Warnings: Preeeetty much just shameless sexytimes. Otherwise no warnings.
Prompt: Basically, I want Bilbo riding Thorin on the throne in Erebor. Bilbo’s back to Thorin’s chest, so they’re both looking out over the treasures of the Mountain. If there’s also dirty talk from Thorin that would be wonderful. This is just a mental image that won’t leave my head and I really want to see it in fic form.
Author’s Note: Oh my god, someone take me away from the Kink Meme. Also, once more unBeta’d.
The throne is cracked and wilting from the years of Smaug, who had twisted and turned the inside of Erebor to suit its greed and fancy. The throne weeps and pools gold coins. The entire throne room is covered with the wanton abandonment of wealth and the stench of death and sex. For the first time in sixty years, a descendant of Durin sat upon the throne.
His tunic is bloodstained and racked up against his chest, his small clothes are pushed down just enough to free himself and sitting hot in his lap is their little burglar, mewling and whimpering every time Thorin rolls his hips upwards.
There’s a hunger that comes with adrenaline and blood lust and greed that’s taken over this coupling. It’s victory. It’s claiming.
Possessively, Thorin pulls at the blond curls sharply, tugging Bilbo’s head back, exposing his neck to be bitten. His eyes, which would normally be on the hobbit’s face drinking in every expression is fixated on the gold in front of them.
His voice is harsh like all the paths they’ve crossed just to get here, “Look at it,” He nips again at the exposed neck and knows he doesn’t have to tell Bilbo twice, giving another quick roll of his hips and pulling the small hobbit down on him.
Bilbo feels a gasp wrest from his mouth, his fingers digging into the tired fabric of his trousers. He couldn’t look away from the gold if he tried. There’s mountains of it everywhere, and in each little disk of gold he’s aware he’s reflected on its face. His mouth open and mewling as Thorin pounds into him again, never quite grazing that spot inside him he had come to know with the King Under the Mountain.
“Look at it,” Thorin instructs again, his hooded eyes tracing each rise and fall of the desert of gold. “This is what we’ve fought for. This is what I’ve come to claim—” and on the last word he pulls Bilbo’s hips down with such force Bilbo is babbling words of pleasure. “I’ve come and I’ve taken—” Again, Thorin thrusts up, “What is mine.”
Bilbo nods and mouths and repeats, “What is yours,” his voice is so quiet and ragged, but it bounces around the throne room as if every little reflection of him is agreeing.
Thorin sinks his teeth in again and marks Bilbo’s neck, his fingers are pressing in bruisingly at his hips. When he is done, Bilbo will be just as claimed as Erebor and everyone will know he belongs to the King Under the Mountain.
His pace picks up, eliciting moans and whimpers and whispers of pleasure from the Hobbit who is pushing down to meet Thorin thrust for thrust. Bilbo on this unexpected journey has adopted the greediness of Dwarves, he must have, there’s no other reason he can figure as to why he pushes back on Thorin with such need, he’s greedy for the dwarf king, greedy for all he can give.
When Thorin feels the burning in his gut twist and flare, he knows he’s close to coming; his Durin pride would never let him come before his burglar, and he shifts his angle on the next thrust earning a strangled cry.
Smirking against the hot flesh, Thorin runs his tongue over the imprint his teeth have left in the younger’s skin. His one hand works itself from Bilbo’s hip to his cock, stroking in time to his thrusts. The other roams the arm of the throne until his fingers find the cool edge of a gold coin.
He brings it up and traces the cold edge along Bilbo’s pulse point. The cold of the metal shocks him into a small jump.
“This is your reward,” Bilbo can’t tell if he’s talking about the gold or the sex. Bilbo jumps again when the coin skips over his clothed chest and is pressed now in between the fingers and his cock. It’s hard and uncomfortable, but its starting to warm between fingers.
“O-oh,” He’s getting desperate and close and Thorin knows it too. He’s taking every effort to hit that knot of pleasure inside him on every stroke.
Bilbo comes with a King at his back and gold on his cock, his come streaking lines across the treasure before them.
Thorin strokes Bilbo through the shuddering remains of his orgasm, thrusting into him, feeling the tightness blaze with heat around him. Thorin arches back against the seat of his father and his father before him. The dwarf looks out at all he has won until his eyes settled back at Bilbo, the unexpected prize of the quest.
With a throaty groan and another bite at Bilbo’s neck, he comes inside him, claiming him through and through.
For once, surrounded by conquest and victory, sex and gold the deep and dark hunger that had festered in Thorin’s belly was close to sated.