Archive of Our Own ^beta

It has been almost two full moon cycles since the Battle of Five Armies, as it came to be known, and Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, still isn't happy.

It has nothing to do with Erebor, no. Erebor has slowly developed into a proper Dwarvish city, with the population growing every day as more and more dwarves from the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains traveled to the great Kingdom. His nephews' wounds had healed, though Fili was now blind in one eye and Kili would carry a limp the rest of his life. Dwarves were hard at work day and night, cleaning out the waste of the dragon and anything that had been damaged beyond repair. The mines had been opened, that were safe to be used again, and those that were not were fortified under the surveillance of Bofur's cousin, Bifur, and woe to anyone who believed that the axe in the dwarf's head meant he'd be a pushover.

In the scheme of things, everything had turned out well. Relations with the men of Dale, which was being rebuilt in the wake of Laketown's destruction, led by Bard, were going good, and even the bond between the dwarves of Erebor and the elves of Mirkwood had been somewhat patched up, even if it meant letting Thranduil keep the Arkenstone.

His advisors had been dumbstruck when he announced that the Heart of the Mountain was to be given to the elf King as an assurance of peace between their people. Had Thorin not just waged a war, after all, to get it back?

They whispered that perhaps it was his intention to keep it from his sight, and prevent the gold sickness from poisoning his mind again. And while yes, that had been part of it, that was not entirely Thorin's reasoning for sending the stone far from his reach.

He quietly returned to his bed from where he had been brooding by the fire and let his eyes linger on the two forms curled together there. His two loves, Bilbo, almost completely recovered from the wounds he had received during the Battle, save a lingering tenderness where the arrows had struck, and Bofur, who had broken through Thorin's insanity at the end of the bloodshed and reminded him of the things most precious to him.

It turned out, their forgiveness, at least for how he had acted, had been easily won, for they understood that Thorin had not been himself that day he'd banished the hobbit from his sight and branded him a betrayer. Earning their trust back, however, was an entirely different matter. He does not blame them for their wariness, for it is well deserved, and while they may have forgiven him, Thorin still has yet to forgive himself for his cruel words and crueler actions.

He had been the betrayer. Not Bilbo.

The guilt ate away at him, and it showed in the way he gave his loves every little thing they could desire. He was wise enough to not give them any of the gold from the hoard, other than that which was woven into their hair, despite the fact that it was dwarvish custom to shower your intended with wealth, to show them that you could care for them and any children you might have. Bofur and Bilbo wouldn't see it like that, though, so he showed them his ability to provide for their happiness in other ways.

They ate only the finest foods and wore clothing made of only the softest fabrics. He had sent for Bilbo's things to be brought from the Shire, and had a special section of the library created for the hobbit's massive book collection. He crafted them fine beads of gold and gems and braided them into their hair with all the love of a King. Both hobbit and dwarf had been made key members of his council, even, along with Balin and Dwalin, and Thorin valued their opinions above all others, no matter the protests over a halfing in the council of a King.

The day he announced the Arkenstone was to go to Thranduil, the pair had actually smiled at him, and kissed him with such tender softness it broke his heart.

But still, they watched him with worry and uncertainty in their hearts, as if expecting him to go mad with the gold lust any day now, and ride off to Mirkwood to demand the stone be returned. And while they shared his bed each night, he was not allowed to touch them, and they had shared no intimacy with him. It was if they were afraid to give him their love again, for worry of having him trample upon it a second time.

Thorin Oakenshield had earned their forgiveness, yes, but he feared he would never be worthy of their trust again, no matter how hard he tried.

The King reached out to gently tuck a honey blond curl behind Bilbo's ear, watching as the hobbit made a mumbling noise in his sleep and buried himself closer to Bofur's chest, who automatically tightened his arms around him. They were so beautiful together, his loves, and Thorin couldn't help but sit there and watch them rest, the worry lines that so often marred their features smoothed over in peaceful slumber.

He brushes his fingertips over the golden beads in their hair and allows a smile on his lips. They had not removed his gifts, at least, and still wore the dressing gowns of soft blue silk he had given them. But Thorin had a feeling, if he were to ever win their trust again, gifts would do little. While it appeased his conscience, slightly, to shower them with the wealth and beauty they deserved as the lovers of a King, for a gentle hobbit and a simple toymaker, gifts meant little in the scheme of things, regardless of their quality and number.

Thorin could only hope that today would be the day that he finally earned even the tiniest bit of their trust back.

He tucked the blankets up around them and let them sleep a little longer while he went to get them something to eat. By the time he returns, bearing a platter of assorted cheeses, fruits and crackers, they've begun to stir, the sounds of Erebor waking up around them enough to pull them from their rest. A fond expression crosses his face at the sight of Bilbo's tousled mess of curls when the hobbit sits up, and he sets the platter down on the table beside the bed so he can pick up his hairbrush.

Still mostly asleep, Bilbo lets him unclasp the beads in his hair and brush out the tangles with gentle strokes of the brush, Bofur watching with interest from where he still lay sprawled across the bed. He's rising, though, when he sees Thorin reach into his pocket and pull out different beads from before, weaving them into the intricate braids he's now making in Bilbo's hair. His countenance is astonished, and uncertain, especially when Thorin beckons him forward to repeat the treatment, undoing the twin braids to brush his hair until it shone, clasping the new beads into a number of braids that are complicated enough to catch Bilbo's attention, now.

The hobbit reaches up to touch the beads in his hair and frowns slightly, turning his confused gaze on Thorin, who is sliding back on the bed to sit up against the headboard, gesturing them both to settle on either side of him. He settles the platter of food on his lap and takes special care to feed them piece by piece, that same fondness still lining his face.

"My King.. Is there any reason why you have given us betrothal beads woven in a marriage braid?" Bofur asked finally, earning a startled look from the hobbit across from him, hands immediately flying up to the beads braided into his hair again. Thorin had done what?

The dark haired dwarf paused at the question and turned his dark blue gaze on the former toymaker, steady but gentle in the way he met his eyes.

"Because it is my intent to make you both my consorts, as I should have done that first night at Beorn's, when you both trusted me enough to let me take you in the most intimate of ways," Thorin murmured finally, reaching out to run his thumb across one of the beads in Bofur's hair. He'd crafted them himself of the finest mithril, an ore so rare and precious after the fall of Moria that to use even this little bit had depleted their stores here in Erebor. He knew Bofur would recognize the material used, at least, and understand that there was nothing worth more to Thorin than them, not even mithril. He had laboured for days on the designs, using delicate tools to carve intricate patterns into each one, including the crest of the King, which showed all who saw that they belonged to him, and he to them.

"If it is not your wish to be wed, as is your right to refuse, then do not feel obligated to grant me beads of your own. I would request, though, that you keep what I have given you, if only as a gift between good friends."

Bilbo, while not as versed in the etiquettes of Dwarven culture as Bofur was, seemed to understand the significance of what was happening, and turned his sharp gaze on their King, carefully choosing every word of his response.

"And as your consorts, would we be your possessions?" he asked slowly, and Thorin knew that there was truly only one answer he could give.

"No. You have never been mine to possess. You are both much more to me than something to simply be owned and kept, as one would have a horse or a book. As my consorts, you would be my equals. Seen before all of Erebor as the true treasure of their King, whose love is worth more to him than all the gold and jewels of Middle Earth," Thorin said in a soft tone that rumbled in his chest, hoping to convey the truth and sincerity of his words.

Bilbo nodded at this, looking thoughtful, before he turned to look at Bofur. They seemed to have a silent conversation in that moment though staring alone, and Thorin respectfully looks away until they have finished.

"How can we trust that you will not be taken by the gold fever, again, once we have wed?" Bofur demands, finally, and Thorin looks up at him with a heavy heart.

"I will always be prone to the sickness of my line."

He reaches out to take both their hands at the look of heartbreak he sees in their faces, pulling them to his forehead and holding them there, only the faintest tremor betraying his turmoil at this confession.

"But if there is anything that can break through the madness, it is you. You pulled me from it after the battle, by Bilbo's tent, Bofur. And Bilbo, when you chased off the dragon and I had the foresight to grant you with a coat of mithril, to protect you where I knew I would fail. In my weakness and greed, I allowed myself to be blinded by little more than a rock, and I let the gold poison me, until I was but a shell of the dwarf I once was."

Thorin's voice cracked slightly, but if there were tears, Bilbo and Bofur could not seem them with their arms in front of the King's face.

"But you two make me strong. You remind me of what truly matters, more than anything. My kin, my people, my kingdom, and their happiness. Your happiness. While I may be wealthy from coffers overflowing in gold, it is a different kind of wealth that I seek in making you my consorts."

He slowly lowers their hands so he can press his mouth to their knuckles, heated gaze moving between them.

"The wealth that comes from being loved, and having someone to love."

His voice is ragged with emotion, and from the looks on the faces of Bofur and Bilbo, they aren't doing much better. It all seemed too real to be true, and yet there was a part of them both that still desperately wanted it to be true, that wanted to believe the dwarf King's words.

"I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, and for my betrayal of your trust, and the love we had for one another. I will do anything, anything, to show you that I am sincere in this, and to earn back the trust that I have shattered," he whispered fiercely, laying kiss after kiss over their fingers and palms, silently begging for them to let him try, to give him even the slightest chance to get back what he had lost.

They're silent so long that Thorin is convinced they are trying to figure out the best way to let him down lightly, and then finally, Bilbo speaks, but what he says is not what the dwarf expects.

"Even at the cost of your pride, Thorin Oakenshield?"

Thorin looks up in surprise at that and stares at his hobbit, who looks grim with his mouth set in a firm line, daring the King to challenge him.

He slowly releases his death grip on their hands and bows his head to Bilbo, meeting his gaze with open sincerity.

"Even at the cost of my pride. What good is pride if I cannot have you at my side? Pride will not keep me warm, or bring me any happiness. It is worth nothing compared to having your forgiveness and your trust again," he replies simply, with such frank honesty that he surprises even himself. A dwarf admitting his pride meant nothing was like getting a hobbit to say they didn't really need second breakfast. It just didn't happen.

Bilbo nodded at that and pursed his lips, deep in thought, before he reached out to pick up the food platter and set it aside on the bedside table, reaching down to unthread the silk tie from his robe.

"Then lay down and put your hands over your head," he ordered, and Thorin obeyed, watching as Bilbo took the tie from Bofur's robe, as well, before the dwarf disappeared to the bathing room that adjoined his quarters. He had no idea what they had planned, but Thorin would gladly do as he was told if it brought him one step closer to earning back their trust and forgiveness.

The hobbit firmly secures his wrists together with one of pieces of silk, using the other to then tie his bound hands to the bars of the bed's headboard, effectively restraining him. Bofur's returned by the time he's finished and starts working on divesting the King of his clothing while Bilbo makes sure the knots will hold, and his trousers and boots are removed, while his upper clothing is rucked up around his shoulders, since the restraints obstruct their ability to undress him completely. His face grows hot, though, when the other two remained clothed for now, but says nothing. Whatever they have in store for him, he wholly deserves.

"Roll over onto your stomach and onto your knees," Bofur demands, dwarf and hobbit watching as the King does as he is told, feeling horribly spread open like this, with his ass in the air, presented to the other two. He's left to kneel there in embarrassed silence for several long moments, feeling the heat of their gaze upon him, and swallows down his shame, instead allowing his knees to spread a bit wider and present himself better to their eyes.

Still, even he is shocked when the first touch his loves give him in many long weeks is a sharp slap to the flesh of his ass, the sound echoing slightly in the domed ceiling of his room. His pride screamed at him to protest this indignity, to put a stop to it at once because he was a King, not an errant dwarfling that had gotten into his mother's stash of sweets!

Thorin remains silent and bows his back a bit more, which pulled the muscles of his ass taut for Bofur and Bilbo.

He deserved this. It was a fitting punishment, for Thorin had acted with the arrogance and greed of an ignorant child when he turned away his lovers for a pretty rock.

Pleased with how he had responded, Bilbo and Bofur begin to spank him in earnest from either side of his body, not giving any pause to allow Thorin to catch his breath between strikes. His eyes water from the growing pain, but he does not once ask them to stop, gasping out into the pillows when Bofur's broad palm strikes him several times in rapid succession.

Only when the dwarf King is convinced that the flesh of his ass and thighs has actually caught fire do they finally end the punishment, admiring the brilliant redness of his skin and the purpling handprints they've raised. Gentle hands rub over his heaving flanks and down his spine, soothing him as he regains his breath and his bearings.

Bilbo's hand cradles against his cheek and Thorin looks sideways, letting his mass of dark hair be pushed aside so the hobbit can see his face. The dwarf is flush with exertion and his cheeks damp with tears, but he's smiling at his love despite the ache in his lower half.

"Do you think you have done enough to earn our trust back, my love?" Bofur asked from somewhere on Thorin's other side, and the King hisses faintly when a hand caresses the burning globe of his ass. The hand pauses, though, when the question is met with a vehement shaking of his head, blue eyes staring desperately up at their hobbit.

"No.. Not by far. I have committed a grievous offense against you both, and I deserve to be punished until you are satisfied," he breathed, shuddering when Bilbo's lips are suddenly pressed to his own. The tenderness of it surprises Thorin, and he can't help the whimper that escapes him, especially when Bofur's lips are against the back of his neck. He had been granted a kiss from them upon his parting with the Arkenstone, but this was different, and for a brief moment Thorin thought that maybe, just maybe, he could earn back their love after all.

"Then how do you suggest to be worthy of our trust, again?" Bilbo murmured, trailing his fingertips down the length of Thorin's spine. The dwarf King desperately wracked his brain for anything that would be a suitable punishment for such a crime, and it isn't until Bilbo's hand ghosts over his aching ass again that he realizes, the answer is simpler than he thought.

"Take me and use me for your pleasure. I won't seek out my own. Let me.. Let me offer you the intimacy of having my body," he whispers, and both sets of hand halt in their explorations of his skin, the noise of shock coming from Bofur beyond description. Through all their intimacies at Beorn's, the closest Thorin ever came to submitting was when he took one of them into his mouth, and even then only if they were in bed. He made it clear that he got on his knees for no one, and he certainly didn't bend over for anyone, either.

Whether it was his pride as a King, or half a lifetime of forced subservience to the race of Men that was the cause of this, it had become an unspoken understanding between them that Thorin was always on top, no matter how Bilbo and Bofur arranged themselves in between.

Bilbo's hesitation spelled it out to Thorin that the hobbit knew the gravity of what he was asking from them, and it brought a faint smile to his lips, looking between the startled faces of his loves.

"If we are to marry, then you will be my equals. If I act as if I am above you in any way, except as the ruler of my people, then we are not equal. This is what I want. This is how I will show I truly mean to be worthy of your love," he said plainly, earning a broken noise of amusement from dwarf and hobbit.

"Oh, my King.. Haven't you already learned that you have always been worthy of our love?" Bilbo breathed, leaning down to kiss him again with such reverence it nearly broke Thorin's heart. His hobbit really meant it. Somehow, he still had their love, and that filled him with such a warmth that even the blazing fires of Mordor could not match its intensity.

A slickened fingertip presses between his still aching cheeks to rub at the furl of his entrance, and now Thorin knows what the Bofur had been doing in the bathing room.

"We had thought that maybe we would have one another and make you watch, as a way of showing you what you would lose should you betray our trust again," Bofur murmured, his mouth against Thorin's shoulder blade as he opened him up, careful to be slow but thorough with the King's untouched hole.

"But this is much better."

It had stopped being a punishment a while ago, and had now become something softer, and more intimate. A moment of trust shared between lovers.

Thorin has his face pressed into the pillow to hide the winces of discomfort as he's spread open on Bofur's fingers, thinking he's just about done when the dwarf is wiggling a fourth finger into his body, dragging a ragged noise from him. Bilbo is there in an instant with soothing touches, fingers rubbing at his nipples to distract him from the stretch, the other hand between his thighs to grip at his halfhearted erection. Part of him wants to say he doesn't deserve their attentions, but when Bofur is sliding a finger from his other hand in alongside the four already inside him, he welcomes it, skin damp with sweat and muscles quivering with exertion.

He's so focused on what Bilbo's fingers are doing to his cock and nipple that he doesn't even notice when Bofur's removed the digits from his body, gasping when he's suddenly gripped in strong hands and flipped onto his back again. His tunic and jacket have twisted uncomfortably around his elbows, but then Bilbo is undoing the ties on his wrists and releasing them, and Thorin is confused.

Bofur has undressed while Bilbo freed Thorin from his bindings, and pulls the other dwarf in for a burning kiss so their hobbit can do the same. Before long, he finds himself pinned between his loves, with Bilbo against his back and Bofur to his front, and Thorin's got a good idea of what is about to happen next.

"You must relax, my love, or else this will hurt, and none of us want that to happen," Bofur is murmuring against his ear, after having bitten an impressive bruise into the King's throat, where he'd be hard pressed to hide it tomorrow. Thorin was pretty sure it'd hurt either way, especially with the lingering soreness of his ass and thighs from the spanking, but this was what he'd wanted. What they wanted. A little discomfort was hardly notable in comparison to the ache of almost losing them all these weeks.

Bofur waits patiently until the tension bleeds from Thorin and his muscles go limp, his body lifted up between them so that Bilbo can kneel up and line his cock against Bofur's, gripping them both in his palms while Bofur's are currently occupied with keeping their King's body arranged the way it needs to be to make this work. Thorin manages to get his knees under him, spread wide over their laps as he was, and that helps a bit with the angle, though his vicelike grip on Bofur's shoulders is leaving bruises behind. And then they're both sinking into him as Bofur lowers him down onto their cocks, and he understands now the point of his toymaker using so many fingers.

The pain is undeniable from the stretch of having so much inside him all at once, but Thorin bears it without a single sound of protest, his face buried into the crook of Bofur's neck and panting harshly. His erection wilts once more, and even the friction of Bofur's abdomen against it isn't much use at reviving it with this discomfort. It seems like an eternity until they're finally buried into him as deep as they can with this position, and Thorin's pretty sure this is the fullest he's ever been in his entire life. Why on earth would anyone enjoy this?

But then the hobbit and dwarf inside him still their movements, and Bilbo presses soothing kisses over his sweat damp shoulders, suckling a bruise of his own on the King's neck while they wait for him to adjust to the intrusion. And, surprisingly for Thorin at least, he does.

It's by no means fast, but his body gets used to the discomfort of the stretch, and soon it even starts to feel enjoyable. Especially when Bofur gives an experimental rock upwards into him and shoves Bilbo's cock right up against that bundle of nerves deep inside him. The shock of it rips a strangled moan from his throat, and Thorin's clawing at Bofur's back, leaving behind several red stripes on his skin that would have Dwalin snickering for days about Kings who were hellcats in bed.

"Oh.. Oh Mahal.. Please do that again," he begged against his lover's shoulder, and the pair were more than happy to oblige, having used every ounce of willpower they had to hold back from moving for so long. Not to mention, there wasn't a man or woman alive who could resist Thorin when he said please like that.

Between the heated vice of Thorin's body around their cocks and the pleasure of simply getting to be together again, none of them expect their coupling to last, and so they set to drudging out every last possible moment of enjoyment. Both of their hands digging bruises into Thorin's thighs with the way they were gripping them while they thrust into him, and even the burn of these new marks on skin already sore from the spanking felt good to him, writhing and begging on their cocks more like a whore than a King.

Thorin is amending his earlier thought and decides that this is definitely enjoyable and doesn't know why he hadn't done it sooner.

It's a struggle to keep himself from coming, though, as he'd told them he would, and he bit his lip close to bleeding, every touch of flesh against his prostate making him scream. It appeared that Bilbo was not the only one who could be loud in bed, and the thought makes him chuckle breathlessly into Thorin's skin.

He grabs a handful of thick black hair and pulls his head back, letting Bofur latch onto the dwarf's throat to suck bruise after bruise onto the pale flesh.

"Promise that you will never place us above anything else ever again, my King.. Swear it to us upon the things you hold most precious and we'll let you come," Bilbo growls into his ear, earning a strangled little whimper from the dwarf between them. He's all but bouncing on their cocks, now, between their movements and his own, opening up so beautifully for them like he'd done this his entire life.

"I p-promise..! I promise I will never place.. place anything above either of you.. ever! Not even my own life..!" he choked out, words slurred and stuttered with a fresh crescendo of pleasure in his belly.

"I swear it..! I swear it upon the lives of my nephews, of my people.. of my kin..!"

He took a ragged, heaving breath of air and stifled another scream of pleasure when Bofur shifts his hips to spear right against his prostate again.

"I swear it upon my love for you that you are all.. all I ever need now, or ever!"

And then Bilbo's hand is on his cock and in two quick jerks he's coming, his release smearing between his and Bofur's stomachs as the dwarf and hobbit continue to fuck up into him. Over sensitized in the wake of such a powerful orgasm, Thorin is groaning at the continued stimulation, head still tipped back with Bilbo's hand buried in the black mane of his hair. It's not long, though, before they too are pushed over the edge, shoving deep into the King's body and spending themselves there, before all collapsing sideways onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

Thorin is impossibly sore, and he knows he'll be walking with a limp for days after this, but he welcomes the ache because it is proof. Real, physical proof that his loves have forgiven him, and that Thorin has truly earned that forgiveness.

He gives Bilbo a tired smile when he opens his eyes to see he's being watched, reaching out to tentatively run his fingers over the beads that somehow managed to stay clasped in his hair throughout their coupling. He feels Bofur against his back and leans into the other dwarf's touch, letting him press soft, apologetic kisses over the swollen lovemarks that dot Thorin's throat and shoulders.

"So.. This consort thing.. How does one go about saying 'yes' to a proposal?" Bilbo asks nonchalantly, and the look of sincere, unfiltered happiness this gets him from Thorin is worth all the heartache it took to get them here. Thorin had made a mistake all those weeks ago, when he prized a stone over the lives of those he loved.

But finally, after being consumed with the guilt for casting aside something as precious as their love, he had finally earned their forgiveness. And that was truly worth more than all the gold of Erebor.