Chapter Text
As soon as they are alone, it happens—before he has any real chance to run it over in his mind—the warm press of Fíli behind him, twisting a finger into a lock of Thorin’s hair, and Kíli in front, his eyes wide and pleading. "Thorin," Fíli whispers.
"You two—are you—"
"Thorin," Kíli repeats. "We’ve waited so long."
And Thorin realizes that he’s powerless in the end; with bruises freshly healing, wounds of their great battle only beginning to renew as lasting scars, he pulls them off to his chamber, heat already suffusing him as he observes their focused eagerness.
They pull his tunic over his head before he can kiss either of them, but when his arms are freed he pulls Kíli close, pushing a thumb into his cheek. Fíli runs his hands up and down Thorin’s torso, dragging his fingernails over the pink cuts and the marks fading from purple back into health, and Thorin growls, the little jabs of pain sparking his arousal.
Fíli’s touch disappears for a moment while he removes his own tunic, and then returns; he grinds his hips slowly against Thorin’s backside, kissing his neck with warm tongue and lips and Thorin feels the brush of cold metal aiglets against his shoulder. It makes his skin tingle and he kisses Kíli with renewed vigor, shuffling them towards his bed until Kíli’s legs catch the side of the mattress and he falls backward, laughing, pulling Thorin on top of him.
Thorin makes short work of Kíli’s trousers and boots. Soon Kíli is nude and lies on his bed, spread against the quilt, blushing from his ears to his chest; his erection stands proudly against his stomach—and Thorin just looks, because he’s seen Kíli with the reflection of gold on his face, with sapphires and silver falling through his fingers, but he’s never looked so truly beautiful. Fíli is in his trousers only, but seems content to watch, though Thorin can see the straining bulge of his cock beneath the fabric.
He leans down and licks a trail from Kíli’s navel to his chest, then fastens his mouth around a nipple, and Kíli jerks beneath him, entire body going taut and shivering.
"Oh, yes," Fíli says from behind him, a dark chuckle in his voice. "He really does like that."
Thorin lifts and pauses for a moment, breath ghosting over Kíli’s nipple, then turns his head. Kíli whimpers as Thorin’s hair brushes over him, but Thorin only looks at Fíli, whose lips are wet and red from biting. "What’s that?"
"He likes it when you—when you suck on them a bit." Fíli says, eyes flickering from Kíli to Thorin. Fíli's hand rubs slow circles between his own legs, and doesn’t stop even when his breath catches. "And use your tongue."
"I see," says Thorin, trying to keep his voice from sounding too strangled. He turns back to the Kíli, ignores his sigh of anticipation, and puts his mouth to the task, fixing his lips around Kíli’s nipple and applying slight suction. The bed creaks beside him and—as Kíli’s cry is quickly cut off and muffled—he knows that Fíli has moved upward and is kissing his brother, hand meandering downward to join Thorin and flick at Kíli’s other nipple. Kíli’s hips rise nearly off the bed.
Thorin pulls away at last to see Kíli flushed and panting, Fíli’s tongue sliding along his jaw—a flash of teeth and a possessive growl that Thorin feels in his cock—and he drifts lower, keeping his eyes on the spectacle before him, until Kíli’s cock is inches before his lips.
"Oh," breathes Kíli, "yes." And Thorin takes him in lazily until neither of them can breathe correctly and Fíli ruts against Kíli’s hip, breathing as if Thorin's mouth is on him. Thorin feels a hand tangle into his hair and then trace the curve of his ear, but Kíli has one fist clenched in the sheets beside Thorin’s head and it can’t be the other—Thorin groans, deep and rumbling, and Kíli chokes out—
"Going to—going to—"
Thorin pulls off quickly, leaving the flushed red cock bobbing in the air, and Fíli’s gasp is nearly as appealing as Kíli’s frustrated moan. Fíli still rubs himself steadily against Kíli, eyes roving hungrily across Thorin’s body.
"Mm, I love that."
"What," Thorin says, licking his lips unconsciously. Fíli pulls himself away and finally divests himself of his boots and trousers.
"When you pull off like that. Leave him begging."
Judging Kíli to have sufficiently calmed himself, Thorin casually strokes him from base to tip, eyeing Fíli’s cock as it juts proudly forward. "And his pleasure is about what you love?"
"Usually," Fíli says lightly, and Thorin hears a scoff but no real protest from Kíli. He gives one long, hard stroke, then touches feather-light about the tip, watching Fíli reactions to Kíli’s strained voice
"Won’t you let us—ahh—do something for you?" Kíli manages.
"O King," Fíli adds, eyes dropping to Thorin’s neglected lap.
"Soon," Thorin says. "Fíli. Suck him." And Fíli, smiling like a little lion that has gotten into a barrel full of cream, bends down and obeys, slipping his tongue over and around as easily as coming home, with wet, shameless noises that Thorin realizes are probably more for show than anything. Again Kíli’s hips lift from the bed, and Fíli encourages his thrusts, squeezing his buttocks as Kíli drives his cock into his mouth, until his breath grows uneven and his fingers tighten in Fíli’s hair—
"Stop," says Thorin, and Fíli draws away immediately, his lips wet. Kíli keens loudly at his departure, and Thorin brushes his fingers up his thigh, watching the muscles twitch. "Get in front of me."
Fíli is nothing if not respectful, Thorin knows, and loyal, if a little headstrong—he arranges himself in front of Thorin, backside rubbing cheekily against Thorin’s aching cock, and Thorin traces a finger right up to Fíli’s hip, as he had with Kíli—then kisses him at the curve of his neck and shoulder, biting tenderly where he’d bruised from an orc’s ill-aimed spear-swipe. Kíli puts one arm behind his head and the other hand on his cock, and Thorin is proud, in that moment, of how well Kíli has held himself back.
Fíli’s cock is already slick with a little come at the head, and Thorin spreads it liberally, adjusting their position so that Fíli may tilt his head back and sit comfortably against him, hands resting on Thorin’s knees. He sweeps Fíli’s hair to his other shoulder and peers over him at Kíli, who watches them with lust-darkened eyes, rubbing quick circles around the head of his own cock.
"Like this," Kíli says, and Thorin raises his eyebrows, then mimics his actions on Fíli, who writhes against him in the most obscene way.
"I see."
"Also—" Kíli moans, and Thorin knows how he’s hanging on, can hear the desperation in his voice; "—two fingers, just two fingers, along the bottom of it, I can’t or I’ll—"
"Show me," says Thorin, and Kíli bucks upward, his handwork rather too sloppy for Thorin to imitate as he comes over his belly and chest, calling their names up to the darkness, his eyes squeezing shut, and Thorin thinks he’d give all the gold he owns just to prolong this moment until his death.
"Mahal," Fíli says, after a spellbound moment, and Thorin bites him. "Can you—please—"
Thorin puts his fingers around Fíli’s and strokes him slowly, lightly—then brings his other hand to rub gentle circles about the head of his cock, and keeps at it until Fíli is squirming, thrusting into Thorin’s hand.
"Please, pleasepleaseplease. . . "
Thorin says nothing against his neck, but stops teasing him—by now, Kíli has regained himself and settles in front of Fíli, kissing him so roughly that his head knocks against Thorin’s. Thorin growls into his skin, biting harder, and that’s when Fíli comes. Thorin holds him steady, and Kíli holds him up, and when Fíli stops quivering and falls, relaxed, against Thorin, Kíli clambers right on top to give Fíli a thorough kiss.
"Ah," Fíli says, looking toward the stone ceiling as if he has found there all the secrets of Arda. "That was beautiful."
"Indeed," says Thorin. "How will you ever repay me?"
Kíli is quicker, having had longer to recover, and he pushes Thorin down against the bed, brusquely shoving his brother aside. "Let me think," he says, in what Thorin suspects is his attempt at a seductive manner, and he strokes Kíli’s hair from his forehead, remembering the very seductive sight of his self-pleasure just minutes before.
Fíli stretches out beside him, rolling so that his body lines Thorin’s on the left, and he first takes Thorin’s hand, kissing each of its knuckles before scraping his teeth along his inner arm. Kíli’s mouth dances over his hipbone, tongue darting into the hollows at the tops of his thighs, before kissing Thorin’s cock reverently. Soon Thorin’s voice is the loudest of all of them, rising to the domed roof of his bedchamber and returning to him in lascivious echoes, and Fíli and Kíli seem to be exchanging glances, taking simultaneous mental notes on what he likes—and with a flick of Kíli’s tongue over his cock, he’s coming, baring his teeth in the torchlight, hands tangled into Fíli’s hair, and Kíli swallows his come down.
His vision returns first, and sound soon after, and as he clears his throat Kíli laughs in his ear—he must have crawled back up to rest beside him, because Fíli hasn’t budged from his left except to throw an affectionate arm across his chest.
"And that," Kíli says, "is our thanks."
"Although I don’t know if it’s quite enough," says Fíli, humming against Thorin’s shoulder.
"You’re right."
"We ought to really prove we’re grateful."
"Absolutely."
"Not tonight," growls Thorin, and he realizes his voice is hoarse—had he been shouting?
"Oh, no," says Fíli. "Not tonight. You’ve worn us right out."
"Knackered," says Kíli.
Fíli draws the blanket over them, and Thorin reminds himself to question each of them on the other—separately—in the morning.