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Thorin's staring at the enraged faces of his lovers as they advance on him, helpless as he was in the giant bed Beorn had given him to recover, and wondering what in Mahal's name he did wrong this time.
Things had gone well since his near death battle with Azog, and he had assumed that since neither dwarf nor hobbit had shown any signs of anger on the top of the rock outcropping that they were just happy to see he was still mostly alive.
Apparently, he had been very, very wrong.
Bilbo hauls himself up onto the bed and is straddling Thorin's stomach, looking like a thundercloud had settled about his brow with the intense glare he has leveled at the dwarf King.
"You imbecile. You.. You giant, bloody, proud, arrogant, puffed up, imbecile!" the hobbit declares, stuttering over his words in his frustration, as he was wont to do when he got riled up. Bofur doesn't look any less pleased with Thorin right now, a scowl on his normally smiling face while he watched the halfling rage at the King.
True, their relationship was still something new to them all, but that didn't mean Thorin had the right to go off and get himself killed by the White Orc.
"If you had died, what were we supposed to do?" Bilbo was demanding, planting a hand on Thorin's chest and making it ache, drawing a grimace from the dwarf. While his armor had protected him from the worst of the warg bite, he was still more or less one giant bruise from neck to waist, with a couple of half healed broken ribs added in. But he deserved the discomfort of Bilbo's touch after the pain he'd put the hobbit through, so Thorin didn't object.
He looked away guiltily at Bilbo's question, knowing that he was right and Thorin had been reckless, but finds his chin gripped in Bofur's fingers and his face forced back to their halfing's.
"If you died, Thorin, this quest would be over. Fili and Kili would try to carry on, sure, out of some misplaced need to avenge you and carry out your last request, but where would that leave the rest of us? I know it's hard to get this through your thick dwarf skull, but we are not here for Erebor, Thorin. Most of us weren't even alive when it fell. There is nothing to tie most of us to this bloody mountain of yours besides stories, and no one just goes marching off on a dangerous adventure of a story! These dwarves, and I, we're here for you, and nothing else. And if you die, well, then this whole thing, it falls apart! You have a responsibility to your people, and to us, and to your nephews, and your own bloody self to stay alive. So don't you ever, ever, do something that cursedly stupid again, or I swear on the lives of these dwarves that I will throw you off a cliff."
Bilbo's face is inches from his own, now, and Thorin has the common sense to stay quiet and nod, wondering if he should be embarrassed at being intimidated by a creature much smaller and weaker than himself. Though, anyone who'd ever been on the receiving end of one of those glares from the hobbit could hardly fault him.
The instant he has Thorin's agreement on the matter, Bilbo's entire demeanor does a complete switch, and he's smiling pleasantly down at the dwarf.
"Good. Now that's settled, I think it's about time we took advantage of this nice big bed and the fact we having a door with a lock, and maybe Bofur and I can remind you what you have to live for," he told him lightly, sliding his body back so that his ass was flush to Thorin's hips.
Thorin decided that his chest didn't really hurt that bad after all.
He sits up so he can drag the halfling in for a kiss bordering on violent, teeth clacking with the force, and licks his way into his mouth, a hand buried in the honey blond curls and the other holding fast to his hip. He has gotten stolen moments with them between watches and hunts for food, and their first respite together in Rivendell, all little more than shared use of mouths and hands, but has lacked the time and the privacy to truly show them the ferocity of a King's love, and now that he has the opportunity he's going to take advantage of it, broken ribs or not.
Within seconds he's flipped them and has Bilbo pinned to the mattress, growling as he deepens the kiss even further, fingers starting to pull at the few buttons the hobbit has left to his name. Bofur's hands, which are much steadier, join him in his quest to get Bilbo naked, and soon he's exposed to their hungry gaze, a pretty pink flush on his face that spreads to the tips of his ears.
In comparison to the thickly haired dwarves, Bilbo's practically bare as a child beneath his clothes, with only a few patches beneath his arms and between his thighs, and a few wisps of curls on his chest and under his navel. It seemed most of the hobbit's hair was concentrated on those big feet of his, and both Bofur and Thorin eyed him curiously until Bilbo began to squirm at being so thoroughly scrutinized.
"Come off it, already. I am perfectly furred for a hobbit, thank you very much. Not everyone has to be as hairy as a bear," he protested, reaching up to grab Bofur by the scarf and yank him down for a kiss. Kissing Bofur was so incredibly different from kissing Thorin, and Bilbo relished the contrast. While the dwarf King was all power and bite and the scratch of a beard against sensitive cheeks, Bofur kissed as if he had all the time in the world, tongue sliding past Bilbo's lips to taste him while his moustache tickled his upper lip.
He was grinning when he felt the halfling snatch his hat off, though, and leaned back to watch him tug it onto his own, arms folding imperiously across his chest before waving a hand in their direction.
"Well? Get on with it, then. Some of us are still wearing way too many layers," Bilbo prompted, which spurred them into action undressing each other. The hobbit remained where he was to enjoy the show, watching the sloppy kiss they shared between shedded layers and boots kicked away, until finally they're both as bare as Bilbo, the hobbit wincing slightly at the expanse of bruises spreading over Thorin's skin before he's distracted by the rest of him.
Even their bodies are different from each other, though both are thickly haired across the chest and abdomen, narrowing into a V as it went further south. Thorin is all heavy muscle and broad shoulders and angular hips, while Bofur is softer around the belly and less broad, but no less strong, but without as many scars marring his flesh. Thorin's body spoke of years of hard labour and combat, while Bofur's spoke of a less violent life, though the scars and calluses of his hands betrayed his occupation as a woodworker. Thorin's surprisingly smaller than Bofur in other places, though, and Bilbo takes a moment to mentally compare the thicknesses jutting out from beds of coarse black curls. Bofur is definitely longer, and a bit thicker, though Thorin is definitely still quite impressive in his own right, and the hobbit licks his lips absently. He's had them both in his mouth before, but it'd been a quick thing stolen behind a tree during a hunt each time and he'd never had them side by side for comparison. Bilbo catches himself admiring them for their differences, drinking in every last dark bruise and scar and odd patch of hair that made them unique and wholly his.
But he quickly has enough of looking and drags them both in for a clumsy kiss, moving between their mouths to taste them in tandem. Bofur's hat is warm and heavy on his head, but he makes no move to take it off as he sits up, sliding into the lap of its owner to kiss him hard, fingers tangling in slowly loosening braids.
Then Thorin's at his back and breath hot against his neck, slowly working a stinging bruise into existence on the halfling's skin.
"How do you want us, my treasure," the King growls against a sensitive ear, dragging a ragged moan from Bilbo that's swallowed by Bofur's mouth on his own. Thorin's fingers digging bruises into his hips don't help his head get any less lust fogged, and Bofur's cock pressed hot against his own is definitely just making it worse. He mentally tries to arrange limbs and bodies in his head in a way that would make them all happy, struggling to focus when Thorin's hand has now curled around his and Bofur's erections and is idly stroking, thumb brushing across the heads when the foreskin is peeled back to expose them.
"Want.. Want Bofur in me," he finally manages to pant, tossing a smirk over his shoulder at the King.
"And you in Bofur, fucking into him and shoving him forward into me."
The strangled groan this idea pulls from the both of them is well worth the time it took Bilbo to come up with it.
He's pinned back down to the bed in an instant by a wrecked looking Bofur, his lips as red and kiss swollen as Bilbo's felt before it's on him again, tongues tangling in the hobbit's mouth. He hears the sound of a bottle popping open and rough hands grip his thighs and push them up and open, Bilbo finding his knees almost up to his ears in their enthusiasm. He can't really fault them, though, not when the first drizzle of cool oil spreads across his perineum and the pucker of his entrance, making it clench reflexively at the sensation. It smells suspiciously like the oil Thorin uses to keep his blades clean and rust free, but it seems slick enough that Bilbo doesn't complain. Especially not when Bofur's running his fingers through it and pressing the tip of one against his hole, rubbing teasingly, while Thorin reaches around him to take over keeping Bilbo's thighs spread.
Bilbo gives them both a pointed look that says if they keep teasing, he will let one of Beorn's giant bees loose in the bedroom with them locked inside, and Bofur decides it's best to give him what he wants. He slips a finger inside of Bilbo and grins at the breathy moan this elicits, groaning a little himself at the tight heat gripping the digit. He has to wonder if this is the hobbit's first time being taken like this, but doesn't ask it, instead surging forward to capture him in another hard kiss.
If Bilbo wished for his first time to be with him and Thorin, then Bofur was hardly going to make a fuss about it.
A pleasant happiness spread through his veins at the sounds he was able to drag out of their halfling, and thick line of Thorin's hardness against his back a reminder of the even better things that were to come. It isn't until Bofur has four thick fingers in Bilbo, fucking the now whimpering hobbit with them, that Thorin starts working on opening him up as well, causing his hand to still its movements into the creature below him at the stretch.
"Don't you dare stop or I will bite you in a place you won't like," Bilbo groaned, trying to thrust himself down on the digits to get the friction he needed, his cock purplish and leaking against his stomach. Bofur decides, as Thorin presses a third finger into his body, that he wants a taste, and he leans down to take the halfling's cock in his mouth, resuming the sharp thrusts of his fingers inside him.
If Bilbo had been loud before, he was positively yelling by this point, knocking Bofur's hat askew when he tosses his head back at the sharp shock of pleasure, bucking his hips up into the dwarf's mouth to get more of that wet heat around him. But just when he's about to find blessed release, Bofur's mouth and fingers are gone, and Bilbo is whining petulantly at the loss, wriggling impatiently while his dwarves use the remaining oil to slick themselves up, dragging delicious sounds from them both at the friction.
It's Thorin who takes Bofur first, and the King slowly pushes his way into his body with a hand splayed on his belly to keep him still, biting at his shoulder to keep from crying out at the viselike heat clamping down around his cock, gasping for air when his hips are finally flush against Bofur's ass.
With his braids pulled loose and his mouth swollen from sucking Bilbo's cock, Bofur is the picture of debauched, a hand sliding back to fist in Thorin's hair. The black haired dwarf gives him a few moments to adjust to the intrusion before beginning to thrust, using the hand on Bofur's belly to keep him place while he fucks him. Now, Bilbo is content to watch them for a few long moments, eyes greedily drinking in the sight of them together with his hand idly stroking over his erection, but it isn't too long before he's wanting that for himself, hooking his ankles around them both to try and tug them down on top of him.
"I swear.. if you don't get in me right now.. Next time we do this I'm gonna tie you both down and take my pleasure from you, leaving you unsatisfied for hours until I feel you've properly earned it," he growled, dragging a breathless chuckle from the dwarves at his impatience. Thorin stills his thrusts and pulls out long enough for Bofur to grab Bilbo by the hips and drag him across the bedspread towards them, settling himself between his spread thighs and pushing himself inside in one smooth movement. It's impossibly, deliciously tight, and Bofur groans into the fabric of his hat on Bilbo's head, forcing himself to stay still before this all ends way too soon.
Just when he's started to get a hold on his self control again, and Bilbo's not in much better shape based on the increasing volume of his pleasured cries, Thorin's pressing inside him again, and Bofur knows none of them are going to last very long at all. Then Thorin begins to thrust and there's little more either Bofur or Bilbo can do than hold on for the ride, the halfling yelling loud enough to bring the whole company running while Bofur leaves mark after mark on his skin. The force of Thorin's thrusts shove the other dwarf deep into Bilbo, growing faster and rougher with each passing second. The sensation of being inside their hobbit while Thorin takes him is enough to drive him wild, and Bilbo's fingernails raking over the flesh of his back certainly don't help, nor the mingling of breathless moans and cries for 'harder' and 'more'.
Bofur is the first one to fall over the edge into oblivion, and he stifles a throaty cry of pleasure in Bilbo's marked up throat, shoving himself deep into his body as he comes. Thorin doesn't even pause and just fucks him through his orgasm, and soon Bofur is gasping at the raw sensation on over sensitized nerves, fingers digging dark bruises into the pale skin of Bilbo's hips. He's about to beg the King to stop before it becomes painful when Thorin is finally, blessedly, burying himself in Bofur's body and coming, grunting out the names of his loves between shuddering moans.
Both dwarves pull back enough so that they can detach from one another, Thorin collapsing onto the mattress while his bruises and healing ribs protested what he'd just done. Bofur has his thoughts together enough to lean down and take Bilbo back in his mouth again, taking the halfling apart with a few quick sucks and swallowing down the release that paints his tongue.
The three end up in a messy pile of sticky limbs on the bed, once they can coax Thorin from where he'd collapsed on his back near the edge into curling together with them against the pillows. Bilbo finds himself comfortably situated between his two dwarves, his face tucked against the curve of Thorin's throat while he and Bofur trade lazy kisses over his head. Their arms are draped across one another and fingers tangled together, resolutely ignoring the catcalls and teasing jibes from the dwarves in the hallway, who had been quite amused at how vocal their burglar was.
"I hope you've learned, now, what it is you're living for, Thorin Oakenshield," Bofur hummed, dropping a kiss into Bilbo's honey blonde curls, his hat situated firmly on his own head again. The dwarf King chuckles softly at that and lets his gaze trail over the sleepy smiles of his loves, a fondness in his expression that is rarely seen.
"Yes, I dare say I have, my treasure," he whispered back, trailing his fingers down the length of Bofur's side.
"Not that we're opposed to giving you frequent reminder lessons," comes Bilbo's muffled comment from under Thorin's chin, and the dwarf lets loose a snort of amused delight at that.
"I shall strive to be most forgetful, then, so that you may take it upon yourselves to remind me as frequently as possible."
The quest for his homeland, and the need to avenge the deaths of his father and grandfather were important to him, for sure. But, as Thorin watched the two beside him slowly drift off into a slumber, he decided he had found something worth much more than a Kingdom or revenge, and he was going to cherish them with every breath he had.