressure on his hips. With his fingertips Dwalin traced a line from his hips to his shoulders. Bilbo shivered. Then he felt first the caress of the dwarf’s facial hair, then a kiss on his shoulder blade. Something heavy and warm was poking Bilbo’s buttocks.

“Do you want it?” Dwalin asked, voice raspy with desire.

Bilbo didn’t answer because he didn’t truly understand the meaning of the question. Did he want to be buggered for a simple tradition? Did he want to be a bargaining chip? Or maybe: did he want to be filled with that gorgeous prick? Bilbo chose to focus on that last thought and moved his hips encouragingly.

The gesture was all Dwalin was waiting for. He kissed Bilbo’s nape twice and placed his hammer on the rim of that tiny, stretchable hole. Dwalin had the patience to push in unhurriedly, with little short pushes, but once he was entirely in, he could wait no longer to pound that small sweet bum.

Tears slid across Bilbo's face, but they were neither tears of pain nor shame. And Thorin was the last dwarf in his mind in that special moment. It was just that he felt so full, so owned… Even when Dwalin’s movements turned slow and contained, Bilbo could feel the tension in the way the dwarf grabbed his hips or in Dwalin’s deep panting against his back.

Suddenly the dwarf stilled, hips pressed against those round butt cheeks.

“By Mahal’s hammer,” Dwalin cursed once he caught his breath. “Sorry,” he said, holding the smaller body with care while he pulled out of the hobbit. Bilbo smiled at him, but Dwalin noticed his wet cheeks. Without saying a word, the dwarf cleaned his face and laid him on the bed beside himself. Bilbo’s erection subsided, and neither said anything about it. “I am going to keep you safe, my burglar. Don’t fear the wild; I’ll be there to fight and fend for you.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and smiled. It was not the way he had expected to spend the night, not apart from the person whom he longed. But for the first time on his adventure, he really felt safe. And it was not because he was in the Last Homely House; it was because he was in that particular bed, between these strong arms.