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293. Thorin Oakenshield 3

~He wants to put it off again, but Bilbo hisses, “No,” out of earshot of the other dwarves. He’s got both her little hands in his thick, warm fingers, and she looks up at him to insist, “You’re the king. You always have been, but now that you have your mountain back, it’s true more than ever, and you need to honour your people’s ceremonies.”
“But those are Dwarven ceremonies,” Thorin grumbles, still clearly unsure. “And I don’t want to put you through something you aren’t comfortable with.”
Bilbo just lifts her eyebrows, because of all the things Thorin’s dragged her through, this might be the least distressing. She’s nervous, yes, but she tries not to show it. They survived trolls, goblins, wargs, and everything in between. They’ll get through this, too, and he seems to see that in her face, sighs, and squeezes her hands.
He leans closer to peck her forehead, and something about the graveness of the action makes her mumble, “So... what does happen if you can’t prove you can, um...”
“Satisfy you,” Thorin provides, and Bilbo nods, cheeks flushed but face still determined. Dwarves are so very, very different than hobbits.
But Bilbo knows that, and she’s already fallen for one, and she listens patiently while Thorin explains, “I’ll have to take lessons before I can court you again.” Now he’s the one that looks uncomfortable, or at least bitter at the prospect. If this weren’t so serious, she’d laugh. Thorin glances aside and adds in a self-conscious mutter, “I suppose I’d go to Balin, but maybe they’d understand—there’s just thirteen of us here, and so much work to do fortifying Erebor, not to mention rebuilding after we’re sure the dragon’s dealt with... so perhaps they’d accept that the circumstances are extreme. You can’t be expected to act like a dwarf, after all, a proper hobbit doing such things in public, and you can testify that I normally satisfy you...” He trails off vaguely, and Bilbo starts to wonder if she could just testify that from the beginning. Although, standing up and announcing her sex life might be even harder. At least with the ritual, she can just lie back, petrified, and let him do all the work.
She mutters decisively, “No. If I have to, I’ll just fake it.” He looks instantly alarmed, but she leans up to kiss him quiet, and against his soft lips, she murmurs, “Oh, don’t be like that. I love you and I’ll do what I must for us to be together. Properly, by Erebor’s customs.”
Thorin looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t fight her. Sooner or later, they’ll just have to get it over with. And all the others are waiting, though they’ve occupied themselves, searching busily through the treasure at enough distance for Thorin and Bilbo to talk.
He asks her one last time, “Are you sure?” She just makes a face at him, because he’s asked her a hundred times, and so he sucks in a breath and looks out across the vast sea of treasure covering the hall. He bellows, “We’re ready!” and it echoes colossally.
At once, the dwarves wander closer. The reality still hasn’t fully hit home in Bilbo’s stomach, but it gets a little nearer at each dwarf that reaches them, most with surprisingly eager expressions. They’ve all been quite good to her on the quest, but now several are grinning with other motivations—Nori and Glóin look openly ravenous. Bofur’s smiling from ear to ear, Balin’s eyes twinkle with encouragement, and even Dori and Dwalin look stoic but obviously interested. Ori’s eyes probably couldn’t go any wider. Óin has his new trumpet at the ready, and Fíli and Kíli look curious and giddy. As they settle down into a circle around Thorin and Bilbo, sitting right in the gold and only about two meters away each, Bifur starts to clap enthusiastically. Bombur puts a hand on his arm to stop it.
Bilbo stays standing in the middle, unsure of what to do—they haven’t really discussed the ceremony itself, because they wasted all their conversations on whether or not Bilbo could go through with it. She’s starting to regret that. Thorin clears his throat, and she looks up at him expectantly, but he just looks right back at her.
After about a minute of confused staring, Balin gently suggests, “Why don’t you lay down, Bilbo?”
Bilbo can feel her face getting hot already. She nods, obliging, while Thorin mutters, “Sorry, I thought you knew—”
Bilbo doesn’t snap that of course she wouldn’t know, because she can see her poor Thorin’s going through enough. He looks almost more nervous than she feels, though she knows it’s all just fretting over her.
The gold isn’t the most comfortable bed to lie in, but it’s oddly fitting, and Bilbo does her best to settle in. She lies flat on her back, knees bent but legs together to cover her rear, her skirt caught between her thighs. She knows the dwarves will likely see a lot of her during this, but she’s putting it off as long as she can. Thorin says something, and at first she thinks he’s mumbling and slurring the words together, but then she realizes it’s simply not in the common tongue. She doesn’t ask for a translation. Instead, she fusses with her arms, ultimately throwing them over her waist, and tries to think of soothing things, like her pretty garden all the way back at Bag End.
Thorin drones on for several paragraphs’ worth. Bilbo would probably drift off if she were lying on anything softer and there weren’t twelve pairs of hungry eyes on her. It was drafty when they first entered Erebor, but now enough sconces are lit to make the place fairly warm. When Thorin does stop, she barely notices, at least until he walks around her and kneels down at her legs.
He gives her a look, burning, promising, and she can read on his face that this is another chance to stop it, but Bilbo just sucks in a breath and tries to loosen her body, her knees parting slightly open.
Thorin, seeing the permission, takes hold of her legs and does the rest. He rolls her skirt down to her stomach and spreads her thighs wide—one of the dwarves, probably Fíli or Kíli from the sound of the voice, makes a gasping noise, followed by someone hissing ‘Shh.’ She’s grateful for that. She looks straight up at the ceiling, still dark even with all the firelight, and tries to ignore the audience in favour of just Thorin. She loves Thorin, and if she has to take his cock in front of a gaggle of others to prove he’s worthy of her, she’ll do that. Repeating it in her head doesn’t make the situation any less odd.
Thorin’s hands skim down her legs, palms warm against her skin, and slip around the curve of her rear to trace up to her hips. Then she can feel his thumbs worming beneath the sides of her panties, and she knows what’s coming but still shuts her eyes. She says a silent thank you to Gandalf for his help in her transition—this would be a very awkward moment to have to reveal anything unexpected. Thorin already knows, of course, and has asked her a few curious questions, but there’s been no reason to tell the others that she was born any different than they see her, and she’s already starting to worry for their approval more than she’d like. She knows Thorin likes her body, but what if they don’t?
It doesn’t matter. They’re watching, but it’s Thorin she’ll end up with, him rightfully hers, if this goes well. She repeats that in her head while he tugs at her panties, slowly at first. She lifts her hips to help, and then they come right off, all the way past her feet. She doesn’t look back to see what he does with them.
Her feet hit the floor of gold again, spread apart for him, and she expects him to dive right in, is holding her breath, trying to relax. He’ll have to oil himself up—she never quite seems to get as wet as she should, though not for lack of want, her body just wasn’t built for it and even Gandalf’s wizardry can only seem to do so much—but Thorin can do that fast if he just—
Thorin’s tongue laps right up her slit, and Bilbo gasps in shock, chest arching off the coins, thighs quivering already—she didn’t expect that. But she knows the feeling of his mouth all too well, and it comes back for another swipe, pressing in hard and flattened wide. Her fingers tighten in her blouse, but when the next lick comes, her hands dart down on instinct, fisting in his dark hair, and he makes a muffled growl of approval that makes her body hot all over. She loves his noises, and better yet, his tongue, huge and thick and squirming between her outer lips, until he’s shoved his way right inside. Bilbo breaks her resolve to stare at the ceiling and looks down at him, over the humps of her own body, to see his flushed face burrowing hard into her. His nose ruffles through her curls, his scruff tickling her sensitive skin. It makes it easy to ignore the audience, because Thorin Oakenshield is eating her out and he’s very, very good at it.
Thorin knows just what she likes, but he isn’t taking his time right now. Every stroke he gives her is fast, and he varies it but doesn’t stray far, just shoves in, pulls out to curl up near her clit, and thrusts in again to make her breath catch. His saliva’s getting all over her, coating her, and she thinks that’ why—he fucks her with his tongue until she’s soaking wet and panting already. His final thrust is so hard that her head tosses back, a lewd moan twisting out of her mouth, and her half-lidded eyes skim over the line of watching dwarves. Somehow, it doesn’t bring her back down at all, just makes her hotter, and she bucks her hips up into Thorin’s mouth, wanting more.
But he pulls out, to her immense disappointment, and she looks back at him to whine. He wipes his mouth gruffly on his arm while he sits up, quickly opening his trousers. His hips coming up to hers displaces more treasure in his shuffle. His cock pokes into her before they’re touching anywhere else, jutting out and hard despite the audience. She reminds herself belatedly that this is normal for him. He always thought he’d fuck his lover in front of his peers, and if he didn’t have her to worry about, he’d probably be having the time of his life.
He uses one large hand to guide his cock down her slit, then drapes over her, onto all fours, one arm to either side of her head. It gives her something much better to look at, and she reaches up, pleased when he doesn’t stop her, to wrap her arms around his neck. He leans down enough to whisper in her ear, “I tried to make you wet, but don’t let me hurt you—we can still stop...” Bilbo makes an irritated whine, because if he leaves her hanging after that, when she’s already hot and trembling, he’ll have a whole different problem on his hands. He finishes, “I’ll try to be quick,” and noses across her face to her mouth, where he gives her just a chaste peck. She answers by surging up to kiss him properly, her tongue thrusting between his lips, mewling happily when he kisses her right back just as fiercely. As soon as the kiss is broken, he lifts up enough to search her eyes.
He snaps out of the reverie a second later, and his cock thrusts into her. He makes his mark—always does—and the tip pops right inside—Bilbo clings all the tighter to him and cries out. There is a faint stab of pain, but it already feels good around that, and she hones in on his soothing noises and the way he wraps around her. He presses in slowly, even though he said he’d be quick, while she tries to relax, wills herself open for him, wants to suck him inside. Someone murmurs something to her left, but she doesn’t catch it, hopes it’s approval anyway, and then someone whistles and she blushes and groans. Thorin rocks himself inside and doesn’t stop, just starts to go faster. Soon he’s in to the base but still pulling out, sliding in, rubbing so tight against her walls. He curls one arm around her head to hold himself up, and the other reaches down between them.
His thumb presses hard over her clit while his cock’s fully inside her, and Bilbo makes a strangled cry halfway between a gasp and a moan. He flicks it again, rubbing at her outer walls around the stretch of his shaft, pleasuring her from inside at the same time. It makes it easy to concentrate on him, love him—a part of her knew he’d do this, take care of her, even in such strange circumstances—Thorin always knows just how to make her scream.
Thorin fucks her wildly, touches her and grinds his thick body down into her, crushing his broad chest against her small breasts. It squeezes the air out of her lungs, but she’s already dizzy. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, and she thinks she might be pulling at him but can’t loosen her hold enough to stop. His mouth opens and skims along her jaw, warm breath and solid teeth, in messy, feral kisses. When he first bends to nip at her neck, she moans, “Thorin—”
He licks over the bite and starts to suck her. His fingers spread around her pussy, spreading her wider open for him to thrust into, and she’s shaking, starts gasping his name, faster and nonsensical, but she can’t seem to say anything else, just little whimpers and cries like, “Oh, Thorin, ahhhh, yes!” It brings his mouth back to hers, and she tugs him down, kisses him hard enough that she struggles to breathe. He said he’d be fast but didn’t prepare her for the intensity, even though she knows what he’s capable of. She didn’t think he would in front of all the others. He breaks the kiss to bite down her chin and back to her neck, licking and sucking, while she stares blankly out across the circle, at all her sweet dwarves that look at her with such genuine interest, fondness and lust, some awe—she can’t remember why she was worried: of course they wouldn’t keep her from Thorin, and of course they’d approve of her; every dwarf she spots looks pleased, but it can’t match her own pleasure. Their attraction feeds her own, and she’s bucking up into Thorin, her hips moving beyond her control.
She comes faster than she ever has, screaming his name, loud and ragged with her knees and fingers digging tight into his body. He fucks and rubs and kisses her right through it, leaving her burning hot and fuzzy-headed, until it’s all too much and she’s melting back, overcome with tremours.
She withdraws slowly, falling limply onto the coins, her arms only loosely around him now. She looks up at his handsome face and finds, for some reason that she can’t fathom at the moment, a look of annoyance. He’s frowning at her. But he rolls on, now just fucking her without all the rest, until he roars a few thrusts later, spilling into her.
It’s still a heavy load that she takes with squirming legs, one hand coming up to her mouth. She can hear a few gasps of shock, and it takes her a second to guess why—they must wonder why he doesn’t use protection; they don’t know she can’t conceive. That’s a conversation for another day. But she can’t stop herself from daydreaming up a family-starting ritual, because there must be one for that, and knowing dwarves...
Thorin sits up when he’s done, his weight and warmth leaving her, but his cock still inside. He’s breathing as hard as she is. The other dwarves start to clap ardently, and Thorin, sporting a thin flush, barks, “Alright, that’s it—clear out so I can cuddle my hobbit in peace!”
There’s a bout of ruckus laughter, and Bilbo has to lift both hands to cover her blushing face. The more she comes down, the more absurd she feels, though she doesn’t regret it. Just needs a moment. She can hear them slowly getting up and filtering away—the coins make very distinct clinking noises when they’re stepped through. She keeps her face covered, her bottom half still exposed and the rest of her a little sweaty and reddened.
When their muffled conversations are far in the distance, Thorin gently pries her hands away. Bilbo shifts uncomfortably, wishing they were on a proper bed.
Thorin, bent close over her, grumbles, “You didn’t have to fake so soon.”
Bilbo blinks. At first, she’s too dizzy to say anything at all. She’d completely forgotten about that plan, which was only ever a backup, and it gives her a twinge of annoyance that he couldn’t tell. She informs him hotly, “I wasn’t faking.”
Then it’s Thorin’s turn for a moment of shock, followed by red cheeks, and he mutters, “Bilbo, I... I’m sorry, I thought... it’s just that you’re so fussy—” At Bilbo’s wrinkled nose, he hurriedly corrects, “But I love you for it! And... it wasn’t too bad for you, then?”
She shakes her head and bites back her hopeful question about if there are any more public sex rituals to look forward to. Apparently, it’s one more adventure she doesn’t mind. They’ll talk about that later. He grins at her, wide and proud, and then gives her a chaste kiss.
A few more kisses for good measure, and Thorin pulls out of her, to Bilbo’s gasp and curious murmur, “How long until you can go back in...?”
He laughs and pecks her nose.
 

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