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His hands ache from the bonds and his mouth is raw against the gag, even though the worst of his fears are clearly unfounded— Fili and Kili are very, very much enjoying themselves, using hands and tongue on the Elvenking’s length while his long white fingers thread through their hair. They are both groaning, smiling up at their captor; they have been here for nearly half an hour, and neither of them has yet noticed the frail screen, the elevated loft above this bed where Thorin is bound.
Thranduil, of course, knows very well, and he lies back long and white upon the cushions, letting Thorin’s nephews do their work as he smirks up at Thorin upon his perch; and when he suggests that they switch positions, he guides them to their places with his hands in their hair, holding their gaze downward until Kili is on all fours and Fili on his knees behind him, his flushed hard cock resting lightly between his brother’s buttocks. Thranduil has spent some time, before they took to tonguing him, opening both of them with his deft elven fingers and a sweetly-scented oil which hangs fragrant in the air and slicks both of Thorin’s nephews from cock to hole each; now he lines them up and thrusts himself, gentle but implacable, into Fili (who shakes and gasps and struggles to accept the intrusion, then groans in heartfelt delight). Kili bucks back against them both, letting Fili’s cock ride slowly up and down him.
When Thranduil is settled into Fili, whose toes curl and uncurl against the silken coverlets, he leans solicitously over them (how small they both look beside him, and how broad of shoulder, well-formed men among the Dwarves) and, with a few teasing strokes of Kili’s cock, guides Fili into his brother’s ass and thrusts him home.
They are still for a few moments, gathering their wits, before they begin to thrust in time, Thranduil setting the pace; and Thorin wants to groan into his gag, wants to tear the ropes from his wrists, and wants more than anything to be allowed from his bindings, to join his nephews in being defiled, to be caught in the midst of the three of them and fucked open and suckled and buried in slick wet heat.
And as they rock together, begging and moaning and gasping and stuttering their way through Thranduil’s steady self-assured rhythm, they do not see him at all; but Thranduil raises his eyes to Thorin’s, and his lips curl up in triumph, parted just a little with pleasure, revealing his teeth.