Series: Part 9 of Adventures of a Different Kind
Rating/Warnings: NSFW; throne sex, rimming, object insertion, general kinkinessWord Count: 4016
Disclaimer: If I owned the Hobbit it would be a porno. Seriously.
Summary: On the eve of battle, Bilbo helps Kili fulfill a long time fantasy.
“Come on, Bilbo. We're almost there,” Kíli says, pulling the hobbit eagerly through the Lonely Mountain's halls.
It's good to see the archer smiling, the prince's grin having become much too rare in recent days. Kíli has been worried about his uncle ever since the dragon fell, Thorin's obsession with the Arkenstone growing ever stronger as the days pass by. That gem is the only thing the dwarf lord seems to care about and whatever joy his companions had felt at their victory disappeared when their former allies brought armies to their door. Indeed, Bilbo doesn’t think that Bard or Thranduil will be leaving without bloodshed and this whole mess has made him sick at heart.
But right now the hobbit's thoughts are not filled with broken friendships or royal politics; all he cares about is the dwarf prince smiling down at him. Kíli had sought Bilbo out this morning after the rest of their company split up to search for the Arkenstone again, the dwarf wrapping his arms around the burglar’s waist and kissing him tenderly.
“I don't know what's going to happen now,” the prince said, looking more serious than he ever had before. “I fear there will be battle and only the Valar know whether our company will survive. But if this is to be my last day on Middle Earth then I know how I wish to spend it and you did promise me anything.”
“I... What?” Bilbo replied rather stupidly, still stuck on the part where his lover thought they both might die.
The hobbit was rather enjoying his life, thank you very much, and the thought of losing Kíli left him cold inside. But it was hard to dwell on that possibility with his lover wrapped around him, the prince’s somber expression disappearing beneath a wicked grin.
“You promised me anything if I managed to stay silent during our last encounter, remember?” Kíli asked. “And I've had this one fantasy ever since I was a lad.”
To tell the truth, the burglar had forgotten all about that, his memory rather more occupied with the feel of his lover in his hands. But he had promised and even if he hadn't, Bilbo would have agreed out of curiosity. After all, Kíli's fantasies had never steered him wrong before.
So he let the dwarf drag him off into the mountain, the last ten minutes spent wandering through the halls of Erebor. Though, to be fair, the prince does seem to know where he's going, it's just that piles of rubble and fallen stonework keep forcing them to take detours instead of walking a straight path. Bilbo has been lost ever since the seventh turning and if he didn't trust his lover, he might be worried now.
But he does trust Kíli and eventually the dwarf comes to a halt in front of an enormous set of doors, the wood intricately carved and lined with solid gold. The doors are in surprisingly good condition considering the state of the mountain – perhaps Smaug never made it down this far – and it takes both Kíli and Bilbo to shove them open now. Even then it's hardly more than a crack, just far enough for the prince to pull his burglar inside.
“Welcome to the throne room of Erebor,” Kíli says with a flourish. “I do believe you are the very first hobbit to ever grace this hall.”
The room is enormous, all high arching ceilings and carved stone pillars as seems to be the standard in dwarvish architecture, the tapestries along the walls having fallen into tatters from the passage of long years. But the floor still gleams brightly, so polished that Bilbo can see his own reflection, and the sconces ringing the room shine like gemstones in the sunlight that’s filtered in from up above. Light is the true marvel of Erebor in the hobbit's opinion, sunshine channeled so cleverly from the surface that the entire kingdom seems to live in a haze of golden light.
Although, in this room, that light is focused, a shining beacon that draws the burglar's eye. For the throne of Erebor sits is a single ray of sunlight at the far end of the hall. The throne appears to be carved from one solid slab of marble, every inch of it so inlaid with jewels and precious metals that Bilbo doesn't know where to look.
Of course, Kíli makes that decision much easier when he starts walking toward the throne, stripping off a piece of clothing with every step he takes. By the time he reaches the dais, the dwarf isn't wearing anything but his cloak and the skin the Valar gave him, the hobbit trailing helplessly in his wake.
How could Bilbo not follow when the view is so fantastic and his knees grow weak every time his lover smirks back at him? Indeed, he's right where Kíli wants him when the prince lays down his cloak and then sprawls across the throne, one leg thrown over the armrest while the other hooks around his hobbit's waist.
“Now, Bilbo,” Kíli says as he reels his lover in. “You're going to fuck me on the throne of Erebor.”
“Isn't that sacrilege or something?” the burglar protests weakly, though he already knows he'll do whatever Kíli wants. He's never been able to resist the dwarf and all that naked skin isn't helping his control.
“Well, I’m sure it would be frowned upon. But it's not like that's stopped the two of us before,” Kíli purrs in answer to Bilbo's question, his hands unbuttoning the hobbit's tunic as he speaks. “Besides, I've been dreaming of this for far too long, since long before our journey started, and I don't plan to miss my chance. I want you to fuck me here, make love to me here, so that I can never look at this throne again without remembering the pleasure that you gave me; something to keep me warm through those long days at court.
“Say you'll do it, Bilbo. Say you'll imprint what we have together on the very heart of Erebor so that the stones remember long after life forgets.”
The words are half sweet and half filthy and the hobbit only has one response to a plea like that.
“Yes, love. I'll do it,” Bilbo murmurs before leaning in to claim the archer's mouth. He pushes Kíli against the back of the throne and holds him there, his hands running over the hard planes of the prince's chest. The hobbit knows Kíli now; he knows the spots that make him scream and those that make him whimper and he cannot decide which noise he likes best. Bilbo could do this for a lifetime without making up his mind about it and if this truly is to be their last day together, he intends to make it count.
So the burglar teases his lover to hardness with his fingers, stroking the prince until he's shaking and then pulling back to admire his handiwork. Kíli always flushes beautifully when he's aroused, a rosy hue spreading from kiss-swollen lips down to the cock jutting proudly toward the sky.
In truth, he looks like a king surveying his domain as he smirks up at Bilbo, the dwarf sprawled languidly across the marble of the throne. It's a sight the hobbit knows that he'll remember forever and he drops to his knees without a second's thought.
“Come here, darling,” the burglar murmurs, pulling his lover forward until his hips are resting at the very edge of the throne. Then he bends down to lick one wet stripe down the length of Kíli's shaft, the dwarf letting out a harsh curse above his head. Bilbo hasn't done this to Kíli very often – the prince is usually too damn impatient to allow it – but the hobbit may have to teach his lover more forbearance after this.
Because the archer lets out the most beautiful groan when Bilbo wraps his lips around the head of his cock, sucking lightly until Kíli's thighs start to trembled underneath his hands. Then he swallows the dwarf a little deeper, pressing forward until his lover's length is a heavy weight against his tongue.
The burglar takes his time driving Kíli wild, lips sliding slowly up and down the prince's length while one hand strokes across his balls. Soon his lover is leaking, drops of seed spilling into Bilbo's mouth. The taste is bitter but not unbearable and it's made much sweeter by the way that Kíli groans the hobbit's name like a prayer.
When Bilbo hums around his cock, the dwarf chokes on his next breath, threading one hand through his lover's hair. He's polite about it, cupping Bilbo's head without trying to control his rhythm, and when Kíli spreads his legs further in invitation, the hobbit is happy to oblige.
He slides down Kíli's length as far as he can, stretching his lips around his lover until he just can't take anymore. For this is where the difference in their sizes is most apparent and Bilbo's mouth will only stretch so far. However, the dwarf doesn't seem to mind when the burglar makes up the difference with his fingers, Kíli letting out another broken moan instead.
There's something so filthy about this, the hobbit's jaw beginning to ache and his lover falling apart beneath his hands. Bilbo bobs his head up and down faster now, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth. It drips down Kíli's cock and coats the burglar's fingers, his hand slick and sticky as he tugs on the archer's balls. The hobbit doesn't want his lover to come yet, instead keeping the dwarf on the razor's edge until he's keening incomprehensibly.
Scattered Khuzdûl and Westron intermixed with Bilbo's name and wordless moaning, the burglar's own cock twitching with every broken sound. He's down to his trousers now, Kíli's free hand clutching at the bare skin of Bilbo's back even as the other tightens in his hair.
When the hobbit glances up at his lover, Kíli is a picture of debauchery. His eyes are dark with pleasure, his hair a wild tangle round his face, and when Bilbo presses his thumb against the archer's entrance, he throws his head back with a cry. Kíli slams into the stone, hard enough that the entire throne shakes for a moment before something clatters to the floor.
Bilbo pauses then, worried that the dwarf might actually have hurt himself, but if he has, Kíli doesn't seem to care. Instead he just pushes the hobbit's head back down with a broken, “Please.”
So the burglar gives his lover what he wants, swallowing around Kíli's length even as he pushes one finger deep inside of him. His lover convulses then, fingers tightening in Bilbo's hair as he comes with a shout.
“Well, love. I'd say that's how you treat a king,” the dwarf pants when Bilbo sits back up, spitting Kíli's seed onto the dais before wiping a few stray drops from his chin. The hobbit is still hard, his cock throbbing when the archer's legs fall open in a boneless sprawl.
However, as much as Bilbo wants to just bend Kíli over the marble seat and fuck him 'til he screams, “We should probably make sure that we didn't break your uncle's fancy chair.”
So the burglar pushes himself to his feet, though he's barely standing before the dwarf grabs him by the laces of his trousers and pulls him in again. Kíli kisses him hard, one hand stroking over the bulge of Bilbo's cock. But if the two of them did just break the throne of Erebor, they probably shouldn't stick around to fuck upon the pieces, no matter how tempting the kingdom’s prince may be.
It takes all of the hobbit's willpower to pull away from Kíli, his lover stealing another half dozen kisses before Bilbo manages to lean over the armrest of the throne. At first glance, he can’t see any damage though the burglar is quite certain that he heard something hit the floor.
So he stretches down to grope around the base of the marble, his fingers eventually touching metal instead of stone.
“That's not exactly subtle, is it?” Bilbo asks with laugh when he lifts a bejeweled scepter up into the light, long and shining and solid gold by the weight. The piece must have been sitting on the back of the throne until Kíli shook it and the hobbit can't even imagine the sort of wealth such treasure represents. With the gems alone the burglar could probably buy the Shire three times over if he wanted to.
“My great-grandfather wasn't exactly known for his restraint,” Kíli tells him, taking the scepter from Bilbo and spinning it in his hand. “I'm sure he waved this thing around every time Thranduil came to visit and Thorin will probably do the same once he's crowned. We Durins do so love our phallic symbols, though I prefer mine a bit fleshier, if you know what I mean?”
The prince punctuates this question with another tug on Bilbo's cock, slipping his hand inside the hobbit's trousers so that he can stroke him properly.
“You really are a dirty slut, aren't you?” the burglar murmurs fondly, bending down to kiss Kíli one more time even as he bucks into the prince's hand. They must look a sight, sweat slick skin and tangled bodies against the shining marble of the throne. But the thought of getting caught just makes his blood burn hotter and he bites down on the dwarf's bottom lip with a growl.
Bilbo reaches out to lace their fingers together only to stop short when he runs into the scepter that his lover is still holding, the hobbit having quite forgotten it was there. He means to set it aside, really, but when he takes it from Kíli, the smooth metal sparks an entirely different idea in his mind.
Because the dwarf had wanted this to be memorable, hadn't he? And the burglar knows exactly how he plans to fulfill that fantasy.
So Bilbo slips back off the throne despite Kíli's whine of disappointment, setting the scepter aside for now. He pulls the archer down onto the floor, turning him over so that he's bent across the marble with his ass in the air.
Knowing his lover, Kíli is bound to have oil somewhere in the piles of clothing strewn around the throne room, but the hobbit can't bring himself to walk away long enough to search it out. He's going to have to improvise and given the way that the dwarf shrieks when Bilbo licks his entrance, it's going to be quite enjoyable.
The burglar cups Kíli's ass in his hands, spreading the dwarf's cheeks apart with his thumbs so that he can do this properly. Soft licks at first, the hobbit's tongue lapping at his lover's entrance without pushing inside. He traces the rim instead, that taut muscle fluttering wildly beneath his mouth. Then he places a firm bite on the dwarf’s left cheek, leaning back to admire the mark of his teeth as Kíli's hips jerk desperately.
“Bilbo, please,” the prince moans, pushing his ass back toward the hobbit's mouth.
So Bilbo returns to his prize, wrapping his lips over the archer's hole and sucking until Kíli starts to writhe against the throne. Only then does the hobbit take pity on his lover and finally lick him open thoroughly. He holds Kíli still as he thrusts his tongue as deep as he can reach, forcing the dwarf to take whatever he wants to give him instead of setting his own pace.
Not that Bilbo teases him too much, stretching and slicking his lover until his forefinger slides into the prince easily. He thrusts in and out of Kíli slowly before picking up the scepter in his other hand and pressing the smooth end to the archer’s lips.
The dwarf takes it into his mouth without any further prompting, sucking on the metal rod with an enthusiastic groan. Bilbo holds the scepter there until its dripping with spit, two fingers pushing in and out of Kíli steadily. Then the hobbit pulls his fingers out and replaces them with solid gold instead, the archer moaning loudly as the first few inches push inside his ass.
There's only a touch of resistance as his lover's body opens for him, the smoothness of the gold helping to ease the way. The metal disappears into Kíli inch by shining inch, Bilbo unable to look away as he presses the scepter into his lover, his other hand soothing the archer's trembling with slow strokes across his back.
Soon everything but the bejeweled wings of the scepter's emblem is buried inside of Kíli, the metal lodged far deeper than Bilbo's cock can reach. So the hobbit taps the end of the scepter once, the gold vibrating inside of Kíli and making the dwarf claw at the throne desperately.
“You're so fucking beautiful,” Bilbo groans, stroking the edge of the archer's hole where it's stretched around the golden rod. “I think I'm the luckiest person in all of Middle Earth right now.”
“If you want to keep getting lucky, you had better do something,” Kíli snarls back and if the dwarf is still coherent enough to talk, Bilbo has work to do. So the hobbit grabs hold of the scepters and starts to thrust before tangling his free hand in his lover’s hair. He pulls Kíli’s head around, moving closer to the throne until he can claim the prince's mouth.
Bilbo matches the thrusts of the scepter to the rhythm of his tongue, the metal moving a little smoother with every stroke. The winged emblem makes a rather decent handle, the hobbit’s grip never slipping as he fucks the royal scepter into the Lonely Mountain's youngest son.
“Fuck, right there! Harder!” the dwarf moans, breaking their kiss to pant against the throne. He's trembling violently now, hips pushing back into every thrust, and he nearly sobs when the hobbit grinds the end of the scepter into that special place inside of him.
The burglar shoves his trousers down his thighs, speeding up the scepter's thrusts as he takes himself in hand. Neither of them is going to last much longer and yet it's suddenly not enough to come like this. Bilbo needs to be inside of Kíli, he needs to feel the dwarf fall apart around his cock again. So he shoves the scepter as deep into his lover as he can and then scrambles off the dais, kicking his trousers off along the way.
“Bilbo!” the archer shouts in protest, glaring back at the hobbit. “You come back here before I kick your ass.”
But Bilbo just waves him off, scrabbling through Kíli's clothes until he finds what he needs. Then he runs back to his lover, the small flask of oil cradled carefully in his hands.
“Easy, love. I've got you,” the hobbit murmurs, one firm touch halting the motion of Kíli's hips. Despite his obvious arousal, the prince hasn't moved to stroke himself, hands curled tight around the armrests of the throne. He won't touch himself until Bilbo gives him permission, not unless his control has entirely unraveled, and his lover is at his most gorgeous when caught between pleasure and obedience.
“Just a little longer, Kíli. Hold on a little longer for me now,” Bilbo whispers into the archer's ear while he slicks his fingers, sliding them along Kíli’s entrance where the scepter’s sticking out. Then he pushes forward, working three fingers into his lover as Kíli shakes and moans.
Bilbo's cock is throbbing now, aching with the need for release. So he hooks his thumbs around the edge of his lover's entrance and pulls him open further, pressing the head of his cock against the archer's hole. For a moment he thinks that Kíli isn't stretched enough to take both him and the scepter, but then his body relaxes just enough that the hobbit’s length slides in. Bilbo drives forward then, holding the scepter still as his lover squeezes tight around his shaft.
Once the hobbit has pushed in to the hilt, he pauses, as much to catch his own breath as to allow his lover to adjust. Because the gold of the scepter is hard and cold against his cock, the contrast with the soft heat of the archer's body threatening to make him come before he takes a single thrust.
Indeed, the time for patience is past, Bilbo gripping Kíli's hips tightly as he begins to pound into his lover's ass. He fucks him hard and fast, every stroke pushing the dwarf against the throne with enough force to leave bruises on his chest. Kíli is going to feel this tomorrow; he's going to feel it in the afterlife.
But the hobbit can't quite get deep enough, the golden rod blocking his strokes even as it makes Kíli's entrance grip him more tightly than it ever has before. Tight and hot and close, his lover is a vise around him, his moans echoing off loudly off the throne room's walls, and eventually Bilbo can't take it anymore. He pulls the scepter out of Kíli and tosses it aside, thrusting his cock into the archer as deeply as he can. Then the hobbit wraps one hand around his lover's shaft, one quick twist of his wrist sending Kíli into ecstasy.
The dwarf's entire body snaps taut beneath him, back arching like a bowstring as he clenches on Bilbo's cock and spills his seed on the throne of Erebor. Bilbo thrusts twice more before his own release overtakes him, white lightning singing in his veins as the storm of pleasure breaks.
When the burglar comes back to himself, he's slumped on top of his lover, face pressed tight to Kíli's skin. Bilbo's knees are aching from the hard stone underneath him, the hobbit getting a little old for such marathons, at least when there isn't a softer bed involved. So he pulls out of the archer carefully, turning so that he's leaning back against the throne and then tugging Kíli down into his lap.
“So, darling. Did that live up to your expectations? Or should we go another round when I can feel my legs again?” Bilbo asks, wrapping his arms around his lover's chest.
“I think another round might kill me,” Kíli replies, leaning his head back on the hobbit's shoulder and grinning up at him. “But don't worry, love; you more than fulfilled that fantasy. I don't know how I'm ever going to attend my uncle's court without giggling. Thorin would probably declare you a traitor for treating his royal jewels like that.”
“Which is why we're never going to tell him,” the hobbit says, wincing at the thought of Thorin finding out. “In fact, we should probably go wash that scepter thoroughly before someone tracks us down.”
“In a minute; I'm much too comfy to get up right now,” his lover answers, snuggling back into Bilbo's arms. The burglar doesn't understand how Kíli can go from obscene to adorable so quickly, but that's just one of the reasons that he loves this prince of his so much. They're well-matched together, he and Kíli, matched in sin and debauchery, trust and friendship, and perhaps even love. Bilbo knows where his heart stands even if he's not sure of the archer's and he can't bear to end this moment yet.
So the hobbit murmurs his agreement, pressing a kiss to the dwarf's hair and shifting against the throne until he's almost comfortable. Bilbo may not know what the future holds, but he knows that he loves Kíli and he will do whatever it takes to keep the prince alive.