Series: Part 7 of Adventures of a Different Kind
Rating/Warnings: NSFW; fisting, dirty talking, etc.Word Count: 2443
Disclaimer: If I owned the Hobbit it would be a porno. Seriously.
Summary: Sometimes Bilbo just wants to work Kíli open on his fingers until the dwarf has no resistance left.
Laketown will always have a special place in Bilbo's heart. The people may be surly, the food may be sub-par, but the beds? The beds are glorious.
Or maybe it's just the fact that Kíli is sprawled out loose and pliant underneath him, a blissed-out grin spread across the archer's face. They've already fucked twice tonight, Bilbo driving into his dwarf until passion overwhelmed them, but looking at his lover still makes a possessive thrum buzz beneath his skin. All the hobbit wants to do is kiss Kíli again; he wants to lick and fuck and touch the other and no matter how many times he slides into the archer, it will never be enough.
Not when he can see his seed seeping out of the dwarf's swollen hole like it belongs there, scratches and dark bruises running down Kíli's back. Not when the whole room smells like sweat and salt and pleasure, his head spinning every time he breathes it in.
So Bilbo leans down to press his mouth against his lover's neck, tongue darting out to taste the ambrosia of his skin. The motion rouses the archer from his fucked-out stupor, Kíli twisting languidly to meet the hobbit's lips. Their kiss is slow and sensual, tongues tangling together until the burglar feels his cock twitch feebly. He’s not as young as he once was after all, though his body makes a fair effort at it when he leans back to admire his handiwork, the archer's mouth bruised and bitten as Kíli smiles up at him.
However, this smile quickly turns into a smirk when the dwarf meets his lover’s eyes and sees the rather glazed look there. “You're looking a little tired, love. Did I finally wear you out?”
“I'm pretty sure I should be asking you that,” the hobbit retorts, stroking one hand down Kíli's thigh. He dips two fingers into his lover's entrance, reveling in the slick heat that he finds there and the way the archer squirms beneath the touch. “Look at you all raw and ragged, your hole stretched wide and gaping from my shaft. And yet you’re still so ready to beg for me again.”
“You know me, Bilbo. I'm always up for another round,” Kíli says, rolling his hips into the hobbit's hands. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, dark lashes brushing against his cheeks before his smirk turns positively wicked once again. “But if you can't oblige me, I'd be happy to find someone else who will. I'm sure there are plenty of strong men out there in Laketown who would fight for the chance to fuck me now. They’d kill for it if I strolled through the streets naked and dripping with your seed.”
The burglar knows his lover isn't serious – or at least he better not be – but Bilbo has never been able to back down from a challenge when the archer looks at him like that. Smug and proud and certain that the hobbit will give him exactly what he needs.
So he does, pressing his fingers in deeper and twisting until Kíli arches off the bed. “You're not going anywhere, I promise you,” he murmurs, voice roughening into a growl.
“I may not be able to fuck you at the moment but you're mine and I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to drive you so out of your mind with pleasure that a hundred men could never meet your need. They could ride you for hours, their massive lengths splitting you wide open, but when they finally tossed you aside, you would still crawl back to me.” Bilbo punctuates the statement with another twist of his fingers, leaning down to bite the moan off Kíli's lips.
“Then prove it,” his lover orders, one hand clenching in the blankets as the other reaches up to tangle in Bilbo's hair. “Show me that you can keep your promises.”
“Oh I will, love. I will do exactly that.” The hobbit slides down Kíli's body slowly, pressing a few soft kisses to the bruises on his lover’s skin before pushing three fingers into the dwarf’s entrance as he spreads his hips wantonly.
The archer opens to him easily, his entrance stretched and slick from their recent activities. His lover is always so eager, so desperate to be filled, and this time the hobbit plans to see just how much his dwarf can take. Bilbo wants to drive Kíli to the limit, bring him to very edge of what he can handle and then send him over it.
So he pulls his fingers free of the dwarf's entrance, ignoring his lover's whine of disappointment as he reaches for the pot of oil by the bed. This is only the beginning after all and he nudges Kíli's legs open wider as he slicks up the rest of his hand.
“Yavanna's grace, just look at you,” Bilbo groans, an edge of disbelief coloring his words. His lover should honestly have passed out by now but Kíli only seems to grow harder with every touch, his cock full and weeping where it stands. So even if the hobbit cannot hope to match his lover's impressive stamina, he rather enjoys being able to watch Kíli fall apart without losing himself in urgency.
Everything about the prince usually makes him a little crazy but while frenzy is all well and good, some things require a more delicate hand. Sometimes Bilbo wants to press into the archer slowly, work him open finger by finger until Kíli has no resistance left.
“You are absolutely insatiable, aren't you?” the hobbit murmurs, admiring the way that his fingers disappear. He has four of them buried in his lover now, the dwarf so tight around him that Bilbo can feel every twitch and shiver as it skates across his skin. “You want everything and no matter how much I give you it will never be enough. I could call those men that you were yearning after; I could let them fuck you two by two until you're sore and dripping and all you'd do is scream for more.”
Kíli is shaking now, little gasping trembles as Bilbo works his hand in deeper than he's ever gone before. The hobbit finds himself riveted by the way that his lover opens to him, the slow push past his second knuckle almost more than he can bear.
So he teases his thumb along the dwarf's taut entrance, his touch more worshiping than sexual now. This isn't about what he wants; he's doing this for Kíli and his own satisfaction can wait until he's done.
Not that Bilbo is entirely unaffected, far from it truthfully, and he has to pause for a moment to regain his composure before he continues on. Then the burglar spills another stream of oil across his fingers, his hand dripping slick across the bed. But he needs the extra oil when he folds his thumb against his palm and presses forward, only a firm grip on the dwarf's hips keeping his lover still.
Kíli is beyond speech now, his cock straining toward the ceiling as broken whimpers spill from his mouth helplessly. He squeezed his eyes shut ages ago, teeth digging almost painfully into his bottom lip while Bilbo worships him.
All that endless tawny skin laid out before the hobbit, rose-flushed cheeks and wild hair, and yet it's the vise around his hand that makes him tremble where he lies. Although Kíli had been loose and open enough for four fingers to slide in easily, the width of the burglar's hand is proving more difficult. Indeed the archer's entrance is already stretched red and raw around him, every twitch threatening to shove the hobbit out.
“You have to relax for me, love,” Bilbo murmurs, stroking soothing fingers down Kíli's chest, “Just a little more to let me in. Mahal, you're so tight around me, but I know that you can do it. Because you're aching for it; you're desperate and so greedy and you want to be stuffed full to the brink.”
After what feels like a lifetime the dwarf's body finally eases, that taut ring of muscle loosening with every shaky breath. So Bilbo pushes forward in tiny increments until the last bit of resistance gives and Kíli's body swallows him. His lover's hole sucks him inside, heat and softness molding around his hand like a velvet glove. The sensation steals his breath away, grabs his heart in sinful fingers and holds it tight.
But Kíli is still waiting on the edge of ecstasy and he needs Bilbo to push him over it. So the hobbit curls his fingers into a fist one by one, rolling his knuckles against the spot which makes his lover sing.
When he touches this place, the dwarf's whole body pulses around his hand, Bilbo's own heart beating to the same rhythm that he feels. Kíli surrounds him, tight and hot and perfect as the hobbit twists his fist inside his lover before sliding up the archer's chest to whisper filth into his ear.
“Fuck, love. Fuck, you're beautiful. Stretched so wide around my fist, your body gaping open as I drive into you. I bet I could fit both hands inside you and you'd just keep on taking it – giving in to me because you can do nothing else. Even this much you're going to feel for days, my touch imprinted within you like a brand beneath your skin. Because you need this – you need to know that someone can overwhelm you and catch you when you fall. So I'm going to fuck you on my fist until you shatter under me, until you're nothing but a writhing mess of pleasure and of pain.
“I'm going to tear you apart and you're going to let me because you can trust me to put you back together in the end. This is for you; everything is for you and if you did not want this, we would not have made it here. But you do want this, don't you? You want to feel my fist like a rock inside you; you want to feel it in your stomach, in your throat, in every tiny crevice that has yet to be filled.”
With every word Bilbo pushes into his lover, gentle thrusts belying the edge he promises. But the hobbit does not intend to hurt Kíli and the dwarf is too far gone to recognize where his limits lie.
So he holds the prince still when he would have shoved himself back onto Bilbo's hand, his lover pushed past even desperation now. For desperation requires thought and Kíli's mind is gone, every iota of concentration focused solely on the burn. All he can feel is the ache, the pleasure and the sheer overwhelming sensation of the hobbit buried beneath his skin.
It's beautiful the way that Kíli writhes against the blankets, the rim of his hole stretched wide around the burglar's wrist and squelching filthily with every thrust. The sound falls upon Bilbo's ears like a benediction, Kíli's moans the only harmony he needs.
But if the hobbit drags this out any longer, then the dwarf's pleasure will soon transmute to pain and he has no intention of allowing that. So he leans over to wrap his mouth around Kíli's straining length, taking his lover to the root and swallowing. The dwarf shrieks when Bilbo's throat closes on him, his whole body convulsing around the burglar's hand.
Somehow the archer's entrance clenches even tighter as Kíli's seed spills across his stomach, the thick fluid painting a sharp contrast to the tan of his skin. Bilbo rides the waves out with his lover, holding his hand steady even as his own cock starts to throb.
He hadn't even noticed that he was getting hard again, too caught up in driving the archer mad, but oh, he's noticed now. Yet Bilbo makes no move to touch himself as Kíli's shakes subside, the tension slowly easing from his body until he slumps back against the bed. Only then does the hobbit slide his hand out of the young prince, first uncurling his fingers to gently ease his way.
For all the effort it took to make the dwarf accept him, his lover's body releases him reluctantly, the soft walls of Kíli's entrance dragging at his skin. When he finally does manage to free himself, the archer's rim flutters weakly at the loss of his fingers and all Bilbo wants to do is shove his way back in.
But the archer is obviously exhausted, his eyelids barely even twitching as he murmurs the hobbit's name so Bilbo just sits back on his heels and wraps slick fingers around his own aching length. He is so on edge already that a few quick strokes grant him his relief, the hobbit adding to the slick mess upon the bed. Then he swipes his shirt from the headboard – and really how did that end up there – before wiping Kíli's skin off carefully.
Once he has removed all evidence of their recent coupling, Bilbo presses a soft kiss to his lover's forehead and gives the dwarf a fond smile when he wrinkles his nose disgruntledly.
“Come on, love, shove over,” the hobbit murmurs, nudging Kíli in the shoulder until he opens his eyes again. “You're going to fall asleep in the wet spot if you're not careful and I'm the one you'll bitch at when you wake up disgusting.”
“'m no' gonn' bitc' at n'on,” Kíli mumbles in response, only weeks of practice allowing Bilbo to make out the lie. But he doesn't bother to call the other on it, just goes willingly when the dwarf tugs on his hand and curls around his lover protectively. As much as he adores Kíli when he's desperate and begging for it, he loves him just as much when the prince is soft and pliant in his arms, maybe even more. Because this is a side of the archer that Bilbo knows few others see, only the dwarf's family and those few whom he truly cares about.
The burglar is honored to be counted amongst this number, the trust that Kíli shows him meaning more than he wants to admit sometimes. But Bilbo is feeling much too content to angst about it at the moment so he simply snuggles into Kíli, tucking his chin against the dwarf's shoulder and allowing sleep to tug at him.