Chapter Text
The reason Bilbo was unsatisfied wasn’t that Thorin was bad at sex.
When Bilbo learned that traditionally, Dwarves did not consider anything beyond kissing as acceptable for an unwed couple to do, he was acutely aware that their wedding night was Thorin’s first time laying with another. As such, he did not expect anything from Thorin—simply being able to be with one another for the first time was the real joy of it. But Thorin was quick to learn, and within weeks, he could leave Bilbo completely breathless in any number of ways. No, Thorin was perfectly capable of wringing pleasure from his body.
It was only that, well, Bilbo had become accustomed to a certain type of lovemaking, and it was often these days that he wished Thorin would just grab him by the neck and slap him across the face.
At the beginning of all of this, he wondered if Thorin had noticed his wants and was simply uninterested in the sorts of play that Bilbo wanted. But if that was the case, he hadn’t said anything, and Bilbo did not believe he would ignore him. Thorin was not the sort to focus on his own pleasures and ignore his bedmate’s. Yet despite all the hints that Bilbo kept giving—that he was open to rougher bed play, that he did not mind if Thorin maneuvered control out of his hands—their lovemaking remained as gentle as it had been on their wedding night. Nor did Thorin tell him that he did not wish for that to change.
And it was not like Thorin could not pick up on a hint.
Bilbo had been rutting with other hobbits since he was a tween and had since developed a preference for focusing on secondary pleasures while lovemaking. That was to say, he did not overmuch enjoy being the more energetic kind of partner. He liked to lie still and be fucked into whilst tugging at his cock or twisting at his partner’s nipples or pressing his face into the mattress and moaning wanton encouragements. Other than when someone was actively riding him, Bilbo much preferred to be fucked. So several weeks after their first time together, after he and Thorin had gone through a number of configurations of lovemaking, Bilbo preemptively started to arrange himself in the manner of bedplay he liked best.
Which Thorin had noticed, and from then on, the vast majority of their bedplay was in that manner. Even when Bilbo asked Thorin in what manner he would like to make love that night, Thorin would oft pick what Bilbo liked.
He did not know why Thorin could understand the manner in which he liked to make love but not the type of bedplay.
After months of failure, Bilbo had resorted to dropping very, very obvious hints. He cornered Thorin in his office during a spare hour and locked the door. Kneeling in front of Thorin’s ornate chair, he pulled down Thorin’s trousers, and groped eagerly at his stiffened length.
“Bilbo,” Thorin hissed as he took it into his mouth and sank halfway down the massive shaft. “How am I meant to last, you impish thing?”
He pulled off for a bit of air. “You aren’t,” Bilbo said.
His husband possessed a much agreeable length, and only being fucked with it could compete with the way it felt in his throat.
Again, he took more of it into his mouth where it gloriously filled the space, pooling spit as he bobbed in and out. The taste was deep and salty and seemed to make the world shrink to nothing but what he could feel in his mouth.
Thorin’s breaths grew harsh, and he moaned Bilbo’s name and called him all sorts of arousing things. But then why was Thorin not responding to Bilbo’s movements? Why was he not thrusting in as deep as Bilbo was sucking?
He had never been this unsubtle before, but perhaps if he could move Thorin’s limbs directly into the right spot?
Bilbo reached up to Thorin’s hands, knuckles white from where he clutched desperately at the armrests, and pulled at them, guiding them to settle on, and then in his hair. He did not, as Bilbo hoped, curl his fingers into the strands and yank, propelling himself deeply into the back of Bilbo’s mouth and down his throat. Instead, Thorin kept his hips level and stroked gently through his hair, and it made Bilbo moan, both in desire for him and deep annoyance that he had not picked up on the matter again.
After a few minutes of this, Bilbo got impatient and tried his boldest move yet, placing his hands over Thorin’s and pressing down, curling them into fists with his hair caught between the fingers. Then, Bilbo bobbed up and down Thorin’s cock rapidly, gagging himself with the massive head. Spit pooled in his mouth and drooled out the sides, coating his chin.
Above him, Thorin cried out breathlessly, his hands minutely tensing and untensing rapidly but never in any rough or teasing way. He seemed unaware of the possibility of it at all.
Then Bilbo choked himself, sucking down until his nose pressed against Thorin’s skin, wiry hair ticking his face. The pressure built in his lungs as he tried desperately to breathe through his nose; he kept himself locked in that position, waiting for Thorin to shove him down deeper, to press back against his skull and force Bilbo to take more.
Everything began to blur as he retched, the obscene sound of it getting louder and louder until suddenly, the hands in his hair grasped and tugged, but in the wrong direction.
He gasped desperately as it left his mouth, spit overflowing out the sides, and blinked until the tears were gone from his eyes.
“Greedy creature,” Thorin laughed, panting slightly. “You have a remarkable appetite, but you cannot cram me in your mouth like that. You will choke.”
“Well, perhaps I like it,” Bilbo snapped, still heady from the air loss. He leaned his head against Thorin’s thigh and bit it playfully.
“You must be more patient,” was all that Thorin said as he stroked his hair and waited for Bilbo to catch his breath properly.
At that point, the attempt had not exactly continued, for most of the hour was over, so Thorin pulled Bilbo into his lap and stroked them together with his large calloused hand until they both finished. Although Bilbo did enjoy it, it was clear to him that Thorin had not noticed.
What was he to do?
That night, he resolved to simply enjoy what Thorin and he did together, and not think about all the things he wished Thorin would do to him. So he moaned as Thorin stretched him open with his thick fingers, gasped as Thorin pressed the head of his cock inside, and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, bringing him close to kiss as Thorin fucked him slowly. He caressed Thorin’s cheeks, raking his hands through his husband’s thick beard. They frotted against each other as they always did, Thorin pressing deep and slow up against that special place inside him while tugging at his cock.
It was only towards the end that Bilbo, having spent, thought to try again, letting go from where he was keeping his thighs up and raising his arms to either side of his head, laying them there with palms up and open, a clear invitation for Thorin to pin him down by the wrists and drive into him with a reckless abandon.
It did not happen.
Thorin hauled up Bilbo’s legs with his thick arms and continued his steady pace, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his lips, till finally he whimpered into Bilbo’s neck and collapsed. He finished the night, sated, sweaty, and satisfied but not happy about it.
They curled into each other after they cleaned up; Thorin, as usual, rubbed at the expanse of Bilbo’s chest with his cold nose just to annoy him.
“Stop that,” Bilbo said, snorting. “It tickles.”
Strangely today, Thorin did, and simply laid his head down, strands of black-silver hair going every which way.
“Bilbo,” he said, after a moment. “May I confess a strange desire?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I do not say this to—” he paused and sighed. “It is not a request, merely a…a passing thought.”
“Will you tell me your passing thought?” Bilbo teased him. “Or must I spend all night guessing it?”
Thorin sighed. “I should like— or rather, I have entertained the notion of spending on you. On your face.”
Was that all?
It was mannerless to ask directly, of course. Not that Bilbo cared overmuch that his husband was being rude, but still. If Thorin wished to spend on his face, then he could have simply pointed at it and started stroking, and by then Bilbo would know to either stick his tongue out or bat at his hand and complain that it was too much work to get spend out of hair.
“That is not such a strange desire. I have known many who enjoy seeing that,” Bilbo said, a little amused and easily forgiving his husband for the discourtesy.
“I never thought that such spending on another could be so arousing in the first place,” Thorin said, muffled from where he spoke into Bilbo’s chest. “I have not seen it before, as you know.”
“Yes,” Bilbo said. “But you have spent on me before, as I have on you. I do not see how this is so different.”
“It seems different to me,” said Thorin, and did not say anything for a while. “To spend on your face…it does not seem right to not ask for permission.”
Bilbo considered this for a bit.
He did not stop thinking on the matter for the next day, for despite the innocuity of the desire, it did not leave his mind. It was not the desire itself, but the implication that Bilbo could not pick up on the matter if Thorin had simply pulled out that night and tugged himself in Bilbo’s direction.
It was not Bilbo who was unable to pick up on body language. Surely, Thorin knew that by now?
It baffled him so much that he was distracted all throughout the Miners’ Guild Council the next day, and did not notice the rude gestures Bofur was making behind Councillor Draki’s back during his verbose report.
“What is wrong with you?” Bofur asked him after the meeting, pulling him into an empty office. “You didn’t even see when I managed to pour iron shavings into Draki’s glass.”
“You are a terrible Guild leader,” Bilbo laughed at him. “How do you get anything done if you are constantly terrorizing your fellow council members?”
“That’s the only way to get anything done!” Bofur retorted cheerfully. “Draki hasn't seen the inside of a mine since he was a lad. He hasn’t a clue about how Erebor’s mines operate, but he talks as if he was Durin reborn. But don’t think you can wriggle out of here by distracting me. What is it?”
If there was one dwarf in Erebor that Bilbo could tell anything to, it was Thorin. If there was another, it was Bofur. Though he was liable to jeer if he found the matter too amusing not to, Bofur would never judge Bilbo, nor would he whisper away his confidences.
Besides, unlike Thorin, who was obligated to, many these days did not follow the old rules. Bofur had not waited until marriage to engage in bed play, so it was possible that he could recommend some suitably Dwarven hints for Bilbo to try.
“It is a…I have a problem.” Bilbo said, stuttering over his words. “You must promise not to laugh at me.”
Several minutes later, Bofur stopped him.
“Bilbo,” he said, looking a little exasperated. “I know you can speak better than this.”
The hobbit grimaced.
He had been babbling towards the end— Bofur did not understand the polite terms that Bilbo used; he had devolved into cruder and cruder terms that made him stumble over his words even more.
“Well, I— you are the one who doesn’t understand!” Bilbo complained. “For someone who is so capable of making such prurient jokes, I cannot see why you don’t!”
“Pru— have you been talking about fucking this whole time?” Bofur latched onto the word gleefully, and heat rushed up to Bilbo’s face.
“Bofur!”
“I should’a known,” he said between laughs, bending over and clutching his stomach. “It’s not much that gets you to turn this red!”
Bilbo did not dignify this with a response and was quite unamused until Bofur finally stopped laughing.
“You want Thorin to do something, yes? That was all I could understand, at least,” he said finally, and Bilbo nodded. “Then tell him.”
“I have been trying!”
“Then what is the problem?”
“He’s just not getting it. I thought perhaps I was being too subtle, but I’ve been so blatant about it that it must be something else!” complained Bilbo, twisting his hands together. “I just— I have tried to show him in every possible way I know, and, well— is there a specific dwarven way you are supposed to go about it? Some kind of signal that I am missing? Or some token I am meant to give him.”
It would not surprise him if there was. One thing he had learned while courting Thorin was that Dwarrow seemed to give tokens and gems and craft for everything.
“A token?” Bofur asked, still grinning. “Imagine that, getting a little gift every time you’re asked for something. No, no— the Dwarven way is to just ask: ‘Dear husband, can we do this while we fuck’. And probably a bit nicer, but not like how you told me. If that’s how you’ve been speaking to him, I’m not surprised that Thorin hasn’t understood what you’re saying.”
Bilbo looked at him aghast. “I am not such a mannerless bedpartner!”
“Mannerless?”
“I do not know how you conduct your affairs, but I was taught to be kindly and respectful,” said Bilbo. “And besides still. I am the only bedpartner Thorin has ever had. I shan’t act a dastard when he has naught to compare it to.”
“A dastard?” Bofur grimaced. “I know you have your hobbit manners, but how can you not talk about fucking with the person you’re fucking?”
“We— well, of course we talk, but…you want me to— to what? Make a request? Out loud?”
A very long pause followed.
“I’m almost scared to ask. How else should you make a request?”
“A good partner should be able to pick up on it. To understand the body language. I am being quite obvious about it too! A hobbit would call me desperate.”
Bofur sighed. He said something under his breath in Khuzdul and shook his head. “It is not considered rude to ask for something. In fact, it’s the only way a dwarf will ask. We don’t have this ‘body language’— I’m not even sure what it is.”
“But…but it worked before! Thorin picked up on it, he started to—” Bilbo cut off, feeling embarrassed to say more. “Well, he started to do what I wanted. After I hinted. Using body language.”
“Are you sure your hinting was the reason?” asked Bofur. “Maybe Thorin liked it too, and that’s why he’s doing it.”
“I don’t— I suppose he could…”
“And besides, hasn’t Thorin asked you for things?”
“...Yes,” said Bilbo, slowly.
“And you didn’t think that was rude?”
“Well it was, but— oh, you know Thorin! If I minded his rudeness, I should have never left my smial at all! You do remember how he introduced himself to me.”
“Aye, our King is…blunt.” Bofur laughed, and Bilbo suspected there was a less charitable word he meant to say. “But he’s not being rude to you, not about this at least. I’d say the ruder thing to do is to assume that someone will pick up on what you want without you telling them. At least, that’s what a dwarf would think.”
“But it's not…” he trailed off. Yes, the gulf of what was considered rude to a dwarf and rude to a hobbit was a wide one, but in terms of bedplay? Bilbo had not considered this at all, and the hobbit felt quite foolish for not doing so. That was, until Bofur spoke again.
“You’re not going to get him to do what you want unless you ask him. He’s not a hobbit. I’m sorry, Bilbo, but you’re going to have to actually open your mouth.”
Ask Thorin?
He could not imagine doing such a thing. Every fiber of the respectability left in him — which was barely anything, now that the quest and the subsequent decision to stay in Erebor had taken most of it — protested at this ungraciousness.
Bilbo was sure his mouth was open now, as he looked at Bofur in dismay. “Open my mouth?”
“And not in the exciting way either, if you know what I mean!”