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He should've known they weren’t as safe as he fooled himself into believing.
Thorin led his ram through the jutting hills of the land north of Thranduil's halls just outside of Mirkwood. They were leaving a good faith ambassadorial meeting on Bilbo’s insistence, that the two leaders work toward a lasting and sustainable peace. It had been three days of eye-rolling and showmanship, but both he and Thranduil had come out of it unscathed. Still, he had no desire to stay in Mirkwood any longer than absolutely necessary and chose to go north before heading east towards Erebor. This was shorter in distance, but the terrain was rougher. It was nothing a mountain-bred ram couldn’t handle, but he was grateful he was able to convince Bilbo to ride with him instead of his own steed.
He was not fond of riding in the first place, and they learned very quickly that he had no talent for riding rams. He watched the hobbit carefully as he dozed in the saddle, taking the time to memorize the way the sun filtered through his hair and how the shade cast shadows on his auburn freckles.
Bilbo had chosen to stay in Erebor. He had given away his home in the Shire and accepted a position as chief ambassador and diplomat to the crown. To him. Grateful was a far cry short of how happy he was he made that decision. The Shire didn't deserve Bilbo Baggins with their snide remarks and pointed words. None of them recognized just how brilliant he truly was. Their loss.
The ram jumped forward over a dip in the rock, and Bilbo was knocked back into his arms. His head was now resting where his shoulder met his chest, his little nose twitching in annoyance. He wanted to lean down and still it with a kiss, but he didn’t. He never gave in to those constant wants. Regardless of the enthusiasm in which Bilbo settled in the mountain, whatever had been brewing between them on the quest abruptly halted. Bilbo was just as kind, feisty, and inquisitive as he’s always been, but he showed Thorin the same deference that all the other dwarves in Erebor did, and he hated it. He hated watching him smile and laugh with Ori or quip with Balin only to turn to him and trade niceties. He wanted to listen to Bilbo talk about food and old scrolls with life in his words and a fire in his chest, but Bilbo seemed almost timid near him now. He supposed he only had himself to blame for that one.
He funneled his feelings for Bilbo into his crafting. Making him anything he could think to make. Some he gave as gifts, some he kept, hoping he would have the chance to give later, like the silver bead currently in his pocket.
His ram jumped another crag, and Bilbo startled awake, rubbing his eyes.
“I’m starting to question your decision in choosing to go this way. I think you’ve managed to find the least smooth path possible.” Bilbo sat forward with a groan before seeming to remember where exactly he was. “It is a nice view, however, your majesty.” They both looked up to see the peak of Erebor bobbing in the distance.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you questioned my sense of direction.” Thorin continued wanting to keep the banter alive. To his delight, Bilbo let out a laugh.
“Yes, well, you did get lost on the way to my smial twice if I remember correctly.”
“Your home was difficult to find,” Thorin replied with amusement. Bilbo twisted around in the saddle to pin him with an exasperated look.
“There is only one road in Hobbiton, and my home was literally called Bag End. Which is the biggest smial in the Shire and by its very name at the end of the road.” Bilbo turned back around with a shake of his head.
“Fear not, Master Baggins. It’s hard to lose our way when I can see the peak of our home from here.”
They continued on until dusk and decided to stop at an area sheltered by jutting rocks. There were originally two other dwarves who were supposed to come on this small mission. Both had been informed by Nori that they couldn’t make it due to personal reasons. He had initially felt bad for the deception, but now, as he sat in front of the fire and watched Bilbo make stew like he used to on their journey, his guilt evaporated.
Neither of them said much, but it wasn’t an uneasy silence. He found that quiet was preferable to platitudes or small talk. Soon, the fire died, and they made their bed on the ground. Bilbo had settled an arm's length away from him, a distance he checked when he heard the small snores coming from the hobbit and reached his hand out to see if he could twist his finger into even one lock of pretty fine hair. He could not and fell asleep with his arm outstretched to him.
The morning was spent on a swift breakfast and a quick clean-up. The sky looked like it was going to come down, and they wanted to be on the road before it did. Perhaps their haste was their folly. Perhaps Thorin was just too distracted watching Bilbo sweep the long curls back from his face to notice the thin black wire that lay upon the ground as he led the ram out of the rocks. The ram spooked and ejected them from the saddle as the wire tightened and cut its front legs. Before he even hit the ground, he felt strange hands grab him by the throat and slam his head into the rock.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he peeled his eyes open to stare into the inky blackness. It took longer than it should have for his vision to be clear enough to see his surroundings. His stone sense told him they were underground but not very far, maybe a quarter mile. He couldn't move, but his mouth was not gagged. He coughed as he choked on dirt and felt the dryness of his mouth. Very suddenly, everything flooded back into his system. He tensed and struggled against his bindings. His feet and hands were tied to a pole.
“Bilbo!” He shouted frantically, searching for his hobbit.
He found him on the floor. Bound by the neck with his wrists tied. He could see the chain connecting his collar to the wall. It was long and didn’t seem to be there specifically to restrict his movement.
"Bilbo! Wake up!” He didn't care how loud he was or that his throat burned as he spoke. He needed to see Bilbo move, and to his great relief, he did.
His reaction initially was much the same as Thorin's. He struggled with his bindings and grabbed at the steel around his throat. Bilbo did not have the advantage of dwarven vision, and his voice was mouselike as it called out into the dark.
“Y-Your majesty?” Even in all of this, the title slipped from his tongue instead of his name.
“Yes, I’m here. I’m right in front of you.” He struggled again at his binds to no avail.
“I remember the ram bucked us, and I hit my head. Where are we? I-I can’t see anything but darkness.”
“We’re still in the Grey Mountains. The stone remembers its name. I don’t know who took us. They will come eventually. The moment they undo your binds for any reason, slip on your ring and disappear.” He needed Bilbo to get far away. Whatever this was, whatever reason they had been captured, couldn’t be good. This was planned.
“I can’t do that.” Thorin started to protest. “I don't have the ring anymore. I told Gandalf of it when he came to offer me an escort to the Shire. He said the ring was not all it seemed and could spell ill news for Erebor if it was kept there. I told him to take it.”
Thorin’s blood turned to ice, and he was temporarily thankful that Bilbo could not see through the darkness and watch the fury and panic flood his features. He had no time to give any further words of warning before light could be seen coming into the room from a tunnel.
Three orcs, each uglier than the next, walked into the room. Two held torches, and the other held nothing. There was intelligence behind the third's eyes, however, and that scared him. He was uglier than the goons behind him. His face was pale and looked like it had been flayed and stitched back together with fire. He smiled and spoke with an unsettling rasp.
“You wake. Good. I was growing impatient.” The two other orcs put the torches on the walls and went back through the hall, leaving the twisted orc behind.
"State the reason for our capture!" Thorin demanded. The orc laughed. It was a disgusting choking noise that made his skin crawl.
"This is not your mountain dwarf. Your demands mean nothing here. You are nothing. I refuse to believe one who was so easy to capture is the famed dwarf who slew Azog the Defiler. Who’s name gets uttered with fear. There are orcs who slunk back to Dol Guldur that even went so far as to say that you wielded the shadows to your advantage. Where are your shadows now, oh great warrior king.” The orc sneered, but as his words registered, Thorin’s eyes flickered to Bilbo. His shadow was here, small and vulnerable, on a cold stone floor.
“Release my bindings and give me my sword, and you will learn how I earned my titles,” Thorin spat into that ugly face
“You will not be granted something so easy, but I will answer the other burning question on your mind. I captured you because I intend to do what Azog and Bolg failed to do. I will break the king of the noble line of Durin.”
Thorin knew the blow was coming before it connected. Pain radiated in his chest as he coughed up blood. It would take far more than that to rattle him. He spent the better part of 196 years learning to take pain. He hung his head with a grin, spitting his blood onto the floor.
“I would die by your hand long before you ever find a way to break me,” Thorin snickered. He looked up to sneer in the face of the orc, but all the world went void of feeling or color when he saw what the orc was holding. Bilbo.
“Won’t I?” The orc sneered.
Bilbo had been hiding in the shadow of the torches, trying to stay out of sight like the clever hobbit he was. The orc lifted Bilbo up and threw him into the light in the center of the room at Thorin’s feet, but not before stepping on the chain, meaning Bilbo went further than the length allowed. The sound of Bilbo choking and spluttering filled the air.
DON’T TOUCH HIM! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HIM! It was the only thought that filled Thorin’s mind, but he dared not say it out loud. Still, he could do nothing about his body's visceral reaction to seeing Bilbo harmed. His beautiful, selfless hobbit, who already had nightmares from the only battle he ever fought in. He felt blood drip down his wrists as he tried to break the binds with every ounce of his strength. The orc regarded Bilbo like he was a pile of shit staining his floor.
“I had hoped that you would be traveling with one of your esteemed company members, only to find you sharing a saddle with this.” He landed a kick to Bilbo's stomach, making him cry out in pain. “What are you? You’re not elven, dwarven, or human. You’re not a child, though you’re the size of one. Are you a pet? A bed warmer, perhaps?” The orc bent down over Bilbo, waiting for a reply. Despite the blood vessel in his right eye popping and the blood on the side of his face, his eyes were still full of fire.
“I’m a burglar,” Bilbo spat.
“A thief and spy then, but what are you to him?” The orc grabbed Bilbo's face, pointing it in his direction.
“He is no one!” Thorin shouted desperately. “He’s unimportant. We traveled together by circumstance, nothing more!” The lies felt heavy on his tongue. He didn't dare look at Bilbo's face.
“Then he is useless, and I will let my men have him.” He grabbed the chain and started walking away, dragging Bilbo behind him. Bilbo’s choking filled the room as he clawed at his neck and kicked his feet desperately.
The same blind picnic that rushed through him now was kin to the kind that flooded him when he watched his brother get crushed under the foot of a troll or watched his grandfather's head get thrown at his feet. He had failed his brother and grandfather, but nothing this world could offer would destroy him like Bilbo sharing their fate. Tears streaming from his eyes, he screamed.
“DON’T TAKE HIM! LET HIM GO! GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF HIM!” The orc smiled and dropped the chain, stepping over Bilbo to walk back to him.
“I said I would break you, and now I know how to do it.” The orc pulled out a knife and a small vile of mysterious liquid. “Do you know what’s better than breaking you myself? Forcing you to do it to yourself.”
Thorin refused to let the liquid past his lips, but one hit to his abdomen forced his mouth open. The liquid tasted like jagged rocks as it burned through him.
“What I just gave you will cause you lust and unimaginable pain. Pain that will grow and build and take over your mind unless you give into the desires of the poison. It’s going to fill you with an overwhelming and primal need to stick your cock into that little burglar again and again and again.”
Dawning realization caught Thorin in the chest as he looked past the orc to Bilbo, who propped himself up on his elbows. His face was unreadable, and it was impossible to tell how much he heard.
“No. No, you will not make me do this! You will not force me to be a monster. Not again! I will die before I let this poison steal my dignity or the dignity of others!” Thorin raged. The orc walked back to the exit of the room and, taking the knife, flug it so that it cut the ropes tying his hands.
“We shall see.” Iron bars came down, blocking the only exit. Thorin cut himself loose as quickly as he could. As of now, he felt none of the effects the orc spoke of. His only concern was the beaten Hobbit on the floor. He barely had time to free him before pain flooded his body like knives driving themselves slowly into his back. He screamed at the impact of it.
“Thorin!” Soft… too soft….two soft hands were on his face as Bilbo shrieked in concern.
Thorin gasped as the pain dulled. The world teetered and slowly came back into focus.
"It's ok, it's going to be ok. You won't die. I won't allow it.” Bilbo sounded like he was convincing himself more than Thorin.
“It would be ill-advised to go against your orders as I've learned in the past, Burglar. What about you? Your neck is it-” Thorin felt around Bilbo’s neck, realizing with harsh clarity that the chain and collar were still around his throat. He could only fit two fingers under the collar, so prying it off was not an option. He looked for a seam anyway, running his hands along the soft…too soft...skin. He followed the chain back to the wall and pulled with everything in him.
“Stop!” Bilbo shouted. “You’ve cut open your hands; stop.” Bilbo moved away from him to grab his jacket from the floor. Again, pain ripped through his body, this time like ice crystals forming on his skin, forcing the old wounds of past battles to burn as brightly as they did when he received them. The pain didn’t let up for a second until he felt Bilbo bring his hands to his face. He looked up into tear-stained hazel eyes with awe. There was blood dripping from his nose and scuff marks on his cheeks, but he was radiant all the same.
He makes the pain go away. You just need to get closer.
Thorin froze and recoiled, scrambling back until he hit the wall. The pain flared again brighter without the touch there to dull it.
He couldn’t. Bilbo was soft… too soft… He had already given him reason to fear his touch before. He wouldn’t again, even if it killed him. Bilbo watched him with saddened and hurt eyes as he lowered his hand from where Thorin's face had been.
“You need to clean the blood from your hands and wrap them in something, or you’ll get an infection.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and walked it over to him, but didn't linger. " I’ve never seen caves like this. They don’t look natural.” Bilbo ran his hands along the rocks curiously.
“You’ve spent enough time around dwarves that you’re starting to think like us.” Thorin smiled fondly, even if it was through gritted teeth. “These are not natural caves. They’ve been beaten out of the stone and twisted to their hewers design.” He stopped talking to try and brace the pain better, then continued, “The mountain does not like them. Does not want them.” He propped himself up better and pressed the handkerchief to his palm.
“Is there a more natural cave system here we can use? Or do you think you could find a weak point? I know I don't know anything about your stone sense, but I suppose I’m hoping it’s like the sense I have for my garden. Even if we could force a little cave-in, it might open up a channel or pocket.” Bilbo walked with his fingers to the stone all the way around the cave like he was looking for seams in the stone. With every inch he moved further away, the pain grew until the only thought in Thorin’s head was of how to be rid of it. He knew what would do it. It was right in front of him. He just needed to be strong enough to reach out and take it.
It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn't it? Since before you took back Erebor, on long cold nights when Bilbo would hoard his warm body away from sight or use. You dreamed about how you would defile him.
“NO!” Throin screamed out loud, silencing the thoughts that were not his. But they were partially his. He had coveted Bilbo on the journey and during his sickness. He had thought about what it would be like to know Bilbo in every possible way. The pain changed. It still raged inside him like a wildfire, but it was more like a longing. A deep abyss plunged into the heart of his soul that could only be filled by the one being standing before him. He wanted to feel Bilbo under his hands. He wanted to know what he tasted like and the sound of his voice when he was being satisfied. The very idea of wanting something so bady terrified him.
“Bilbo, stay back! Don't come any closer! I’m not in control of myself. If you get closer, I don't know what I’m capable of.”
His clothes felt heavy on his body, and his pants were tight as he realized he was rock hard and aching. He needed relief. He needed the burning to stop! He had to try something, anything. He pulled himself out of his pants and stroked himself with urgency, not delicately, racing towards release. His mind conjured images of Bilbo's naked, pliant, and moaning under him. Screaming his name, not just his moniker. He came with a grunt and was hard again within seconds. The pain, if possible, got worse. He looked up, meeting Bilbo's horrified eyes. The knife used to free his binds was still on the ground where it was left.
“The knife! Pick it up. Do not let me debase myself. I will not return to Erebor without my honor.” This must be why they left Bilbo chained to the wall. So he couldn't run. So that if he let his will slip for a moment, he would overpower him. They needn't have bothered. He was so much stronger than Bilbo. So much bigger. It wouldn’t even take a fraction of a fraction of his strength to hold him down.
“No! No! I’m not going to kill you! Please, I’m begging you. I can’t watch this happen to you. I heard what the orc said. I-I head what effect this is supposed to have on you, and I know that if you keep resisting it, you could die.” Bilbo dropped to all fours to crawl beside him. “Take me. Please, I-I know it’s not ideal, but it's better than you dying!” Bilbo had tears in his eyes and looked more scared now than he did when he was being beaten.
“No! I won't do it! This is not what I wanted!” he tried to recoil, but the pain of separating himself from Bilbo now that he was so close was impossible.
He had envisioned what their first time might look like so many times. Soft sheets or perhaps his furs laid out by the shores of the crystal lake where they could look up at the twinkling gems that coated the cavern ceiling. He would take him there, braid the bead into his hair, and profess everything he had thought since he first met him. Promise him an easy life of happiness and comfort filled with everything he could ever want. He heard Bilbo speak again.
“I don't want you to die. I can’t watch it happen again. I promise I’m alright with it. I can turn around so you don't have to see my face, and I’ll be quiet so you c-can pretend it’s someone else you would rather be with. When this is all over, I’ll leave Erebor forever, so you don't have to be reminded of how low you were forced to sink. Please, anything not to watch you die again.” The words were said through sobs that wracked his little body. He sounded distraught and broken. When the weight of what he was saying registered, the pain was briefly washed out by shame and alarm.
“That’s not... Bilbo, that’s not why I pushed you away! I will not make you force yourself to have sex with me! Nor do we have anything to make this process easier. It would be dangerous!” He reached out his hand to Bilbo, wanting so badly to connect with living flesh. Hope flickered in Bilbo’s eyes as he leaned in closer.
“Not as dangerous as you think. Hobbits are… beings of pleasure, and our bodies reflect that. I..I don't need oil or much preparation. It wouldn't be forcing myself. Not when it’s with you.” Bilbo finally closed the distance Thorin was too scared to, and his body moved without his mind's permission.
Wrapping a hand around the back of the hobbit's head, he slammed their lips together. Whatever the orc had given him continued to drive him forward. He pulled Bilbo into his lap and started divesting him of every layer of clothing. He felt like a wild and hungry animal finally given a meal.
When he reached bare skin, he put his mouth to it, tasting what he had dreamed about for months. Bilbo shivered under him, hands twisted in his hair. The pull of Bilbo’s hands made him remember what was burning a hole in his pocket. With great difficulty, he took his lips off of Bilbo so that he could speak to him.
“I have something I want to put in your hair.” He pulled the bead out of his pocket, slowly shaking with still-growing pain.
“Can it wait! You’re still in pain. I can see it.” Bilbo pressed himself closer, and for a short while, they devolved back into touches.
“No. It can’t wait. This wasn’t supposed to be how this happened. This is not how I wanted it to be. Our first time. I..I wanted there to be flowers. I wanted to make you tea and cuddle next to the fire in your room. You have the biggest fireplace in the mountain. Bigger than mine. I knew winters would be cold, and I didn't want the fire to die in the night, so I had them widen it.” He felt something warm drip from the corner of his mouth. Blood.
“We still have time for all of that after this, Thorin!” Bilbo reasoned, panic back in his voice.
“But it won't be the first time. I want one thing to be right the first time. He pulled the bead out of his pocket. “Please let me braid this into your hair. Spending the rest of my life with you would be an honor.”
Bilbo took the bead in shaking hands. “You made me a bead? I never thought that- Of course, yes, of course Thorin!” Bilbo explained. The wind went right out of his chest with the sound of his name on Bilbo's lips after so long. He grabbed Bilbo's head with both hands.
“Say it again. My name, say it again.” He begged.
“T-Thorin?” Bilbo replied, confused.
“Please don’t stop calling me that. Please never stop calling me that.” Quickly, Thorin fumbled with Bilbo’s hair. The braid was neither traditional nor very well done, but he clasped the bead onto the end with satisfaction. By the time he was done, he was starting to bleed from his nose as well as his mouth. The moment the bead clicked, Bilbo was on him, pushing him to the ground and climbing on top of him. He had his cock out of his pants before he could think, and in another flash, Bilbo had shed his lower layers and was lining himself up.
“You’re bigger than I thought you would be, but we don't have any more time.” Thorin was about to protest in fear of harming his hobbit, but he was already sinking down onto his length. Bilbo let out tiny broken whimpers until finally, and probably much too quickly, he settled onto him fully. With a loud keen, he slumped over, out of breath.
He should have checked to ensure Bilbo was okay, but the moment their bodies fully connected, whatever the orc gave him erupted in his system. He tumbled down the hill of ecstasy. It grew with every moan and pant Bilbo let him hear. He met Bilbo with every bounce until that wasn’t enough; he needed more. He needed to lay claim to this hobbit in every possible way. He flipped them with ease but faltered when he heard the rustling of the chain that still connected Bilbo to the wall. In this position, it pulled at the collar around his neck.
The collar…a sign of ownership. A sign that someone had claim to Bilbo that wasn’t him. The thought, the very idea, filled him with unbridled rage. Bilbo was HIS. He brought a loving hand to the sloppy braid in Bilbo's hair. This was the only sign that Bilbo was taken that should ever exist on his person. He could not remove the collar from his neck, but he eyed the chain connecting it with malice. Bilbo didn't seem to understand why they had stopped and put his head into the crook of Thorin’s neck, kissing and biting in a plea to continue.
“In a moment, Amrâlimê. Hold very still.” He grasped under the collar by two fingers at the back of his neck so that it didn't choke him and pulled, using his own raw strength combined with the pressure from trying to pull it off the wall.
CRACK!
The link closest to the collar snapped, and Bilbo was tethered no longer. With that obstacle out of the way, he focused solely on ravaging Bilbo. His Bilbo, his future consort, his hobbit, HIS. He spent in his hobbit half a dozen times in just as many positions spurred on by the cries of his beloved begging to be fucked harder.
“Say my name again,” Thorin demanded as he grabbed a hold of Bilbo’s cock.
“Thorin!” His name sounded like a song, like a plea, like a vow coming from those soft sips.
“Say it again.” Thorin wanted to hear it. He needed to hear the sound of his name rolling off of the tongue of the only person that mattered.
“Thorin! I’m so close!” Bilbo whined. He was close again, too; it felt like the crescendo this entire experience had been forcing them towards. “I love you, Thorin, I-” Bilbo came with a scream of his name, sending Thorin over the edge with him. It was the most he came the entire time, enough that Bilbo’s body could not contain all of him, and he watched his cum leak down plush pink thighs.
Clarity hit him harder than the orc ever could. His eyes roamed Bilbo's naked body. It was a tapestry of bite marks and slowly forming bruises. The sides of his neck were blotched from where he had sucked marks into the skin. He was gaped open and still leaking from so many rounds of getting fucked.
“B-Bilbo I-” He pulled Bilbo to his chest, tears streaming down his face. “I hurt you again, didn’t I? I forced my will upon you. I don’t even have the right to say I love you. Not when I only ever seem to hurt you.” He caught a glimpse of the knife just within reach of his right hand. “I don't deserve to call myself an honorable dwarf.” He reached for the knife, intent on using it to shear the braids from his head, but Bilbo kicked it further away.
“Thorin, what are you doing! Why would you- Thorin, LOOK AT ME!” Bilbo placed both hands on his face and, with surprising strength, forced their eyes to meet. “I consented to this! It was not how I envisioned it being the first time either, but I am not upset it happened, and I’m not hurt! If you regret what we have done now that whatever that foul orc gave you is gone from your system, then I-I’m sorry, but I can't regret it because even if it wasn’t ideal, it was with you! That’s all that matters to me.” Bilbo’s words were desperate, but his eyes shone with the same fire they had before.
“I don't regret the act, but look at you, Bilbo, the state you’re in. I was too rough; I forgot my strength. Your body will hold bruises that reflect my fingers for weeks.
“Then my body will hold them with pride. I’m not as fragile as you seem to think of me. I will not crumble under rough, dwarven hands. You will not hurt me by showing me the depth of your love for me. If you want to love me as you intended, then you can, in Erebor when we are safe. For now, my king, I need you to use that knife for other purposes than self-pity. If you are so hell-bent on making amends for perceived slights to my person, then get me home.” Bilbo’s words sank into the core of his being. Get him home. That was his new command, his mission. Thorin was the king of dwarves, but Bilbo was the king of him, and he would not disobey. He sat Bilbo down and found their clothing.
“That orc will be back soon. He will expect to find that I have devastated my honor.” Thorin explained quickly
“Then let’s make him think just that.” Bilbo pressed the knife back into his hands.
A very short time later, the orc stepped back into the cave. What he saw delighted him. The prone form of that little burglar crumpled on the ground in a corner, hole clearly well spent. He looked around for the perpetrator of the halfling's defilement and found the great king bent in on himself, shaking.
“Oh, how I have waited for this day. The king of the great line of Durin now shares the epithet of the orc he once slew. Thorin the Defiler. How did it feel to force your will upon the unwilling?” The orc belt in front of Thorin. “I bet you even took pleasure in his screams of pain.” Still, no response came from the trembling king. “Now that you’ve loosened him up, I think I will let my men have their fun. He still has a mouth that can be used after all.” Before the last syllable left his lips, Thorin surged forward, driving the knife through the orc's chin. In the last few moments of consciousness, he heard Thorin speak the last words he would ever hear.
“You did not break me, and I did not break him. You failed, and now I will ensure he is never touched by filthy orc hands again.”
When he heard the orc hit the ground, Bilbo was back on his feet and righted his attire. The orc has stupidly left the gate to the cave open, giving them a perfect opportunity to flee. He needed to get out of here. With the adrenaline wearing off, his injuries from the orc throwing him around were starting to cause serious pain. It didn’t help that he was viscously hungry, and his body was tired from such intense rounds of lovemaking. He only needed to hold on for a little longer. Thorin met him at the mouth of the cave. They moved silently and found that their armor and weapons had been stuffed in a box just around the corner of where they were held. The cave was actually carved out of a long, narrow opening in the rock. He trusted Thorin to lead them out using his stone sense, and when they finally rounded the third corner, he could see the light of the sky, but he could also see a company of orcs making their way toward them. They cut them down one by one using the narrow opening in the rock as a chokehold in which the orcs drove themselves to slaughter. When it was done, Bilbo’s energy was finally completely spent, and he collapsed.
When he woke, it was on clean sheets pressed up against a sturdy, warm frame. His hair was getting softly stroked. He shifted, and the petting stopped.
“Bilbo?” Came the rumbling voice of his king. No, not just his king, his love.
“Where are we?” He said weakly, still trying to gain his bearings.
“I got you home just like you asked.” Thorin's lips pressed to his chaste and comforting. They never revealed to the company the full extent of what had befallen them in the Gray Mountains, but from that day forth, Bilbo and Thorin were never parted from each other's side.