Work Text:
Trigger Warnings: Graphic sexual fantasies, Ori shipping everybody and getting off on it, Ori imagining his brothers having sex, age difference, manipulation, bondage, multiple partners, sexual favours (kind of), size difference, double-blowjob, dub-con/non-con, rimming, even more size difference because I have no shame, Bagginshield.
Pairings: Balin/Thorin, Kili/Dwalin, Nori/Bifur, Oin/Bombur/Gloin, Gandalf/Dori, Kili/Bofur/Fili, Azog/Thorin and Bilbo/Thorin (not in Ori’s imagination, although he helps them along)
Ori likes drawing the rest of the company. His book is full of sketches of them; their faces, their weapons, details on clothing and the bound shapes of hair in braids. He sketches them whenever they have a moment of rest, rough scribbles of Dwalin sharpening his axe, Thorin discussing darkly with Balin under a tree, and Kili and Fili wrestling across the clearing. He sketches the scenery around them and the shape of each member of the company become mere silhouettes against the darkening light of a sunset over the mountains.
At night though, after Dori and Nori have rolled over, their backs to him and their snores filling the air, he draws at the back of his book a series of rather private sketches.
..
The first is drawn, almost unconsciously, before the quest has even begun, snuggled near the fireplace at the hobbit’s home in the Shire. He rests his quill against the page, thinking about how Balin seems to know what Thorin is always thinking and how much he respects him. He thinks how Balin would take care of their leader, in every way, and suddenly he’s sketching, lines of ink curling and scratching across the page. They carve out the intertwined figures of Balin and Thorin, their leader’s head thrust backwards, his mouth open in need and Balin’s mouth is on his chest, one of his hands thrust between Thorin’s legs.
Ori gasps, dropping his quill, mouth dry and face flushed a deep, hot red. He tears the page out and hides it in the back of his book. When the morning comes he cannot look either dwarf in the eye, shuffling to his pony without looking at Thorin or Balin, cheeks hot and a confusing mixture of shame and secret delight swirling inside of him.
..
It’s their third night out in the wilderness and Dwalin is on watch. Ori cannot sleep. His brothers snore either side of him and he fiddles with his book, sneaking a look at the secret drawing. Heat flares through his stomach and he slips it back between the pages. He rises up a little, to spy over Dori’s slumped form and notices Kili approach Dwalin. Kili begins asking about Dwalin’s axes, the history of a nick in the blade and Dwalin acts disinterested but still tells the tale, in graphic detail, and Ori sees Kili’s enthralled expression in the firelight, his eyes wide with admiration.
He imagines suddenly, how Dwalin could take advantage of Kili’s admiration, what he could entice the young dwarf to do if he so chose. He blushes, shifting in his blanket as arousal spreads through him and he’s drawing again, quill furiously scribbling. Kili is on his front, chest pressed to ground, hands gripping the grass under him, face scrunched in pleasure and pain, his rear and thighs held up behind him by Dwalin’s gripping fingers. Dwalin is pressed inside of the younger dwarf; teeth gritted in pleasure and hips tight against Kili’s.
Ori tries to imagine how the hairs of their beards will sway as they move and he’s just putting in some finishing touches when footsteps sound nearby. He almost shrieks, tearing the page and nearly crumpling it in his haste to hide it in the back confines of his book.
..
The incident with the trolls sparks his dark fantasies something fierce. The way everyone leapt at the trolls with fierce battle cries and the majestic way Thorin threw down his weapon for the hobbit and the brave way the dwarves endured being tied to a spit, roasting over the trolls’ bonfire.
Well, he hadn’t endured that very well, whimpering from where he was bound next to his brothers, but Nori, Dori, Bifur and Bofur had been brave. Nori and Bifur had been bound together; his older brother tied over the language-challenged dwarf much to his protests. Ori imagines, for a moment, what that must have been like; Bifur’s hips pressed against Nori’s, his breath teasing the hair on the back of his brother’s neck.
Nori would arch upwards, away from the flames, and grind up into Bifur, who would groan, trying to stay quiet. Perhaps, Ori thinks, even as his quill glides over the page, perhaps Bifur might manage to shift a leg not properly bound, and perhaps he would shift it between Nori’s legs to rub against the other dwarf’s hardness from behind. And maybe Nori’s bound hands are behind him and Bifur has the pleasure of finding out just how devious those fingers can be.
He doesn’t even think as he slides the image of his brother and Bifur into the back of his book, although he cannot help the shame at such dark and forbidden thoughts.
..
They’re camping out under the stars, the night is cold and they fear building a larger fire will draw in enemies. To make matters worse there is little food and they all bemoan their fortune. Bombur is trying to start a stew, but all he has are some herbs, water, potatoes and two small rabbits, which will hardly feed their entire company.
He huddles into a blanket and Dori’s cloak and writes the day’s events in his book. Not much happened besides walking a great deal and an argument between Thorin and his nephews, which resulted in Kili shuffling angrily at the back of the line and Fili scouting moodily ahead.
There is a shout and his head jerks up, just in time to see Oin and Gloin appear through the thicket, dragging a deer with triumph. The company cheers as one, even though they know it will take a while for the deer to be prepared and cooked.
Oin and Gloin lug it over to Bombur and the large dwarf seems overcome with emotion, whether due to his appetite or devotion to cooking good meals for the company. He claps a hand on each shoulder, grinning and thanking the brothers for their catch. Oin and Gloin laugh and offer to assist in preparing the meal.
Ori wonders how far Bombur would go to thank them; he does love to cook and to eat so. He knows he should not, but cannot help but imagine Oin and Gloin lying back as Bombur lavishes attention on them with his pudgy hands and mouth. The picture is sketched before he can stop himself; Oin’s mouth open and eyes staring down as Bombur devours his length. Gloin’s face flushed and his fingers toying with Bombur’s beard as his length is held in the larger dwarf’s right hand, Bombur’s thumb trailing over the head.
Ori smirks around his spoon, his face flushed with heat, as he watches Bombur and the brothers enjoy their own bowls of stew. Oh, he knows Gloin is a devoted husband and Bombur would never attempt to tear him from his wife. He knows Oin is not very inclined to be intimate with anyone. He knows these things and yet, imagining the opposite makes him shudder with delight, his body filled with tingles and heat.
The collection of pictures is slowly growing and he wonders what he will do if someone asks to see his book.
..
He isn’t blind to the way Dori enjoys the wizard Gandalf’s company. They sit and talk of things from the past and of Erebor and of many things Ori only understands from books. Dori offers the wizard weed for his pipe and they smoke together, blowing smoke rings as they talk and chuckle. Dori seems to like the way the wizard holds his pipe, the delicate manner he holds his bowl of soup or stew and silently sips.
Ori wonders if Dori likes the manner Gandalf smiles at him, his eyes creasing and twinkling. If he likes watching the wizard’s hands because he imagines them on him, gripping his shoulders, slipping down his back, cupping his rear. Ori has never thought of how it would feel to be with one so much taller, with long arms and legs and fingers and the ability to pick him up.
He imagines Gandalf kissing his brother, dragging Dori into his lap and his hands trailing over his brother’s body possessively. Dori is broad, but Gandalf is taller than the average man and Dori would look small pressed up against him. Ori draws his brother, hands clutching the folds of Gandalf’s robe, his back arched as he rides the wizard. Gandalf’s hands pull his brother’s thighs up and against him, impaling the smaller dwarf, the wizard’s robes pulled up to his waist, his hat on the ground and his eyes clenched shut.
Dwarves do not like to be held or carried or treated like children by the other peoples of Middle Earth. They are warriors, not pets. Ori grips his book, smearing the ink of Dori’s hair as he rubs himself through his breeches. He wonders if Dori would love to be manipulated, to be held by strong hands and moved as his larger partner pleases, filling him up with a thickness no dwarf possesses.
..
Kili and Fili love to joke and tell stories and wrestle like children. No matter the weather, the lack of food or the sight of their uncle’s disapproving glares; they always find something to be jovial about. The rest of the company feel a mixture of endearment and exasperation with the lads, who really ought to act their age. Only one dwarf has complete patience with them and their antics.
Ori loves to watch Bofur when the brothers seek out his company. They laugh, they wrestle and Bofur tells the wildest, most amusing stories he can to entertain them, his braids and hat bobbing as he laughs. And he lets the two push him over occasionally when they wrestle, the brothers holding him down as he struggles and they laugh.
The first time this happens, Ori laughs along with the rest of the company. Bofur is grinning even as he grumbles and Kili and Fili are almost doubled-over with laughter, their sides shaking even as they try to gasp out some half-hearted threat.
The second time they jump on him, Bofur is taken off guard, and he gasps and grunts as he hits the ground, his eyes and mouth wide with shock. It’s only for a moment before he recognises the brothers and laughs with them, but it makes Ori stop, tingles up and down his spine.
Later, when they’re all asleep and it’s his watch, he sketches Bofur on his back. Kili and Fili have followed him when he leaves to gather firewood and have pinned him down. His eyes are wide with confusion and his mouth with arousal. Fili’s left hand pins his wrist down and his other has wrenched Bofur’s breeches to his knees. Kili’s hands do the same to Bofur’s other side. Their mouths are occupied, one each side of Bofur’s length, lavishing attention, tongues glistening as they slide over flesh.
Ori imagines them moaning around the hardened skin and his hips rock against his will, even as he adds the finishing touches of the beads in their hair and the flush on Bofur’s cheeks.
..
Ori has never seen an orc before the quest. Well, he’s seen illustrations in the scrolls and books that fill the small library back home, but they’re tiny drawings and paintings and studies and hardly match up to the great hulking things that chase after them on their journey.
And he had of course read about and asked Dori and Balin about the battle with the orcs to reclaim Kazad-dum and so knew of the great and evil Azog, the white orc. He had heard of what that orc had done to Thorin’s grandfather and to Thorin himself and that the orc was believed to be long dead.
Neither he, nor anyone, expected to be greeted with Azog’s evil sneer as he cornered them on the cliff top, clutching at branches and huddling in the trees. And some of them were probably not surprised when Thorin strode out to hurl himself at the beast with pure loathing in his gaze, his face grim with murderous intent.
They would probably all be surprised if they had seen his blush later that night, as they huddled on the Carrock, his fingers clutching his quill as he bit his lip in shame and horror. He closed his eyes and remembered the intense gaze held between Thorin and his enemy for those long moments before they leapt for one another. He remembered Thorin throwing himself at Azog with his sword held high.
At that point he had been struggling to hold on to Dori’s legs and so had lost track of what had gone on, although he had heard the story of how Thorin had almost been killed and how the hobbit had saved him. He thinks of how Thorin must have looked, helpless, the orc looming above him and he writhes in shameful desire. Oh he shouldn’t think of Thorin as helpless, Thorin is a king and can tear orcs apart with his bare hands... but he cannot help himself.
He imagines Azog grabbing a dazed Thorin, the dwarf’s lip bleeding, eyes glazed with shock and pain and fear. He imagines the orc holding Thorin down, tying his wrists, licking a slick trail up his throat. The orc bites and licks and claims Thorin’s body, wrenching him up with his one hand and Ori sketches Azog with his mouth between Thorin’s legs, tongue devouring the opening. Thorin’s eyes are closed, his mouth open, his length hard and leaking from the tip.
Ori comes in his breeches with a gasp, imagining Thorin’s angry grunts and choked moans as he struggles within Azog’s hold, his release trickling down his chest from where he is held upside-down.
..
Later, when they are down on the ground, he notices Thorin’s intense glances at the hobbit. He smiles when Bilbo is not looking and he grips the hobbit’s shoulder whenever he passes him. What Ori notices, much to his surprise, is that Bilbo returns these secret smiles and he stares after Thorin wistfully, cheeks reddening after every touch.
They continue this dance of unknown desire for the next few days and Ori hears other dwarves whispering, exasperated at the two ‘lovebirds’. He sees Bilbo’s saddened expression when Thorin avoids him in the night and he watches Thorin send desperate longing glances as Bilbo washes alongside them in a stream.
Ori feels no shame as he sketches Bilbo pressed up against a tree, Thorin pounding into him furiously. They are both flushed, eyes half-lidded but still watching one another, filled with utter desire. Bilbo’s hands curl into Thorin’s beard, his open mouth breathing in Thorin’s breath. Thorin’s left hand holds Bilbo up against the bark and his right cups Bilbo’s smooth cheek.
He folds the picture and slips it into Bilbo’s back pocket. As he walks in front of Thorin the dwarf notices it and pulls it out, questioning the hobbit on what it is. Ori grins as they unfold the paper curiously and look up at each other in shock and arousal. He sees Bilbo swallow and Thorin breathing heavier.
None of the dwarves are surprised when Thorin drops the paper and drags Bilbo into a fierce kiss and none of them are surprised when the hobbit kisses him back full force.
End.