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Kíli had the peculiar luck of having an older brother who had to live up to the responsibilities that their mother and uncle had laid on them, and a father who wasn't able to disallow him anything (mostly because he wasn't able to discipline him).
It didn't matter when his father told him not to be too loud in the company of adults, not to fight so much, not to annoy the women in the kitchen, and definitely not to pull pranks on anyone who was in his reach. Kíli never cared for his fathers words, because he knew that his father wasn't assertive enough to hold him back or punish him, even if he tried to be strict sometimes. Kíli knew that this wasn't normal, that other parents would never allow their children to get away with such things, and when he had asked his mother why his father was so different with him, she had explained to him that his father was just a bit softer than other dwarves. Kíli had learned in the following years that soft was just another word for weak, and that hadn't helped him control himself or heed his fathers empty warnings.
It was only after his father died and their mother took them back to their uncles home, where they would reside from then on, that Kíli learned how much he needed discipline. And how much he craved it.
The first weeks were the most horrible thing Kíli had ever experienced. He had been training with weapons since the day he could walk, and he had often trained two times a week with his father, but Thorin was merciless. Each morning before sunrise, he would dump a bucket of cold water over Kíli to wake him up. Then they would train the whole morning until his mother would call them for lunch, and Kíli would limp to the dining room where his uncle would immediately start asking him questions about dwarfish culture- in Khuzdul. Not that Kíli wasn't able to speak it. It just wasn't his first language and his father had told his mother that Kíli didn't need to know the language. As long as Fíli could speak it, everything was fine.
As Kíli knew now, it wasn't fine, and his father had done ‘a terrible job of raising his youngest son’, according to Thorin. And even if his mother never agreed with him, her eyes told Kíli more than enough.
And that was why he learned to live with the dull pain in his muscles and the constant throbbing headaches. He learned to go to sleep as soon as dinner was over, even if Fíli mocked him about it, because he was used to the less than kind treatment. That was the only thing that their mother had insisted upon, even if their father hadn't liked it.
He got used to the training. He got used to everything Thorin tasked him with, and as soon as he was able to look up during training once the pain faded, he saw that Thorin looked at him with a surprisingly gentle expression. As soon as he saw that Kíli had caught his gaze, the fierceness returned- but to know that his uncle cared about him, and could maybe even be proud of him one day, encouraged him more than anything else.
When Kíli reached his sixty-fourth birthday, his uncle gifted him with a bow. It was Kíli's secret shame that he was better at nothing more than archery. His sword skills weren't bad, but with a bow, he could outstand his entire family. His mother hadn't been thrilled about it because archery was normally reserved for the dwarves who were ‘too stupid to fight with a sword or an axe’.
It was that day that Kíli felt the curious heat creep over his features when, for the very first time, Thorin smiled at him.
Kíli was sixty-nine years of age when he realized that his beard got in his way while he used his bow, and decided to cut it off. The next morning, his mother nearly fainted, Fíli choked on his bread, and Thorin raised his eyebrows questioningly. When Kíli explained that perfecting his skills was more important to him than looks, his mother nearly started crying. Thorin simply nodded at him in agreement, and Kíli was almost certain that he would burst out of pride.
It was only a year later, when Kíli woke up with an aching erection and the knowledge that he’d just had an erotic dream about his uncle, that he realized he might like Thorin in more than just a familial way. Of course he adored his uncle, looked up to him and wanted nothing more than his utmost approval, but the thought that he might be sexually attracted to him… well, Kíli wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Over the next two years, he learned that the so-called crush he had on his uncle was something more. Truth be told, he’d never really felt sexual attraction to someone before. In fact, he still didn't, even if he saw other dwarves that he thought to be good-looking. He started following Thorin with his eyes, started fantasizing about the strength in his arms, the hard muscles that worked beneath his tunic, and above everything else he couldn’t help but think of, his cock.
He dreamed that Thorin would order him down onto his knees in the midst of training, to convince him why he shouldn't force yet another long history lesson on him after lunch. He would open the laces of Thorin's breeches with shaky hands, waiting for Thorin's next order because he knew that his uncle would teach him, would tell him exactly what he had to do- because that was what Kíli wanted.
He was so deep in thought that he hadn't realized that Fíli was about to tackle him to the ground until it happened.
Kíli was seventy-two when he came home from the smith with a swollen black eye, bruises and blood on his knuckles. His mother and Fíli weren't home, as they had left earlier that day when Dís insisted on making Fíli new clothes for his coming of age in two months, and Fíli, who knew their mother well enough to know that she would pick something in blue for him, had insisted on going with her. They would be back later the following day, so Kíli just hoped that he could sneak in quietly, remaining unnoticed by Thorin.
He made it to the washroom, where there was still hot water in the tub, and he rid himself of his torn and bloody tunic, using it as a towel to clean the rest of the blood from his face.
He was nearly done washing his face when the door opened wide and Thorin leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing only trousers and a tunic, with his hair so tangled that Kíli realized he must have woken him up.
“What happened?” Thorin asked, expression darkening, and Kíli just shook his head.
“Nothing.” He didn't want Thorin to think ill of him.
“Kíli.”
“They insulted you. Grerr's sons. Said that the only reason we lived in the Blue Mountains was because you are afraid of the dragon..” Kíli closed his eyes then, waiting for a sound of disapproval from Thorin. But when he felt a gentle yet firm hand on his head, he looked up again. He couldn't quite interpret the expression on Thorin's face, but it didn't seem to be one of anger or disappointment.
“How many of them?”
“Five. But only four of them fought against me.”
“Grerr's sons are much older than you, are they not? Still lads, but older than Fíli if I remember correctly. That you have nothing more than a black eye… It speaks for your fighting skills.” He felt Thorin's fingers softly at the corner of his eye, and even if the touch hurt a little bit from the raw ache of the bruising, he wanted nothing more than to lean into it.
“I broke the nose of one of them. And I think I dislocated a shoulder, but I'm not sure,” Kíli said, and that earned him one of Thorin's few genuine smiles. He felt Thorin's other hand on his cheek, and then he felt Thorin's lips on his forehead. It was an unusual and rare gesture for a dwarf, mostly for Thorin in particular, but it was almost on pure instinct that Kíli grabbed at Thorin's tunic and pressed his face into the crook of his neck.
Thorin went still before him, and for a moment, Kíli thought that he had overstepped their boundaries or that Thorin would suspect something and push him away with a disgusted look on his face.
Instead, for a fraction of a second, Thorin's grip on the side of his face tightened and he pressed Kíli's closer to him. And then the moment was over.
“Kíli, no.” The same fingers took hold of his chin and pushed his head back. “Do not do this.”
And Kíli didn't know what he meant. Thorin could have pushed him away, could have ordered him to stay away from him, but instead he… and then he looked up, forgetting all his fears, and he saw the burning in Thorin's eyes, the guilt and the desire, and it made his his breath hitch in his throat. Do not do this. Do not make this harder for me.
But he had every intention of doing exactly this. He reached up with one hand, grabbed the back of Thorin's neck, and kissed him.
He had never kissed anyone before, but he had seen people kiss and tried to mimic the things he remembered.
At first, Thorin didn't react, and for a few terrible seconds, Kíli feared he had misinterpreted the situation- but then he could feel Thorin's lips moving against his own. His tongue slipped in between Kíli's lips and Kíli moaned at the exciting new sensation. He felt hot, and he felt needy, and he had no idea what to do with his hands- but none of these things mattered because he and Thorin were kissing, and he pressed himself closer to Thorin.
And then it was over, because Thorin had ended the kiss. Kíli was pretty sure that the sound that escaped his mouth was a whimper. But then Thorin was kissing him once more, deep despite being brief, and when Kíli opened his eyes again, Thorin looked at him like he wasn't sure what to make of his nephew and the whole situation.
“Thorin, I-” But Thorin shook his head and laid one finger lightly upon Kíli's lips. He felt the urge to take it into his mouth, but somehow he was able to resist. Instead, he merely kissed Thorin's finger, and his uncle sighed. He bent forward and rested their foreheads together.
“You are driving me insane,” was the only thing he said, and Kíli was pretty sure that was a compliment, so he smiled.
“Can I kiss you again?”
“I think there is something that you are forgetting.” The training, of course. They had moved his training to the afternoon because he had been busy visiting the smith.
“Can I kiss you every time I shoot an arrow into the target?”
Thorin ruffled his hair with one hand and let him go. Kíli wasn't so happy about that.
“Every time you hit the very middle.”
With an incentive like that, he was quite sure that he would become the best dwarf archer in the shortest time.