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Bilbo sat back on his heels and swiped his sleeve across his face to wipe away the sweat and dust. It had been three weeks since the Battle of Five Armies, as people were starting to call it, but the work inside the mountain was only just beginning. A crew of the strongest dwarves from Dain’s army had been tasked with rebuilding the outer door that Smaug had damaged before winter set in, but Bilbo and many others had been assigned to clean out living quarters so that the army could stop sharing the barracks and move into quarters that were more comfortable for everyone during the long winter months ahead.
It was hard, gloomy work. Each room had to be opened (and more than a few had been barricaded from the inside as dwarves tried to hide from the dragon) and searched for remains. Those remains then had to be identified, if possible, and transported down to the crypts for burial under stone, as was proper. Only then could Bilbo’s team go in to inventory the furniture and clean things up to make it livable again. Bilbo was grateful to at least have two dwarves he knew - Nori and Ori - on his team to keep his spirits up.
Ori came up beside him, handing Bilbo a water skin to drink from before righting an overturned chair. Bilbo took a gulp of water and wiped the sweat from his brow, then noticed a small stone figure that lay in the dust under where the chair had lain. It was only about the length of his finger and lay face-down with a delicate chain looped through the top of its head, as though it were a charm on a necklace.
“What’s this?” he asked, scooping it up off the floor. He flipped it over, then immediately squawked and dropped it again, his face flushing crimson.
“Bilbo?” Ori asked, looking at him curiously and picking the little figure up off the floor. “Oh,” he said meekly as he saw what he held in his hands. Bright spots of pink bloomed in his cheeks. “That’s, ah, it’s—“
“Durin’s knot!” crowed Nori, who had come up behind them and looked over Ori’s shoulder to see what had distracted them. He reached out and plucked the figure from Ori’s hand. “I was wondering if we’d find any of these,” he said with a wolfish grin at the figure.
He held the figure up, turning it this way and that. It was clearly the likeness of a dwarf, but it wasn’t like any likeness Bilbo had ever seen. The figure was beautifully carved, but crude in its depiction, because the tiny dwarf had been carved with a very large erection poking out from between his legs.
“This is a fertility symbol, it is,” Nori said, wiggling the little figure at them. “And a charm for having better couplings, so the story goes. They used to be quite popular in Erebor.”
Bilbo fought his curiosity, but couldn’t help taking another look. “And, ah, what exactly is—is that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the base of the figure’s erection, which had been depicted as a large, bulbous lump around the penis.
“That’s Durin’s knot, of course,” Nori said, almost leering at him. “I don’t suppose a hobbit would know that particular bit of dwarf lore, but you’re one of us now, so I’ll tell you. The line of Durin has a certain…anatomical trait. When they get stiff, there’s a knot that swells up,” he said, tapping the bulb on the figure’s cock. “They say it grows so large that it gets stuck in their partner, and they’re tied that way until it goes down again.”
“Does it hurt?” Ori asked, gaping at the figure.
“Wouldn’t know, would I?” Nori replied. “I expect it would take some getting used to. But it must’ve felt pretty good if you did it right, if carvings of it are supposed to help anyone have better couplings. You could ask Thorin; he’d know,” he added, but he was looking at Bilbo with a cheeky smirk when he said it.
“Th-Thorin?!” Bilbo stuttered. “You’re not saying he has a—a—“
“Aye, he’s descended right from Durin himself, so they say. All the royal family is, unless they married into it,” Nori answered.
“Fili? Kili?” Ori asked, his eyes wide.
Nori nodded. “Them too. Though their knots are still small, I expect. Apparently it comes in around the coming-of-age, but it keeps growing the older they get, see. A dwarf of 80 years will barely have one. But a dwarf of 180? His’ll be huge. That’s why they tried to marry early, to give the partner an easier start. It wouldn’t be so bad if you had time to adjust to it over the years. Taking a big knot like this, though,” he said, flicking the figure’s knot, “that’d be an ordeal.”
They all stood staring at the figure in silence for a moment. Bilbo swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very hot.
Nori tossed the figure at him suddenly, and Bilbo caught it on reflex to keep it from hitting the floor and breaking. “You should hold onto this, Bilbo,” he said with a wink. “It might come in handy.”
Bilbo sputtered, trying to thrust the figure back at him, but Nori just held up his hands and took a step back. “I—I don’t know what you mean! This—It’s obviously an important artifact, I couldn’t—I mean—“
“Bilbo?” The hobbit heard a new voice call from the corridor outside. In a panic, he whirled toward the door and stuffed the figure in his pocket as he did, hiding it from sight.
Balin appeared at the door. “There you are,” he said, smiling. “I’m afraid I need to steal you away for a bit if you don’t mind.”
Bilbo nodded and followed him, only turning back once to shoot Nori an accusing look. The Durin’s knot figure sat heavy in his pocket as he scampered after Balin down the corridor. Nori only smirked, watching him go.
-
“I’m going to reassign you for a bit, Master Baggins,” Balin said as they entered the room he had set up as his temporary office.
“Is, ah, is everything alright?” Bilbo asked, suddenly nervous that Balin might have heard him talking to Nori.
“Everything’s going according to schedule,” Balin answered, smiling to reassure him as he sat down and gestured for Bilbo to do the same. “I could just use your help on a special project. We want to have a feast in honor of Erebor’s reclamation, and I need someone who can organize that.”
“Oh! Alright then,” Bilbo said, surprised. “When will it be?”
“As it happens, if we hold it a week from today, it would coincide nicely with Thorin’s birthday,” Balin told him. “I know that’s a bit of a rush at this point, but we think it would be good to celebrate both at the same time. To show everyone that Thorin is alive and well again, so to speak.”
Balin filled the hobbit in on the things he’d need to arrange for the feast, but Bilbo only half listened. He nodded at the appropriate times, but his mind was buried deep in his pocket with the little figure. It couldn’t possibly be true that some dwarves had knots. And for Thorin to have one…what would that even look like?
Bilbo shook himself, hoping Balin couldn’t read his salacious thoughts all over his face, but the advisor was studying some notes while he spoke. He shouldn’t be thinking of Thorin like that. Their friendship was still fragile after everything that had happened. Thorin spent a great deal of his time in council meetings from his bed in the infirmary, and Bilbo spent a great deal of his time avoiding the dwarf the rest of the time, afraid Thorin would take one look at him and know his feelings, see them written in his eyes. Despite everything that had happened, Bilbo was still madly, foolishly attracted to Thorin.
Now he was even more afraid. How could he look at Thorin ever again without wondering about his knot? And why did this new knowledge make him feel so uncomfortably warm? A question sat in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it, to swallow it down, to tell himself it was none of his business, but Nori’s words ran circles in his head, making it hard for him to focus.
Finally, Balin finished and told Bilbo he could go, and Bilbo stood to leave. When he reached the door, he turned to look back at the dwarf hesitantly. “Er, Balin, I hope it’s alright if I ask, but…how old is Thorin turning?”
Balin smiled at him. “He’ll be 196 years, and may Mahal grant him many more.”
Bilbo swallowed hard and nodded to Balin before ducking out of the room and shutting the door behind him. One hundred and ninety-six years?!
He put a hand against the wall to steady himself. If what Nori had said was true, Thorin’s knot would be large indeed. Unhelpfully, Bilbo’s mind supplied him with the image of Thorin bending him over a desk and taking him from behind, his knot stretching Bilbo’s tight hole. How full would he feel with a knotted cock inside him? How helpless, when he couldn’t pull off of it? How claimed? Owned? Ruined?
Bilbo reached into his pocket and pulled the Durin’s Knot out, holding it in the palm of his hand. He tried to imagine what that would look like if it were life size. What it would look like in flesh tones - would the knot be flushed red, thick with blood? Would it be hot? Firm?
“Bilbo?”
Bilbo gasped and jumped at the unexpected voice, and the figure slipped from his hand and fell to the ground at his feet as he looked up in horror to see it was Thorin who had spoken, leaning on a crutch. Bilbo had been so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Thorin,” Bilbo said breathlessly, some small part of his mind registering that Thorin had called him Bilbo, not Master Baggins or Master Burglar, but his name. “You’re up!”
“Oin has me taking walks a few times a day now,” Thorin told him, before his eyes dropped to the figure at Bilbo’s feet. Bilbo saw the moment he recognized it by the way the dwarf’s ears went pink, and felt his own face get hot with mortification. Curse Nori for making him take the Durin’s Knot charm!
“I—I have to go,” Bilbo gasped, desperate to get away from such an awkward situation before it got worse. “I have to…plan the feast!” His feet were moving before he even finished speaking, hurrying down the hallway. “Good day!”
He ran away, leaving the Durin’s Knot on the ground where it had fallen and ignoring Thorin’s calls for him to wait.
-
Bilbo tried harder than ever after that to avoid Thorin, and he might have managed it too, busy as he was planning the feast, if it weren’t for the fact that Thorin seemed to be trying even harder to seek him out. Bilbo was saved by luck alone that they were always surrounded by others whenever Thorin came to visit, so he never had a chance to question Bilbo about the Durin’s Knot.
It wasn’t that Bilbo didn’t want to speak with Thorin. Bilbo wanted to do a great deal more than speak with Thorin, and that was the real problem. It wasn’t enough that Bilbo’s daydreams were filled with thoughts of kissing the dwarf, of tumbling into bed and feeling Thorin pressing him down into the mattress - now the thoughts came unbidden to him at night as well, and he couldn’t cut them off when they turned to fantasies of taking Thorin’s knot deep inside like he was born for it, like he was made to be tied to and claimed by the dwarf.
He would wake up sweaty with his own come on his stomach like an insatiable tween, and berate himself for having such shameful fantasies. Thorin was his friend. He was barely recovered from nearly dying. He was trying to re-establish a kingdom out of ruins. He absolutely was not thinking about Bilbo stuck fast on his knot, squeezing down around it as he squirmed on Thorin’s lap.
Bilbo managed, barely, to get the feast arranged. It was an unmitigated success, in no small part due to finding an undamaged store room full of wine barrels that were opened for the occasion. Halfway through the feast, when Thorin glanced at him from across the table with hooded eyelids that held something deeper, Bilbo blamed it on too much drink. He wasn’t the only one - everyone was getting a bit rowdy as they relaxed for the first time since the dragon fell.
When it was all over, Bilbo slipped back into his room with a sigh of relief. The wine had made him hot all over, and he shuffled toward his bed, shucking off his coat as he went, intent on climbing into it and sleeping until noon.
But when he approached the bed, he stopped short. There was the Durin’s Knot figure, sat comfortably on his pillow. The same figure he’d abandoned in the hall with Thorin. He stared at it, trying to puzzle out how it had come to be here, in his bedroom, gazing cheekily at the ceiling with its knotted erection stood straight up in the air.
Bilbo heard movement from behind him and whirled around. Thorin stood there, looking less lustful and more uncertain.
“Thorin,” he gasped in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“You dropped that,” Thorin said lowly, nodding toward the figure. “I’ve been trying to give it back.”
Bilbo swallowed. “It’s—it’s not mine,” he stuttered nervously. “I just found it while cleaning the rooms.”
Thorin took a step toward him. “Do you know what it is?” he asked, and Bilbo watched as his eyes took on that hooded look again.
Bilbo nodded shakily. “Nori told me it’s a—uh. A Durin’s Knot. A charm for…coupling.” Bilbo swallowed, struggling to meet Thorin’s eyes as he felt himself blush.
Thorin hummed affirmatively. “What else did Nori tell you?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a rumble, and Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so much like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, about to go over.
“He said…he said the royal family have knots,” Bilbo whispered, shivering. “But I think he was just having a laugh, having me on,” he said, forcing a chuckle that died in his throat when he glanced up at Thorin and saw how seriously the dwarf studied him. Bilbo realized suddenly that they’d drawn closer, mere inches apart, nearly breathing the same air.
”Would you like to find out?” Thorin murmured next to his ear, and Bilbo sucked in a breath before he surged forward and pulled Thorin’s lips to his own.
Thorin’s arms came up around him and he melted into the embrace. Weeks of pent-up tension had coiled in Bilbo until now he couldn’t stop himself, his fingers sinking into Thorin’s beard, pulling at his braids. Elation shot through him when he felt Thorin return the kiss with just as much passion, tugging at his clothes and carding through his curls.
It was a hot, messy kiss, their teeth clacking as they pressed ever closer. Bilbo felt himself growing dizzy, unsure if this was just another dream and he’d wake up in a moment, but then Thorin’s hand cupped his crotch and he didn’t care if he was dreaming or if this was reality anymore, so long as Thorin didn’t stop.
He fumbled at the buckles at Thorin’s waist until he finally heard the belts drop. He pulled at the fabric of the dwarf’s tunic even as Thorin licked into his mouth, leaning over him, one strong arm encircling his waist as the dwarf’s other hand pulled his shirt slowly free from his trousers. When his broad hand slid under it to smooth across the hobbit’s back, Bilbo shivered and clung to him.
It wasn’t until Thorin stumbled that Bilbo realized he’d been standing without his crutch the whole time. Unwilling to let him go, he pushed and prodded at Thorin as they continued to kiss, until the dwarf stepped backward and hit the edge of the bed, falling back onto it and bringing Bilbo with him.
Bilbo sat straddling his waist, breathing heavily, and stripped off his own shirt. His eyes were blown black, his ears pink, and Thorin was mesmerized by the freckles that spread across his chest. Gripping Bilbo’s hips, he rolled them so Bilbo was on bottom, then ground his hardening bulge against Bilbo’s.
Bilbo gasped, arching his back, the friction making every nerve light up. He never wanted it to end, but the press Thorin’s length against his own reminded Bilbo of Thorin’s question: would you like to find out?
Bilbo scrambled for Thorin’s breeches, hastily pulling at the laces as Thorin moved to his ear and began to suck the pointed tip. Bilbo’s hands faltered, unsure if he wanted to remove Thorin’s breeches and get a look at him, or remove his own and relieve the building pressure of his heavy prick inside his trousers. How did Thorin know precisely how to use his mouth in a way that made Bilbo feel like he was falling apart?
Thorin solved his dilemma for him, shifting back after a moment and stripping Bilbo’s trousers and small clothes. He knelt there, breathing heavily, as he took Bilbo’s naked form in, his eyes so impossibly dark as they roved over Bilbo’s body, the light dusting of hair below his belly button, the leaking prick that stood up proudly from between his legs.
He saw Bilbo’s eyes on his bulge and slowly moved to shuck his tunic off and reach for his breeches. He kicked off his boots and pushed his breeches down until he could step out of them.
And there it was. The dwarf’s erection was thick and straining. A vein traveled up the shaft to bring blood to the rosy head. And there, at the base, was a thickening knot.
Bilbo felt mixed relief and disappointment as he saw it wasn’t as large as he had imagined - as he had feared. It was still obviously thicker than the rest of the dwarf’s cock, but with a bit of stretching he was sure he could fit it.
Thorin climbed back over him, his cock hanging between his legs. Bilbo reached up one hand and caught it gently, watching Thorin’s eyelids flutter as he slid his thumb beneath the foreskin to press against the slit. He gave the cock a few strokes before traveling further up to wrap around the knot.
It was firm, thick muscle that pulsed gently as he squeezed it, making Thorin groan. He trailed his fingers over it, feeling it, petting it, moaning as it twitched in his hand and Thorin’s hips gave an involuntary buck.
Thorin mouthed at his ear as he played, nudging a curl out of the way. “Will you take it?” He asked huskily in Bilbo’s ear. “Will you let yourself be tied on my cock?”
Bilbo could only nod frantically as he pulled Thorin’s face back to his own and kissed him again. “Take me,” he gasped when they broke. “I need it inside me.”
Thorin growled, reaching quickly for the bottle of oil on Bilbo’s nightstand and dripping it messily over one hand. Bilbo grabbed a pillow and shoved it beneath his hips, lifting his legs to give Thorin access. His heart hammered in his chest. His prick had never felt harder than that moment, knowing Thorin was going to open him up.
Thorin slipped a single finger into him and Bilbo keened. How long had he wanted this? How long had he dreamt of Thorin stretching him out to take his cock? It had been so long since anyone had done this to him, even himself, and he’d forgotten the way it felt to be invaded, to take something in and feel it holding him open.
Two fingers were even better, especially when Thorin began to thrust them lazily in and out, the dwarf’s eyes glued to where they disappeared into Bilbo. Bilbo’s cock swayed heavily, bobbing against his stomach as the movement of Thorin’s thrusts sent him swaying. Bilbo gasped as he scissored his fingers, coaxing the muscles to relax.
When a third finger was inserted alongside the other two, Bilbo felt drops of precome leak from his prick onto his stomach, and watched as Thorin ducked down to lick them up, eyes trained darkly on Bilbo’s face. His beard nudged Bilbo’s straining prick and Bilbo writhed, desperate for some kind of friction. Thorin’s three fingers were just on the right side of uncomfortable, but feeling the dwarf’s breath teasing his cock was endlessly distracting.
Thorin took Bilbo into his mouth before inserting a fourth finger, and Bilbo didn’t know whether it was pleasure or pain that consumed him. Thorin’s fingers were thick - so much thicker than his own, stretching him farther than he’d ever been stretched, but his mouth was soft and hot and wet in a way he couldn’t ignore. When Thorin crooked his fingers and just brushed his prostate, Bilbo cried out, his senses completely overwhelmed, barely holding back from orgasm.
Over him, Thorin purred, breathing heavily as he watched Bilbo fall apart. He could hardly believe it was happening. After the battle, he wasn’t certain Bilbo would forgive him his harsh words and harsher actions. He’d thought he had foolishly thrown away any chance he’d had with the hobbit. To see him now, writhing as Thorin buried his fingers inside him, tore a groan from the dwarf’s throat. He couldn’t wait a moment longer to wreck Bilbo on his cock.
He pet Bilbo’s thigh when the hobbit whined at the removal of his mouth and fingers. The hobbit’s chest had flushed red down to his belly button, his hands clenching and unclenching in the blankets. He was a sight unlike anything Thorin had ever beheld, and the dwarf’s knot was already swelling in anticipation. If he wanted to knot Bilbo, he needed to do it quickly, or they wouldn’t be able to get it in.
Thorin slicked his cock, pouring oil generously over the knot and adding extra to Bilbo’s hole before he lined himself up. Mahal, this was it.
He pushed in, and Bilbo yielded. Thorin couldn’t help but moan at how insanely good it felt, couldn’t resist pumping his shaft in and out a few times to revel in the exquisite friction of Bilbo around him. He heard Bilbo keening again, felt the hobbit’s legs hitch open wider, begging for more. And Thorin was so, so ready to give him more.
Thorin bottomed out at his knot and began to press it, gently but relentlessly, against Bilbo’s hole. It stretched a little, eager, but not enough. A crease was forming between Bilbo’s eyebrows as pain crept in, making him tense and squeeze around the invasion. Thorin reached between his legs and began to jack the hobbit’s prick, making Bilbo buck, but his hole fluttered, relaxing slowly as the pleasure overwhelmed the pain. Thorin pushed his knot in a little farther.
Bilbo was gasping, his chest heaving with moans, and Thorin could feel how hard the hobbit’s prick was in his hand. He knew Bilbo was close to the edge and it was all he could focus on. Thorin sped his hand, and when Bilbo arched his back, the dwarf took the golden opportunity and thrust, feeling Bilbo’s hole slide over the apex of his knot, and then pull him fully in.
Bilbo’s sharp cry filled the room and then was quickly replaced by choked noises as he came, the sensation of fullness too much for him to hold back any longer. He bucked, and Thorin moved with him, unable to pull out now that the knot was seated firmly inside Bilbo.
Thorin growled, fingers digging into Bilbo’s hips as the hobbit clenched in pulses on his knot, squeezing, and Thorin couldn’t hold back either. He cock began to shoot hot streams of come into his hobbit, pushing it deep into him, and Thorin could think of nothing but how amazing it felt to finally show Bilbo this kind of euphoria.
By the time Thorin finished, he felt his knot begin to swell to its true size. Bilbo gasped and tensed and kicked below him, but no amount of squeezing would stop it as it expanded inside him, easily doubling in size. Thorin shook from the intensity of it - nothing had ever, ever felt so tight and hot and wonderful around his knot, even as he pet Bilbo and murmured moan-broken reassurances.
When he felt the swelling slow to a stop, Thorin opened his eyes to find Bilbo looking completely wrecked beneath him. His eyes were blown and unfocused, and his prick had made a valiant return to hardness as the knot pressed against and massaged his prostate. Thick pearls of come dripped from it onto Bilbo’s stomach in a slow stream. Standing half-hunched over Bilbo was quickly becoming uncomfortable, but any small movement to shift them made them both moan and grasp at each other, Thorin unable to stop himself rocking into Bilbo to press his knot in deeper. He could feel his own come slipping around his cock inside Bilbo and was certain there would be more before he was able to pull out.
Bilbo’s hands had drifted to his own nipples to rub lazily over them as he lay trapped in his ecstasy and Thorin felt himself twitch inside Bilbo at the sight. The hobbit was completely blissed-out and debauched, helpless but obviously very much enjoying the experience.
“My knot will never go down if you keep playing with yourself like that,” Thorin murmured, his voice scratchy from moaning so much. Bilbo did little more to answer him than blink lazily up at the dwarf and tilt his hips so the knot shifted and slipped inside him, making them both gasp. Thorin’s hips bucked, which quickly sent him into a rut, bending Bilbo in half as he thrust their hips together, barely able to move but still driven by instinct to bury his knot as deep as he could.
Another orgasm followed, adding to the sticky mess inside the hobbit, and Thorin’s knot throbbed. Oversensitivity be damned, he collapsed over Bilbo, shifting them until they could both lay on their sides and come down while they waited for the knot to shrink. Thorin nearly purred, holding Bilbo close, dropping kisses across his face even as he was stuck tied on Thorin’s cock. His hobbit was so good, so perfect.
Bilbo came back to his senses slowly, shooting Thorin lazy smiles followed by lazy kisses until Thorin felt like it was his heart that had swollen rather than his knot. His knot was in no hurry to release Bilbo, either, so he reveled in the uninterrupted time to worship the hobbit.
“Stay with me, Bilbo,” he murmured against his skin some time later. “Be my consort. Wear my braid. Take my knot each day.”
Bilbo’s small hands combed through his hair, and his eyes looked at Thorin with such hopefulness that it was hard for Thorin to breathe. “Well I suppose you’ll do, at least until I find this Durin fellow,” he said, pulling the Durin’s Knot out from under his back where it had gotten lodged during their lovemaking. “I don’t suppose your knot will grow to be as big as his?”
Thorin gaped at him for a moment until he caught the twinkle in Bilbo’s eye and realized he was being teased. With a huff, he shoved at Bilbo playfully, but they both gasped as the movement made his softening knot slip free from Bilbo. Bilbo winced uncomfortably at being so suddenly empty, and Thorin gathered him up closer, petting down his back and kissing him in apology until he could feel the hobbit’s prick trying to harden again against his stomach. They broke away from their kissing breathlessly.
“Perhaps I should have warned you that hobbits can be insatiable in love,” Bilbo said, chest heaving.
“I’m counting on it,” Thorin grinned wolfishly, scooping the Durin’s Knot figure off the bed and hanging it from the bedpost as he climbed over Bilbo again.