Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first time that Kíli sees the flame-haired man, the dwarf doesn't think much of it.

He’s just another stranger on the dance floor, one amongst a sea of people looking for love, sex, or a distraction from the dull grind of their lives. So while the man is attractive enough if a bit pale for his liking, Kíli is busy grinding with a couple of pretty elves who want to take him home that evening and everyone else is standing rather low in his priorities.

The second time that Kíli sees the flame-haired man, the dwarf starts to wonder if this man is stalking him.

For the stranger is watching his every move in a way that makes the archer shiver and his skin begin to crawl. It’s much too possessive for someone whom he's never even talked to and Kíli decides to leave the club earlier than planned. The other's stare has rather put the dwarf off dancing and once he gets home, Kíli plans to watch bad movies with his brother until the man is forgotten utterly. However, it's already much too late for that.

Because the third time that Kíli sees the flame-haired man, it's the glint of eyes in his peripheral vision before a pale arm wraps around his neck. The dwarf tries to struggle but his attacker’s grip is iron and when the man presses a cloth against his mouth, one panicked breath makes the world goes dark.

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Kíli wakes slowly with an aching head and the vague certainty that something has gone wrong. This definitely isn’t his bed and while waking up naked in a strange room isn’t all that uncommon, there’s no new lover lying next to him. Instead the dwarf finds himself alone, his arms tied together above his head and his feet bound to the bed frame, and he fights back a wave of panic as memories of the flame-haired man crash over him.

The archer has been kidnapped like some kind of helpless damsel and when he gets out of here, Fíli is never going to let him live this down. Because he will get out of here; Kíli refuses to consider any other option no matter how hopeless his situation seems.

He may be trussed and tied like a pig for slaughter, his clothes nowhere to be seen, but Kíli is a Durin and Durins do not break easily.

So the dwarf rolls onto his side to take in his surroundings, the ropes allowing him to move this much at least. His bed is shoved against one wall of the chamber and the rest is built to human standards, the rich furnishings contrasting sharply with the coarse stone of the walls. A cave then, but not one of dwarvish making since no dwarf worth his mastery would have left the rock so rough.

However, as much as the archer might like to critique the masonry under other circumstances, the only thing in this room that really matters is the door in the far wall. A door means an exit but Kíli has barely begun to test his bonds in earnest when that same door creaks open and the flame-haired man walks in.

“You’re awake, my dear; how wonderful,” the man says when he sees the dwarf looking at him, grinning down at his captive far too cheerfully. “I was starting to worry that I'd used too much chloroform in my invitation, but I should have known that you would be all right. Your strength is why I chose you, after all.”

Kíli flinches away when the man reaches out to stroke his bare shoulder, a possessive glint burning in those strange yellow eyes. But his captor doesn’t seem to notice the dwarf's unease, or perhaps he just chooses to ignore it as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

The man doesn’t offer any further explanation and while the archer knows that it's probably a bad idea to antagonize the crazy, he just has to ask: “Chose me for what? I've never met you before in my life so why in Aulë's name did you decide to kidnap me last night? If you're after a ransom, my family has the gold to pay it, but my uncle will kill you if you harm one hair on my head.”

“Gold? I don't need more gold and I certainly don’t need a ransom,” the man scoffs in reply. “I have everything that I want right in front of me. You are my prize, my chosen, and no one will ever take you away from me. Not even the great and mighty Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are, my darling,” his captor says with another one of those possessive smiles and Kíli is starting to get a very bad feeling here. “I have been watching you for a very long time and while you are not quite of age, I simply could not wait anymore. Not when you were letting all those strangers touch you, fuck you as though they had some kind of right. You’re mine, my love; you’ve always been mine and when I have finished with you, you’ll never wish to leave my side.”

Throughout this monologue, the flame-haired man caresses Kíli, stroking his hand down the dwarf's chest and through his hair as though to soothe the sting. But the only thing the archer feels is a terrible revulsion, his whole body shaking with nausea by the time the man is done.

This is far worse than a simple kidnapping; this is crazy and if Kíli weren't tied to the bed, he would be making a panicked break for the door right now. But he is tied and so it's all the dwarf can do to keep his voice from trembling as he tries to appeal to some remnant of his captor's sanity. “You don’t want me; I'm just a feckless dwarf prince – barely worth the title, really – and my uncle won’t rest until I’m found! He’ll bring an army to your doorstep before he lets you keep me here!”

“And if he does, he will die in flaming agony,” his captor snarls, features turning almost feral before his mask snaps back in place again and he looks down at the archer apologetically. “I am sorry, love; the thought of losing you makes me very angry and there's no telling what I might do if someone tried to steal you away. Because you're perfect, even if you don’t believe it; you're beautiful and delicate and yet strong enough to survive.”

“S- Strong enough to survive what?” Kíli whispers, terrified of the answer but unable not to ask. He's close to hyperventilating now, shock and disgust roiling his gut. “What do you want from me?”

His voice cracks on the last word, a sign of weakness that makes him cringe inside. But this seems to be the question that the flame-haired man was waiting for because he breaks into a brilliant smile that almost hides the madness in his eyes.

“Why, I want you to be my mate, of course. I searched for a mate for centuries before I saw you, but my first few chosen simply weren't tough enough. Their bodies gave out before I had finished my preparation, forcing me to slit their throats in order to stop the screams. But this time will be better. You will be better, and once I reshape your form as necessary, you'll be happy here.”

“Reshape me?” Kíli repeats like a broken record, his mind frozen with horror and disbelief.

This would be easier to take if his captor didn't seem so earnest about it, every word spoken as though they were not insanity. But the flame-haired man interprets the dwarf’s whisper as a desire for more information when, in truth, Kíli had just been hoping that this was some awful dream.

“Yes, my darling. I must reshape you before we mate or you will not survive it,” his captor says, eyeing Kíli's body hungrily. “I am no man to find my pleasure in any willing passage; I require someone who has been prepared for my cock, prepared to take me and no other so that I do not break you with my seed. Look, my love; look upon the gift you shall receive.”

He stands up and undresses, revealing a body that looks no different than any other man with whom the dwarf has lain. But then his skin begins to shimmer, a glamour melting away to reveal a much different beast entirely.

A dragon?! Kíli thinks in shock as he watches this transformation, Or at least some dragon blood.

For while his captor is still humanoid, the resemblance ends at that. Now he towers over the bed, taller than any man that the dwarf has encountered, so tall that his head nearly brushes the ceiling when he straightens up. His skin is covered with a pattern of ruby scales where others might have freckles, only his face, his stomach and his groin remaining flesh.

However, even his face is not free of changes, for now his eyes are narrower and slit-pupiled like a cat while sharp horns grow from the scales upon his head. Kíli thinks he may have seen a flash of fang as well when his captor smiled, but before he can be certain, his attention is caught by the tail twitching through the air. It curls around the dragon's leg like a crimson serpent, the dwarf's gaze following it up until he forgets to breathe entirely.

“There's no way,” Kíli protests, his horrified gaze locked on the massive club that this maniac wants to shove inside of him. “There's no fucking way. That thing is half as tall as I am and you can’t possibly... You'll kill me! Please!”

But his begging falls on deaf ears even as the dragon wraps his arms around the dwarf in a parody of tenderness. “Ssh, darling. I know it's frightening, but that is why I shall prepare you so carefully. I'm not going to hurt you any more than I must and while my mother was a dragon, my father gave me his gifts as well. He was a wizard, you see, and there are spells to ease the way. Spells that will help your body learn to take me and your pain will be as nothing compared to the pleasure that we seek.”

Perhaps this is meant to be reassuring, but Kíli doesn’t want to listen anymore. This can’t be the archer’s life; a day ago he was carefree and happy and now he’s stuck here with a mad dragon who’s mistaken ownership for love. But Kíli can’t hope to fight his captor tied up as he is and so he retreats mentally instead. He turns his mind inward where he cannot hear the damnation that awaits him, but the dwarf’s walls unravel as fast as he can build them and when a large hand cups his ass, Kíli snaps back to reality.

“There you are,” the dragon croons when Kíli focuses on his captor once again. “You went away for a moment, but I told you, darling, you aren't allowed to leave. You won't want to leave soon enough.”

His captor kisses him then, forked tongue dancing against Kíli's lips almost tenderly before shoving its way inside. The dwarf tries to resist the invasion, keeping his teeth clenched tightly until the dragon digs sharp fingers into his jaw. He forces Kíli's mouth open so that he can claim every inch of it, kissing the archer until his head is spinning and he can hardly breathe.

Yet the worst of it isn’t the force or the feel of scales against his body, it’s the fact that his captor kisses just how Kíli likes it, rough and intense and all-consuming in his focus, and the dwarf wants to scream when his traitorous cock starts to fill. But when the dragon trails sharp claws down the curve of Kíli's ass, a wave of disgust quickly overwhelms any arousal once again. So the archer shoves himself away from his captor as best he can, huddling against the wall with his bound hands pressed into the other’s chest.

“Wait, please,” Kíli begs and to his utmost surprise, the dragon actually halts. “Please, I just need some time. Just a day or two to get used to this. I need to prepare myself for your... your gift because I don't want to disappoint you once we start.”

As much as it pains Kíli to say the words – to act as though he could ever be grateful for this monster's obsession – the dwarf would have said much worse to make his captor stop.

So his relief is much greater than his shame when the dragon nods his head and stands back up again. “While I know that you could never disappoint me, I will do as you ask. You may have tonight to think on the honor you’ve been granted before we begin once more. Now rest, my love; you will need your strength when morning comes.”

A small reprieve, and less than the dwarf had been hoping for, but with a bit of luck, Kíli will be long gone by then. So the archer forces himself to remain still when his captor leans in to kiss him one more time, though he still can't bring himself to return the sentiment. But the dragon doesn't seem to notice anything amiss – or he simply chooses to disregard it as he has disregarded all of Kíli's protests – donning his clothes with that same creepy smile on his face.

His captor is almost to the door when he pauses, the dwarf praying desperately that he hasn't changed his mind. But the other just turns back and says apologetically, “I am sorry, my dear. I know who you are but I never thought to introduce myself, so of course you are feeling nervous about this. My name is Smaug, sometimes known as the Terrible, but you need only call me Master from now on.”

With this the dragon leaves Kíli to his thoughts, the soft click of the door drowned out by the screaming in his head. The archer isn't sure how long he lies there in a blind panic but eventually common sense begins to rear its head again.

Come on, Kíli, you're going to get out of this, the dwarf tells himself firmly, knowing that he'll never manage to escape if he doesn't keep his wits about him now. He may not be much of a prince – he may not even be much of a Durin to hear his uncle say it – but this Smaug will not have him without a fight.

So the archer twists on the bed, arching his back until his fingers can reach the beads strewn through his hair. The stretch is awkward since he’s tied almost from wrist to elbow, but the pain is worth it when he finds the one bead that is different than the rest.

While Kíli has always thought his uncle a bit overly paranoid growing up, he may have to adjust that estimation since there apparently is no such thing as being too prepared. Indeed, the tiny blade that the dwarf seeks out with his fingertips has become his lifeline, the sharp steel slicing through his bonds easily.

However, it still takes far too long for Kíli to free himself, the dwarf freezing whenever he hears a noise beyond the door, and he knows his respite must be running short by the time the last rope falls. So he doesn’t bother searching for his belongings, simply pulling the sheet from the bed and wrapping it around himself like a loose tunic before opening the door as quietly as he can.

Through the crack, the dwarf sees a large living area, as richly furnished as the bedroom and thankfully empty of any dragonkind. With this worry off his mind, Kíli slips through the door, following the faint scent of wind and sunshine to what he hopes is his way out.

Because there are a number of hallways leading off of this main chamber: a large alcove that seems to be some sort of kitchen, a few unmarked tunnels similar to the one behind him, and an enormous passage sealed off by a massive wooden door. If the entrance is past that then Kíli's escape is already foiled, but the dwarf is fairly certain that the northern tunnel is the one he wants. For this passage is larger than most of the others and he can feel a soft breeze on his face when he stands before the opening.

Indeed, the archer soon sees the glow of daylight along the tunnel’s twisting path, Kíli quickening his steps in anticipation of leaving this nightmare far behind. Yet this excitement nearly kills him when he rounds one last curve and finds himself blinded by the rising sun. For the dwarf stumbles forward squinting and only his quick reflexes save him when his next step comes down on open air. Kíli teeters for one long moment before he manages to throw himself back to safety, landing in an awkward sprawl just before the tunnel's mouth.

When his vision adjusts, the dwarf sees that the ground drops off sharply a few feet before him, this small stone balcony ringed by a sheer cliff on all sides. Everywhere Kíli looks there is nothing but smooth stone and a long climb back to the surface, one that the archer does not have the skill to make.

Few dwarves could without ropes or climbing axes for the Khazâd are people of the mountains’ hearts not such high and snowy peaks. In fact, the endless horizon is starting to make Kíli dizzy and he has to close his eyes for a minute to make the sense of spinning stop. There obviously won't be any escape in this direction but the dwarf refuses to give up yet. There’s bound to be a path down to the ground somewhere, perhaps through one of the tunnels that he had dismissed as leading deeper into the mountain before he’d known just how high he was.

So as soon as he has recovered his balance, Kíli climbs to his feet and turns to enter the passageway once more. However, the archer nearly tumbles over the edge of the cliff again when he comes face to face with one enormous yellow eye instead.

Fuck, I'm going to be eaten, is the dwarf's first panicked thought and he thrashes wildly as razor sharp claws wrap around his chest.

But then a deep voice rumbles, “You should be more careful, darling,” and Kíli forgets to keep struggling entirely.

The archer can only gape at the dragon who has pulled him back to safety, a dragon whom his frightened mind took far too long to recognize. But the crimson scales are the same bloody shade as those that covered his captor’s other body and the obsessive devotion in those gold eyes is impossible to miss.

It seems that Smaug is a true shape-shifter, not just a chameleon, and when Kíli catches sight of the large leathery wings folded across the dragon's back, his hopes begin to sink. Because a winged creature has no need for stairs or ladders, and what better prison is there than one that only a bird can reach? Which means the archer will have to play along with his captor’s madness until he can convince Smaug to fly him off this mountain and start running as soon as there's ground beneath his feet.

Unfortunately, this initial escape attempt may have set his plans back a step already because the dragon does not look very pleased with him. At least, Kíli doesn't think so, but it's not like he's an expert on draconic expressions and it's almost a relief when Smaug melts back into his half-breed form again.

The dwarf isn't sure how else to describe it, the dragon's scales running like water before his eyes until the air itself seems to shiver and his captor is standing on two feet again. While Smaug still towers over him, Kíli's more primal instincts have stopped screaming and the dragon’s expression looks more chiding than anything.

“You should have waited for me, my love. I would have warned to you watch your step out here on my balcony.”

“I'm sorry; I just wanted some fresh air,” Kíli replies, doing his best to sound contrite instead of angry that his escape has failed. However, something about his words must strike his captor as hilarious because Smaug throws his head back and cackles until he has to stop for lack of air.

“Of course you did. And your bonds magically fell off as soon as I was asleep.”

Kíli stands frozen as Smaug reaches out and plucks the dwarf's hidden blade from his hair, the dragon admiring the workmanship for an instant before throwing the knife off of the mountainside. The archer lets out a soft cry when he sees his only weapon disappear, taking one step toward the edge before a clawed hand stops him in his tracks.

But even though the dwarf cannot keep from cringing as Smaug kneels down and pulls him closer, his captor simply holds Kíli tight against his chest.

“It's all right, my dear. I am not angry. I chose you as my mate for your strength and fire and I would have been disappointed if you had not tested me in turn. Though I should warn you that any further rebellion will be punished harshly until you learn just where the power lies. Now come; it is time for us to eat.”

Kíli doesn't ask for another reprieve since he is certain that it would not be granted and he really doesn't want to know what Smaug thinks is an appropriate punishment. But his unwilling acceptance of the current situation doesn't stop the archer's feet from dragging as the dragon pulls him back inside.

He fears the worst, his imagination running wild despite his best attempts to rein it in. However, when Smaug reaches the main cavern, the scene seems innocuous at first. For the large table the kitchen has been laid for breakfast, an impressive variety of dishes sitting there.

Yet breakfast is clearly not the only thing on the dragon's mind and what truly captures the dwarf's attention when they draw closer is the cabinet standing against the wall. He hadn't noticed it before – too focused on escaping – and he almost wishes that he hadn't now. Because the cabinet is filled with sex toys, a display of dildos ranging from the average to a gleaming gold monstrosity as thick as Kíli's arm, and the archer does not want to know what those are for. But the dwarf does know, he knows because Smaug told him; he'd simply managed to block the truth from his mind until now.

However, Kíli can't deny it anymore with the evidence of his captor's intentions staring at him and as the archer looks at the largest of the dildos, all he can think is that it's never gonna fit. It's physically impossible and his captor is going to kill him trying if the dwarf can't get out of here.

He should run away, flee this place as fast as his legs can carry him, and yet Kíli stands frozen on the stone instead. Because there is nothing waiting for him beyond this chamber but a sharp drop and a sudden stop and so he does not move even as Smaug unlocks the cabinet and spreads the glass doors wide.

“It's a beauty, isn't it?” the dragon asks, stroking one claw down the length of the gold dildo that had caught the archer’s eye. “I had this cast when I was younger; a bit of an affectation, I know, but it does shine brilliantly and once you learn to take its length inside you, your body will be ready to join with the real thing. Of course, I am somewhat larger now so there may still be resistance, for a dragon never stops growing as long as we still breathe.”

Kíli is feeling nauseous again, his stomach roiling violently at the thought of what's to come. But there's still nowhere else for him to go and so the dwarf just bites his lip to keep from screaming as Smaug rips his makeshift garment off his back.

“You will not need such modesty in this home of ours,” the dragon says and Kíli is all too aware of his nudity beneath his captor's roving eyes. “Now, darling. Palms on the table and legs spread, if you please.”

What can the dwarf do but obey if he wants to keep breathing, Smaug's tone leaving no room for argument? So Kíli shoves down the hot curl of shame that threatens to choke him and presses his hands to the wood, every instinct screaming about turning his back on his enemy. The archer flinches again when Smaug's hands land on his hips, claws scratching lightly across his skin. For his captor does not hurt him now, but it's all too clear that it's possible. Then the dragon moves to Kíli's ass, cupping the firm globes in his hands with an appreciative hum which makes his captive cringe inside.

While the dwarf has always been proud of his appearance and the admiration that it garnered, at the moment he sincerely wishes that he were hideous instead. Because then he wouldn't be here, skin crawling with nausea as Smaug trails slick fingers down his ass.

Kíli flinches when the dragon teases across his entrance, the dwarf expecting the sharp bite of claws again. But there's just warm flesh, Smaug's scales smooth and surprisingly soft on the archer's skin. He doesn't know whether this softness is another of the shape-shifter's powers or whether retractable claws are common amongst dragons, but it hardly seems important now. For one thick digit is pushing its way deep inside him, the dwarf's breath hitching despite his best attempts to keep it still.

His captor is more gentle than expected or perhaps Kíli has simply taken too many lovers because the stretch is more familiar than painful, his body opening easily when Smaug adds a second finger to the first.

Though, in truth, the dwarf wishes that it did hurt, that his body would reject the intrusion the way his mind is screaming that it should. But damn Smaug to Nargûn, the dragon knows his business and he knows it well.

His fingers seek out every spot which makes his captive shudder, his aim so unerring as to be guided by a spell. Indeed Smaug seems to delight in teasing Kíli, pressing the dwarf open with sure touches until he's gagging for it and he has to bite his lip almost bloody to stop the moans from getting out. But the archer would never be able to escape the disgrace if he gave in this easily so he keeps his silence no matter what it costs.

Yet that doesn't stop his hips from pushing back into Smaug's fingers or the way that his whole body shudders when the dragon shoves in deep. His captor grinds against Kíli's prostate until he can't even think for pleasure and just as the dwarf's about to lose it, Smaug pulls out again.

There's no warning, just a sudden emptiness, and the shock of it nearly sends the archer to his knees. However, the dragon catches Kíli before he slams into the table, one scaled forearm wrapping around the archer's waist and holding him upright. Smaug supports Kíli easily, the dwarf so far outmatched in strength that it's almost laughable. But nothing about this situation is funny and Kíli has to bite back a furious growl when his cock twitches anyway.

The dwarf has always appreciated strong and skillful lovers and his body is far more interested in the burning heat behind him than the part where he's here against his will. So the archer curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to clear his head as best he can.

Kíli doesn't want to enjoy this, but if he must then he refuses to show his captor the reaction that he seeks. He's damn well going to make Smaug work for his amusement and if he doesn't play the dragon's game, maybe Smaug will get sick of him. All the dwarf needs is a chance, just a few days of freedom with which to gather his clan and his weapons and return for his revenge. His uncle has always hated dragons and Smaug has more than earned a death sentence; he earned it the moment that he dared to touch a prince of the Sigin-tarâg.

The archer holds tight to this thought, taking comfort from it even as the dragon presses something hard against his ass. For Smaug must have taken one of his collection from the cabinet while Kíli was distracted, the dwarf bracing himself as the tip of the dildo slips inside. It's just large enough that he feels it without the stretch being painful, on par with any of the men he's taken through the years, and his captor stops his thrust just short of hitting Kíli's prostate now.

This surprises the dwarf since he'd been expecting Smaug to fuck him blind across the table and indeed, that's what he's been preparing for. Truthfully, Kíli would almost prefer it if the dragon would just get it over with because at least then he'd have something concrete to resist.

As it is, his body is caught on the edge of pleasure, teased along by the smooth glide of plastic against his inner walls. There's nothing to fight but his own reactions and the dwarf bites back a gasp as he's pulled upright, his confusion growing when the dragon guides him over to a chair with one hand on his back.

One chair and one set of dishes laid out on the breakfast table and once Smaug sits down, the archer is sure that this must be his punishment. He's probably going to be forced to stand here with a fake cock shoved up his ass until his captor's had his fill and his face burns with humiliation at the thought.

However, before Kíli's mortification can make him do something stupid, the dragon turns to him and says, “You have two choices here, my love. You may either sit on my lap for breakfast or kneel beside me, whichever would make you more comfortable. I assure you; I shall feed you either way for I would never allow you to go hungry in my care.”

Two bad choices but as much as the dwarf hates the thought of kneeling before his captor, he wants to keep as much space between them as possible. So Kíli mumbles, “I'll kneel,” before dropping down to the floor at the press of the dragon's hand.

Smaug pulls the archer closer until he's leaning against his captor's leg, the toy inside his entrance making its presence known every time he shifts. Which is often because it takes the dragon some time to arrange Kíli to his satisfaction, the dwarf hard and aching by the time Smaug starts to eat. His arousal is both unwelcome and mortifying, all the more so because the dragon doesn't seem affected, his cock still terrifyingly huge but limp between his legs. Although, in truth, this is probably a mercy because Kíli doesn't know whether he could handle the sight of Smaug erect right now.

The thought alone is making the dwarf queasy, bile rising in the back of his throat. But Kíli cannot afford to lose control and he doesn't wish to anger the dragon any further so he forces down his revulsion as Smaug takes another bite of sausage and then presses a piece of speckled fruit to the archer's lips.

Dragon fruit, the dwarf thinks, fighting back the urge to giggle hysterically. But that first bite reminds him that he's starving and keeping his strength up takes precedence over freaking out again. So the archer allows Smaug to feed him, the dragon alternating between his own mouth and Kíli's every time.

For some reason it unsettles Kíli to see Smaug eating normal food, even if the dragon does favor the bloodier cuts of meat. Because the dwarf had been expecting a monster to act like a monster, to fly around stealing whole sheep from farmers and give him the chance he needs to flee.

Only now he's realizing that his captor is a person – a fucked-up crazy person, but a person nonetheless – and this makes Smaug far more dangerous than he'd first believed.

Though perhaps Kíli should not be so surprised since the legends always say that dragons are the craftiest of any wild beast and the dwarf will have to plan his next escape attempt very carefully. But for the moment, the archer simply swallows his pride and accepts each morsel that Smaug chooses to gives him, the food quite good despite the company.

In fact, his captor is either a very talented guesser or a very thorough stalker because all of the dwarf's favorite dishes make an appearance one by one. There's cranberry bagels, somehow warm and freshly toasted, and four kinds of sausage cooked until there's char. Potatoes chopped and fried with onions, eggs over easy, poached and scrambled, and more types of juice than Kíli knew were possible.

However, while some of these items are not exactly easy to eat from Smaug's fingers, the dwarf quickly learns not to drop anything. Indeed, the first time that a piece of egg hits the floor, the dragon looks down at Kíli almost apologetically and then shoves his face against the stone.

“Eat it,” his captor orders, holding Kíli down with just one hand. The dwarf is bent nearly double, the sudden change in position grinding the toy within him hard against his prostate so that he's too busy fighting back his release to obey Smaug's command.

“There will be neither waste nor disorder in my house; you must be perfect in all things. Now, eat it,” the dragon orders again, pushing Kíli down further when the dwarf does not do his bidding fast enough. This time the archer hears him, the dragon's iron grip leaving him with no choice but to lick the egg up off of the floor.

Kíli isn't sure why this is what makes him flush with humiliation after everything that's occurred this morning; maybe it's the possessive hand that strokes across his ass or the way that Smaug smirks when the dwarf sits back up and his hard cock is revealed. He can't help it; his body doesn't seem to care what's inside him, only that it's long and thick and setting his nerves on fire, and Kíli has never been the type to resist pleasure before this. But the dwarf tries his best to ignore it; he bites his lip and pretends that he's not aching with need until Smaug finally starts feeding him once more.

While his captor is clearly hoping for a repeat of Kíli's performance, the dragon is sorely disappointed because the archer refuses to eat off the ground again. He's not a dog and he will not eat like one, not even when Smaug drops food before the dwarf is ready with a cruel smirk on his face.

Because the awkward lunges are less shameful than the alternative and eventually the dragon tires of his game. He finishes his glass and then throws Kíli one more bit of melon before pulling the archer to his feet. The dwarf stumbles slightly, his knees stiff from kneeling on the stone, and before he can catch his balance, Smaug leans down to kiss him once again.

One hand tangles in Kíli's hair while the other wraps around his waist to draw him closer, his captor pulling him in until he's straddling one of the dragon's enormous thighs. Everything about Smaug makes the dwarf feel overpowered and uncomfortably tiny compared to his captor but that doesn't stop him from moaning when his cock rubs against the dragon's skin.

For Smaug's thigh is hot and smooth between Kíli's legs, the archer's hips jerking forward helplessly. The dragon takes advantage of his captive's groan to invade his mouth, that forked tongue strange and foreign as it strokes across his lips. Kíli wants to bite down hard and tear it from the dragon's body, anything to make Smaug stop touching him, but his captor does not allow him the chance to try anything. Instead he pulls the dwarf forward, lifting his leg until Kíli's feet come off the ground and he's forced to ride his captor's thigh whether he wishes to or not.

The dragon teases him, claws stroking across Kíli's ass and down between his legs even as something shoves the dildo deeper into him. He'd almost forgotten about the toy in the midst of Smaug's onslaught, one faint bit of pleasure disappearing in the rest. But he remembers the dildo now that sparks are dancing across his vision and the dwarf is almost too far gone to wonder how Smaug is fucking him with both hands occupied.

It would be so easy to lose himself in the dragon's touch, Smaug's every breath stolen from the archer's lungs. However, Kíli has always been too curious for his own good so he reaches one hand behind him, groping blindly until he finds what he seeks.

Oh, fuck, it's his tail, Kíli realizes as his fingers touch smooth scales and skin, Smaug smirking against his captive's mouth when the dwarf jerks back in surprise. Because the movement pushes the dragon's tail and the dildo in even deeper, the archer's gasp of horror turning into a moan instead.

But while he can deal with the groping and the shame of being fed and even the fucking tail if he has to, Kíli's control snaps when Smaug wraps warm fingers around his cock and starts stroking him. Because what the dwarf can't deal with any longer is his body's traitorous response to his captor's stimulation and the thought of making the dragon angry is suddenly much less important than getting the fuck away from here. Kíli can't sit here and let Smaug jerk him off like this screwed up shit is normal even if it hurts his chances of escaping later on.

A burst of panicked strength breaks the dragon's grip, Kíli tumbling off Smaug's lap with a cry. The fall rips his captor's tail from his body, scales drawing a dozen lines of fire against the archer's skin as he starts to bleed internally. Then the dwarf lands hard on the stone, hard enough that he'll have bruises later, and yet this pain barely even registers.

There's still nowhere to run, nowhere for Kíli to go but over the edge of the dragon's balcony, but he scrambles to his feet anyway. Because the archer would rather throw himself off that cliff than stay where he is right now.

Yet for all his swiftness compared to others of his kindred, Kíli barely makes it five feet before he's thrown down to the stone again.

“Let me go!” the archer screams, kicking wildly at the tail wrapped around his ankle until a knee slams into his back. Even if Smaug weren't three times his size, the dwarf can't get any leverage with which to fight him, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the floor instead.

The dragon doesn't say anything, just lets his captive struggle until his panic fades into exhaustion, and then lays one possessive hand on Kíli's head. “Are you done, my darling? If you continue in this manner, you will only hurt yourself further and I would not see you bleed while in my care.”

“Fuck you, you crazy bastard,” Kíli snarls, twisting to glare up at Smaug as best he can. “What do you care if I'm bleeding? You're just going to fuck me to death anyway.”

For one brief moment, his captor actually looks hurt by the dwarf's accusation, flinching back as though Kíli had managed to land a blow on him. But then Smaug's eyes narrow, his face twisting in fury as he presses the archer hard against the stone. The dwarf can't hold back a groan when his ribs creak beneath the pressure, every cut and bruise making its presence known now that the rush of adrenaline is wearing off.

“I don't want to hurt you,” Smaug hisses, something primal inside of Kíli cringing at the rage within his voice. “I want to love you and adore you as no one ever has before. But while I truly admire your fire and your spirit, you cannot be allowed to spit such poison without consequence, and I will hurt you if that is what you demand of me.”

With every word, the dragon's voice deepens until the dwarf can feel it in his bones, his survival instincts screaming when one clawed hand pulls his head back by the hair. “I can fuck you now if you so desire. Rip your body open until you're good for nothing but carrion and you bleed out within the week. Is that what you really want, my darling? Do you hate me so much that you'd rather die rough and painfully?”

Kíli wants to say yes; he wants to say yes and force Smaug to kill him before this goes any further, but it wouldn't be the truth. The archer doesn't want to die; he's not ready to give up on living even if he doesn't want to live like this.

However, his captor takes the dwarf's paralyzed indecision as an affirmative, slamming his head against the stone until Kíli's seeing stars again. “Well, my love, if you're determined to reject my gifts so foolishly then I have no more choice in this. You mean nothing if you will not love me and I might as well take some pleasure in return for the pain you've caused.”

Smaug forces Kíli's legs apart, allowing the dragon to reach down and rip the dildo out of him. There's a low thud as his captor throws the toy aside, the rough removal causing a new wave of blood to run down the inside of the archer's thighs. But whatever pain Kíli's feeling is nothing compared to what he knows is coming and terror threatens to overwhelm the dwarf again when Smaug lifts his ass into the air.

The archer's face is still pressed against the stone, Smaug nothing more than a shadow in the corner of his eye, but the lack of vision just makes the anticipation worse. Because now all Kíli can focus on is the burning ache in his shoulders and the terrible vulnerability that washes over him when Smaug spreads him open and slides something massive across his slick and bleeding hole.

It doesn't feel like a cock even though the dwarf is certain that's what it must be. But it's too large for the shape to register properly, larger than anything that Kíli has ever taken, and his whole body screams with agony when Smaug starts to push.

So Kíli struggles even though he knows it's useless and then he does the only thing he can, “Stop! Please, stop! Please! I'm sorry; I don't want to die. I just want to go home; I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

The dwarf is ready to cry with relief when the dragon draws back, the hand holding down his head moving to cradle it instead. “Oh, my love; my pet. This is your home now and the sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be. So you're going to let me take care of you, aren't you? You're going to let me show you the pleasure I can bring.”

Kíli can't bring himself to say yes, not when a pit of shame has opened within his heart at his begging, but he's certain that the dragon will not stop again. His captor has already given the dwarf more second chances than he might have reasonably expected from a psycho and so Kíli just nods once instead. Tacit permission, given more from fear than any real desire, but that's enough for his captor to be pleased.

“Good boy; you're so good, my darling,” Smaug murmurs, planting soft kisses down the line of Kíli's back. “So beautiful and so strong; I chose well when I chose you.”

Although the archer's terror had destroyed the arousal he was feeling before he tried to run, Smaug is patient with his captive now. Indeed the dragon's anger has disappeared completely and he touches the dwarf like a lover, sweet and gentle until Kíli's length stirs between his legs again. This time the archer forces himself to remain still when Smaug's hand wraps around him, rough calluses quickly stroking him fully erect again.

It's easier to take now; easier to keep from moving when the dwarf reminds himself that this is the price of living in the bargain that he's made. Kíli tells himself that it's okay to enjoy this until he almost believes it, almost doesn't hate himself for thrusting into the dragon's hand.

Smaug is as good at this as he is at kissing, his grip just tight enough to make the dwarf's nerves sing with every stroke. And his captor teases, drawing back Kíli's foreskin to trace sharp claws over the head of his dick and sucking bruises into the archer's hip. The dragon's hand is large enough to wrap around his length from root to tip, his strokes made slick with spit and pre-come until Kíli's world narrows down to the hot passage that he can't help but thrust into. There's just heat and pressure and a rising wave of desire until something wet slides up the inside of Kíli's thigh.

“Fuck!” the dwarf groans as Smaug's tongue laps up every trace of blood upon his skin, each touch moving a little higher until the dragon is licking along the curve Kíli's ass. The archer's whole body shakes when that wicked tongue dips inside his entrance and soon he's caught between the hand on his cock and the fire growing inside of him.

Slow licks at first, soft almost fleeting touches that make the dwarf's hole flutter and his hips jerk back. Then harder strokes, strong fingers holding Kíli still as Smaug pushes him open inexorably, pushes deeper and deeper until the archer doesn't know whether he wants to escape this torture or beg for more of it.

He's forgotten who's pulling these reactions from his body, forgotten everything but the desire coursing through his veins like molten steel. So the dwarf just moans louder when that tongue finds his sweet spot, dancing over it until Kíli's voice rises in a shriek and he comes harder than he ever has before. Every muscle goes taut and then boneless, the archer collapsing onto the stone as he tries to catch his breath.

For one brief moment, Kíli feels fantastic, every nerve tingling as though he found the Grey Havens but his contentment does not last.

How can it when Smaug is murmuring endearments into his shoulder, stroking the dwarf's hair like he's a favored pet who just learned something difficult? So Kíli doesn't feel anything but a sick sense of disgrace as the dragon licks his captive's seed off his fingers as though it's ambrosia, evidence that he surrendered instead of fought. Kíli is a Son of Durin; he should have died before allowing Smaug to touch him – before allowing myself to enjoy it - and the archer curls onto his side with a choked back sob.

But the dragon doesn't allow Kíli to wallow for more than second before he climbs back to his feet. Smaug pulls the dwarf up with him, leading his captive to a bath chamber and ordering him to wash. And the dwarf obeys because there are still no other options, though he's certain that his days of feeling clean are gone.

---

Kíli doesn't try to run again.

He thinks about it; Valar, but he thinks about it every time Smaug lays a hand on him. But nothing has changed – the dragon has more than proved that fighting's hopeless and until the dwarf grows wings, running won't get him very far.

However, even if Kíli had been willing to risk it, he never gets the chance to try because Smaug learned his lesson about leaving the archer unsupervised. Indeed his captor is always with him during the day, always touching the dwarf so that he cannot forget where he belongs. The dragon feeds Kíli at every meal, the only food he receives that which he takes from Smaug's fingers, and it seems that hunger is stronger than even a Durin's stubbornness.

After that first morning, Smaug never asks Kíli about his preferences, simply pushing the archer down to kneel by his chair until the meal is through. The dragon's iron grip on his captive's shoulder warns Kíli not to struggle, although truthfully, the dwarf is usually too busy trying not to moan to think of it.

Because his days always begin with Smaug bending him over the dining table and shoving another dildo deep into his ass. They get a little bigger each time, a little wider and a little longer, and Kíli is trying not to think about where this pattern ends. For while he's managed to accept all of the dragon's toys so far, they've barely finished the first row of Smaug's damn cabinet and the dildos are already larger than any cock that the dwarf has ever had inside of him.

Kíli had never been a size queen – he generally preferred skillful lovers over ones with hammers in their pants – and he doesn't know how much more he can manage before he breaks entirely. It's just too much, the archer's nerves rubbed raw from the constant stimulation and Smaug only allowing his captive to come when it pleases him.

The dragon had brought out the cock ring that first evening once the dwarf had finished washing, stroking Kíli back to hardness and then snapping the fucking thing on him without another word. Because of course Smaug hadn't felt the need to explain himself and the archer wasn't about to ask his captor anything right then. So he just bit his lip and took it as Smaug grabbed him by the hips and drove the end of his tail back inside his entrance, silken scales teasing mercilessly at his inner walls.

It should have hurt, should have torn at skin already bleeding, but that wasn't the case at all because somehow the dwarf's injuries had been healed by the time that he dried off. In fact, Kíli has been healing must faster ever since then, not his aches or his soreness, but anything that draws blood from underneath his skin.

“You are my mate,” his captor explains once the archer finally works up the nerve to ask him, “You are my mate and a dragon's mate must heal as a dragon does.”

Smaug doesn't actually tell Kíli how it works beyond reminding him that his father was a wizard, but as much as the dwarf hates to take anything from his captor, he needs this gift right now. For despite Smaug's surprising gentleness at times, he is still a dragon and he likes to use his claws.

He draws crimson lines down the archer's back while they're kissing, digs his teeth into his captive's hips to keep him still, and flares the spines of his tail within the dwarf's passage when Kíli dares to call him by his name. Which is often because naming the dragon Master is one line that the archer cannot bring himself to cross.

Yet while such treatment should have left Kíli a patchwork quilt of agony, his wounds begin to fade almost instantly and without the threat of real damage, Kíli finds he like the pain. The sharpness grounds him in his body, anchors him so that the pleasure can build higher, and the first time that Smaug sinks his fangs into Kíli's neck, the dwarf actually blacks out from the force of his release. Even the cock ring cannot stop him this time, Kíli's orgasm overtaking him before he remembers that he does not have permission and as soon as he regains consciousness, the dwarf knows that Smaug will punish him for this.

Because Kíli wakes on top of the dining table, one limb chained to each corner, and there is no mercy in the smile that his captor pins him with. Desire, yes; love, adoration and an overwhelming jealousy, but the dwarf does not think that he will ever see mercy in those eyes.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look,” Smaug murmurs while maneuvering the archer to his liking and then locking his knees apart with a spreader bar. “You will be even more beautiful once your tan fades completely for I know that you will glow from within like the brightest gemstone of my treasure trove, all ivory skin against rich mahogany. But your beauty does not negate the need for discipline and you must learn to control your impulses. You must learn that I am the source of all things: food, shelter and most certainly your pleasure, and if you dare to spill your seed without permission, I will remind you of this truth emphatically.”

The dragon walks over to his cabinet, contemplating his choices for a minute before selecting a dildo half again as large as the one inside the dwarf right now. The sight of it strikes Kíli mute with a dreadful anticipation, Smaug stroking his hip as one might soothe a panicked horse.

“Easy, my love; it will be all right. I know this is a little bigger than what you're used to, but I know that you can manage it. And perhaps this will remind you how patient I have been with your frailties; how kind I've been to prepare you in such small increments.”

Smaug reaches into Kíli's ass and pulls out the toy that's been in him since he woke up that morning, setting the dildo aside carefully. Then he lubes up its replacement as his captive watches, Kíli unable to stop himself from tensing when the dragon slides this new dildo between his cheeks and nudges at his hole. The dwarf has never been any judge of dimension when not archery related but this toy must be at least twelve inches and it feels like more when Smaug begins to push it into him.

His captor is less gentle than usual, giving Kíli no chance to adjust to the intrusion as the dildo tears him up inside. The stretch is too fast, too sharp to be pleasant, and yet the pain fades quickly – whatever damage Smaug is causing healed by his strange magic – so that it's almost a relief when the dragon pushes the last inch of the toy inside.

Almost because Smaug angles the dildo until it's pressed right against the archer's prostate and then steps back to admire his handiwork. The dragon looks Kíli over with a lascivious gleam that makes the dwarf blush scarlet despite everything that his captor has already done to him.

But Smaug had generally been behind the archer before now and Kíli finds his attentions far easier to deal with when he doesn't have to look the dragon in the eye. Like this he feels exposed, his captor's gaze sliding across his bare skin like a brand and cataloging every little twitch of the dwarf's body as it responds to the aching fullness of the toy inside of him.

By now the tears in his ass have healed completely, leaving only the pressure and the pleasure, and the archer hates that Smaug can see exactly how it's affecting him. But as much as Kíli hates the smugness of his captor's smile, he forgets about his audience entirely when the dragon pulls a remote from his pocket and switches the dildo on. The dwarf arches off the table violently, his body snapping taut as though Smaug had stabbed a live wire beneath his skin and only the chains around his wrists keep him from thrashing wildly.

“I'm afraid that I must leave you now, my love,” the dragon says distantly, his words barely comprehensible over the rushing in Kíli's ears. “There are some errands that I have to take care of and thus you will have plenty of time to think on your mistakes.”

Smaug presses a soft kiss to the archer's forehead and then leaves him alone for the first time in days, the silence broken only by his helpless moans and the buzzing of the vibrator inside of him. His captor must have it on the highest setting since the dildo is practically jack-hammering against his prostate and soon Kíli is coming despite the cock ring he still wears.

Only the toy doesn't stop even as the dwarf writhes beneath the constant pressure, his dick nursed back to hardness far more quickly than he'd like. His erection almost hurts now for Kíli has never come twice in such close succession and the third time tips him over into agony.

So the archer yanks at his bonds, trying desperately to find any leverage that will ease the burning throb beneath his skin. But the bar between his legs keeps the vibrator locked exactly where Smaug placed it and no matter how Kíli twists against his cuffs, he cannot get them off. If they were less padded, the dwarf would have rubbed himself raw already, his nerves so oversensitive that the pleasure doesn't register as anything but pain.

However, that doesn't stop his cock from rising, Kíli's body protesting every twitch that the dildo pulls from him. It takes longer this time; the archer knows that much even if he's long since lost all sense of the minutes passing by. But eventually the sheer unrelenting pressure against his prostate draws another orgasm out of him.

Kíli can't keep from screaming then, his body jerking weakly as a tiny dribble of come spills onto his thigh. Because it hurts, hurts as much as any wound the dwarf has ever taken, and the dwarf would give anything to make it stop right now.

He doesn't know how long he lays there on the table, though it's long enough that his shoulders start aching from the awkward stretch and his seed dries into a crusty mess across his skin. It's long enough that Kíli can't even get hard anymore and unconsciousness starts to seem like a beautiful escape.

Yet now the dwarf's own stubbornness is working against him because he's trained his body to stay awake at any cost. Kíli hadn't trusted Smaug not to take advantage if he passed out, perhaps a strange concern considering everything that he's allowed already but remaining awake was the one bit of control that he still had.

At least the dwarf would be aware to resist his captor's torment and even now he can't let go of consciousness. All Kíli can do is endure, helpless tears running down his cheeks as his whole body shakes with exhaustion, and eventually he starts praying for the dragon to come back. Smaug's return means the end of his current torture and Kíli would happily accept whatever new game his captor brings with him for the chance to rest.

Though a few hours later, the archer's not even praying, his fugue so deep that everything is dark and fuzzy around the edges of his sight. He's so far gone that he doesn't react when a large hand comes to rest on his stomach, holding him down until his twitching stops.

However, the world snaps back into sharp focus once Smaug finally turns off the vibrator, the sudden absence of sensation like a bucket of ice upon his skin. Kíli moans weakly, his voice gone from screaming hours past. The dwarf cannot stop the wince when the dragon removes the spreader bar from between his knees and unsnaps the cuffs from his wrists. Lowering his arms hurts more than leaving them where they were and by the time the ache finally starts to subside, the dwarf is on the edge of tears again.

Smaug has pushed the archer to his limits before but he's never pushed Kíli so far past them and he hadn't known that the lack of pain could be such a relief. It's enough to make him start sobbing and he turns his face away to hide his weakness from the dragon, focusing on pulling himself off the table and back to his feet.

But the moment that the dwarf puts weight on them, his legs crumble underneath him, the muscles too stiff and numb to hold him anymore. Only Smaug's quick catch saves Kíli from slamming his head against the table, the dragon sweeping him into his arms without missing a beat.

“I hate you, you bastard,” the archer whispers even as he curls into the warmth of his captor's body and tries to pretend that he's not finding comfort there.

But Smaug just laughs and murmurs, “No you don't, my darling. You're simply exhausted and you need to rest right now.”

The worst of it is, the dragon's right. Because while Kíli hates what his captor does to him, hates the possessiveness and the way that he's started to ache when left empty, he's finding it increasingly difficult to hate Smaug himself. The dragon is too earnest in his entreaties, too apologetic whenever the dwarf needs to be punished for Kíli to believe that he isn't loved. Smaug is so gentle with him, soothing his hurts so carefully that the archer keeps forgetting that he's the cause of them as well.

With every day that passes, it becomes easier to believe that Kíli's family isn't coming and if he's truly stuck here at his captor's mercy, shouldn't he try to make the best of it? It's not as though he isn't fed and sheltered, Smaug seeing to Kíli's every pleasure before thinking of his own.

And the dragon is intelligent, his varied interests making him a fine companion with whom to spend the days. Smaug enjoys talking to the dwarf while he's recovering from their latest bout together and who could blame Kíli for starting to respond? There's no one else around for the archer to spend time with and Kíli has always been the type who needs social interaction to stay on an even keel.

If all his captor wants in return is a tiny surrender, right now – fucked out and dead with exhaustion – that doesn't seem like much to ask. Which is why the dwarf allows himself to enjoy the strength of the dragon's arms around him, savoring the way that Smaug can carry his weight without struggling.

After all, there's no reason Kíli shouldn’t show his appreciation when Smaug's happiness will make his life so much easier and this doesn't mean that he's going to give up on escape entirely. It's just a small concession, barely even worth noting really, and if the dwarf tells himself this lie enough, maybe he'll learn to see the truth in it. Yet even Kíli's shame isn't as sharp as it once was whenever his captor touches him.

So the archer is dozing lightly by the time Smaug pushes open the door to his chamber and he mutters disgruntledly when he's laid down upon the bed. Though Kíli's mutters turn into a moan when the dragon spreads his legs and taps the end of the vibrator still buried in his ass, waiting until the dwarf's groan stops bouncing off the walls before he begins removing it.

Kíli doesn't make it easy, his body clenching around the toy as though to keep it where it is. But Smaug keeps pulling despite the dwarf's resistance and in truth, it's not the pain that bothers Kíli, even though his ass burns as the hard plastic slides across raw skin. It's the emptiness that threatens to make the archer shatter, the ache left behind where the dildo was buried deep in him.

“Please, don't...” Kíli begs, grabbing his captor's arm when the dragon turns to leave. The dwarf can't quite bring himself to ask for what he's really craving, to admit how much he wants his ass stuffed full again, but Smaug reads between the lines of shame in Kíli's voice.

“Ssh, my love, there is no need for panic; I will not leave you empty now,” the dragon says, stroking one hand through the archer's hair. Smaug sets the vibrator aside before pulling the dwarf's legs open wider and Kíli lets out a sob of relief when his captor's tail slips inside of him. The familiar girth is comforting even as the dragon pushes deeper than he ever has before, Kíli's hole clenching around him desperately. His entrance doesn't accept the intrusion so much as demand it, the ache in his gut only easing when he's full once more.

“Thank you,” the dwarf murmurs softly as sleep finally claims him, exhaustion overwhelming his attempts to hold the darkness back.

---

Kíli wakes to warmth around his cock and four fingers thrusting into him.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans as Smaug's tongue wraps around his shaft, pushing his hips back onto the dragon's hand. But Kíli's focus is on the tight heat around his dick for while Smaug has never done this before, he does it masterfully: teasing, licking, humming and swallowing the dwarf down easily.

So by the time the archer remembers where he is, it's too late to take back the permission that his body's given and in truth, he doesn't want to anyway. He feels different this morning, more settled or perhaps more honest about his desires, and it suddenly seems silly to deny the way that Smaug makes him feel.

While their beginning was inauspicious, the dragon makes Kíli's body sing as no other lover ever has, and he doesn't know if he'd be able to sleep with someone else again. How could he when his ass is stretched so wide that he'd need two partners just to feel it and who would want to fuck such a loose hole anyway? For the gift his captor gave him does nothing for the stretching, not when the dragon always leaves the dildos in him long enough for any tears to heal. He's been broken open, his body remade around each intrusion until he's new again.

In fact, yesterday's dildo must have been larger than Kíli'd thought because all four of Smaug's fingers are sliding into his ass without resistance, the penetration welcomed eagerly. The archer had always enjoyed being fucked but the dragon has made him crave it and when the top of Smaug's hand teases at the rim of Kíli's entrance, he tilts his hips up with a sigh.

The thought of further stretching doesn't scare him anymore; it may hurt but the pleasure will be worth it and the dwarf knows that Smaug will take care of him. The dragon needs Kíli; he needs a mate who can take all that he has to give without shattering completely – someone who will adapt and stretch and scream for more instead. Besides, Smaug loves the archer and even if Kíli doesn't yet return the strength of his feelings, he thinks he could learn to feel the same in time.

But for now the dwarf just wants to be given a proper reaming and when Smaug keeps teasing at his entrance, Kíli can't hold back a growl.

“Just shove it in there,” he orders as firmly as he can manage in the middle of a blow job. “Shove your fist inside me and fuck me 'til I scream.”

To which the dragon murmurs, “Oh, my darling, all you had to do was ask.”

Smaug pushes the archer's knees against his chest with one hand and then twists the fingers of the other into his lover's twitching hole. In this position, Kíli can't do anything to control the speed of penetration, his ass raised high and vulnerable to his captor's whims.

However, it seems that Smaug's seemingly endless patience has run out and he's finished teasing now. Because the dragon just thrusts his hand forward, slow and steady until Kíli's ass has swallowed his palm entirely. The stretch burns inside the archer, his lover's hand so much wider than any of his dildos, and he digs his nails into his thighs as his entrance slowly gives.

Smaug never lets up, never pulls back long enough for Kíli to recover his composure, and the dwarf's body has no resistance left when the dragon's thumb finally presses into him.

All he can do is gasp his captor's name, the sound faint and pleading before it's swallowed by Smaug's mouth. Kíli throws himself into the kiss, clutching at the dragon's shoulders to ground his body amidst the pleasure and the pain as his hips shift to accommodate the new pressure that his lover's thumb provides. Smaug is wedging Kíli open, creating a space for himself that no one else could ever fill, and yet the only thing the archer wants is more.

For the dragon's hand blazes like a brand within him, smooth skin and rough scales teasing at his senses even as his entrance clenches spasmodically around his lover's wrist. And then Smaug curls his fingers into a fist one by one before ramming Kíli hard.

The dwarf screams then, throws his head back and wails as his lover's fist slams into his prostate and fireworks go off behind his eyes. Smaug pushes in a little deeper with every thrust, fucking the archer as rough and hard as he had asked. Soon Kíli can't feel anything but the pleasure of it, all his senses focused on the fist and forearm driving into his body until he's ready to scream again.

But despite the fire in his veins and the way his cock is throbbing, the archer cannot come. Kíli cannot come because he doesn't have permission, although the dwarf also can't remember why that's important now. He just knows it is, that this is the one rule he will not break again.

So Kíli starts begging, broken moans spilling from his lips whenever Smaug lets him breathe again. Yet his lover doesn't say anything even as Kíli's pleas become more frantic, the dragon increasing his pace until he's shoving his captive halfway up the bed with every thrust.

“Master, please!” Kíli finally shouts when his lover pauses to grind against his prostate one more time, Smaug's free hand wrapping around the archer's cock. For the dwarf is beyond caring about his pride or this last concession and the moment that these words leave Kíli's lips, the dragon leans down to kiss him tenderly.

“You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear those words, my darling,” Smaug murmurs, giving the dwarf one of the sweetest smiles that he has ever seen, “Now come for me.”

And Kíli does, his body jerking as though the dragon flipped a switch within him before he spills into his lover's hand. His release seems to last forever and when it's finished, Smaug brings his slick fingers up to Kíli's lips, the dwarf sucking them into his mouth eagerly.

He licks them clean, tongue chasing every remnant of his own seed until all he can taste is his master's smoky heat again. The dwarf hadn't realized how much he's missed having something between his lips to suck on, Smaug's attention rather more focused on his ass than his mouth. But now Kíli wants to be stuffed full completely, every hole used and claimed until he's dripping with it, and when Smaug's tail replaces his fingers, Kíli groans happily.

This is bliss; the archer doesn't need anything but his master's hand pressed deep inside him and smooth scales against his tongue. But as much as the dwarf would love to lose himself in the dual sensations running through his body, the realization that his lover has yet to find his own pleasure shocks him awake again.

“You haven't come,” Kíli chokes out around the end of the dragon's tail. “Please, I want to see you come. Please let me get you off.”

Now that the archer thinks about it, Smaug has never come during any of their sessions, his cock standing tall and massive until he leaves Kíli to clean up. But while the dwarf had been relieved by this before, now the thought of his master jerking off without him seems unthinkable. Because Kíli wants to do it; he wants to wrap his hands around the dragon's cock and worship him as he deserves.

Being the only one to come makes the dwarf feel too much like a plaything, like a toy that Smaug only takes out when he's bored, and if this is Kíli's life now, he wants a more balanced scale of give and take. Smaug may be his master but the archer is his mate and he wants to prove that he can make the dragon fall apart just as skillfully as his lover shatters him. But Smaug grabs Kíli's hands when the dwarf tries to touch him, holding him still and shaking his head regretfully.

“No, my love. While I truly appreciate your concern, you will not see me come until I am buried deep inside you and we are mated true. Yet it won't be long now; you are almost ready for my long-held dream to become reality.”

Kíli lets out a mew of disappointment at his master's refusal, tugging against Smaug's grip in an attempt to reach his cock anyway. But then the dragon's tail slides under the dwarf's knees and around his torso, and Kíli forgets all about his disappointment when he's lifted from the bed. For Smaug's hand is still inside him and every step makes it shift against his inner walls deliciously.

Indeed the dwarf is already hard again – and really this must be a side effect of the dragon's magic because Kíli hasn't has such a short recovery period since he was a horny dwarrowling – and he can't resist the urge to stroke himself leisurely. There's no intent in it since the archer does not plan to come again until there's a cock inside him, but it gives Kíli a heady sense of power to see the way that Smaug's eyes keep flicking back to him. His master is watching him as though the dwarf is his greatest treasure and if the dragon hadn't known his chambers well, he might have walked into a wall.

But Smaug just carries Kíli over to the toy cabinet, pausing there to remove his enormous golden dildo from pride of place on the shelf. With this prize in one hand and his dwarf in the other, Smaug walks down another tunnel, stopping before the enormous wooden door that Kíli has wondered about from time to time.

Up close, the door is even more impressive than the archer had first thought: polished and gleaming with lines of gold inlaid in the carved mahogany, and Kíli can't deny that his heart flutters slightly at the sheer craftsmanship. However, the dwarf only has a moment to admire the carvings before his master pushes the door open with one hand, moving it easily even though Kíli would barely be able to budge the door with all his strength.

Indeed the opening that's revealed is massive enough that Smaug doesn't have to duck his head when walks through it and the room beyond is all lush decadence. There are wall-length mirrors everywhere and glittering mithril fixtures, more of that rare metal than the dwarf has ever seen. And then there is the bed, thick and soft and large enough to hold both Kíli and his master easily.

However, Smaug carries the archer over to a low wooden bench instead, carefully pulling his fist from Kíli's body and setting him aside. The dwarf curls up on the floor, enjoying the chill of the stone against his flushed skin as his master locks the golden dildo into an indentation on the bench in front of him. Right now the archer's curiosity about Smaug's intentions is stronger than his desire, though Kíli doesn't know how long he'll be able to fight off the emptiness.

But before the dwarf can become too desperate, his master lifts him from the floor again. The dragon cradles Kíli against his chest, guiding the tip of the dildo to the archer's entrance before lowering him down.

With his master's hands beneath his knees, Smaug is the only thing supporting Kíli and when the dragon lets go, gravity takes hold. This dildo is the largest yet, larger even than his lover's fist and the speed of penetration leaves Kíli gasping in agony.

Because gravity pulls him down without mercy, the dwarf held steady by Smaug's hands on his shoulders as the dildo shoves aside everything its path. The gold is hard and unyielding, a line of pressure pushing through his stomach and up into his chest. Kíli can feel the outline of the shaft through his skin when he presses one hand to his abdomen, panting breaths quick and shallow as he waits for his body to adjust. He can't think, can't speak, can't do anything but endure this torment until Smaug grants him a reprieve.

But even though such a depth of penetration should have left the dwarf with permanent damage, the ripping pain inside him doesn't last, agony somehow transmuting to ecstasy instead.

The archer has never felt so full, so owned and treasured by anyone and he lets his head loll back against his master's chest. His whole body is throbbing, the shock of the intrusion disappearing beneath an endless need for more. More pressure, more friction, more everything, and Kíli groans deep in his throat when Smaug lifts him up again.

His lover fucks him slowly at first, raising the dwarf a little higher off the dildo with every stroke even as Kíli's entrance refuses to let the metal go. But just as the archer has begun to lose himself in the rhythm, his master stops suddenly.

“Fuck yourself,” the dragon murmurs into Kíli's neck. “Fuck yourself for me.”

However, the dwarf is too far gone to do anything but moan in answer and so Smaug tucks his legs underneath his body for him until he's kneeling on the bench. Then his master turns Kíli by the chin to kiss him, sucking on his tongue and biting at the dwarf's bottom lip. The dragon kisses him until his head is spinning before ordering the archer to fuck himself again.

So Kíli does, or at least he starts to, but then he catches sight of his image in one of the many mirrors around them and he freezes, horrified. The dwarf hasn't seen his own reflection since Smaug grabbed him off the street all those weeks ago and he doesn't like what he's seeing now. Kíli looks like a whore, naked and covered with marks left by his master, cock hard and dripping between his legs. But what makes the archer ask himself what the fuck he thinks he's doing here is the gold dildo buried in his ass.

The dwarf can see the line of it even at this distance, his stomach distended visibly, and Kíli hadn't realized that he'd been stretched so far. While he'd known that Smaug was pushing him far beyond his former limits, somehow seeing that monstrosity disappear inside him drives the point home as nothing has before.

Because the dildo shouldn't fit; it's half as large as the archer's entire body and taking it should be impossible. Yet now that the pain has faded, all Kíli feels is hunger. Hunger and desire and the need for something even larger and the dwarf suddenly hates what his master's done to him.

Smaug has turned him into a thing, a needy desperate thing that wants to be fucked more than he wants anything else in the world. Even now Kíli can feel his dick protesting the lack of movement, his body demanding something that he doesn't want to give. The dwarf doesn't want to be this person; he doesn't want to be just a hole for Smaug to fuck and yet he's suddenly terrified that that's exactly what he is.

His master can't really love him – look at him, he's hideous – and even if his body wants it, Kíli can't participate in this charade anymore.

“What's wrong, my pet? You were doing so well for me,” Smaug murmurs, pressing closer to the archer and wrapping strong arms around his chest.

“Please, love. Please tell me what's wrong,” his master pleads and to Kíli's horror, he finds himself bursting into tears. The dwarf doesn't know what's wrong with him; he shouldn't be crying because his kidnapper doesn't love him, but now that he's started, he can't seem to stop.

“Look at me,” Kíli sobs, hiding his face in his hands. “You've turned me into a sideshow freak and what's going to happen when you don't want me anymore?”

Even as the archer says the words, he knows that they're ridiculous, and yet logic doesn't seem to matter now. All that matters is his sudden fear of being abandoned, of being thrown away now that Smaug is his whole world.

“No, darling, I love you and you're beautiful,” his master protests but Kíli doesn't want to hear it, shoving off the dragon's hand with a sharp, “Don't lie to me!”

“I have never lied to you.” Smaug's voice is harsher now, the last word ending with a hiss as he grabs Kíli by the jaw and forces the dwarf to look at him. “Listen to me. You have changed, yes, but those changes do not make you hideous. Because all I see when I look at you is perfection; you are perfection, you are beautiful, and you are the only mate for me.”

“Really?” Kíli whispers, his sobs easing slightly when his master's words finally register. Yet the archer can't quite believe that the dragon actually means it and when Smaug turns him toward the mirror, the dwarf tries to flinch away.

“Look at yourself,” Smaug orders, holding his lover in place until he has to open his eyes once more. To be honest, Kíli still thinks that he looks terrible and the fact that he's still hard only makes him feel more disgusting, but part of his heart wants so dearly to believe that Smaug sees beauty here.

“When I watch you, you take my breath away,” the dragon murmurs, stroking one hand down the line of the dildo where it presses against the archer's skin. “You've taken so much, so much more than anyone else has ever managed, and your body wants me to stretch you even more. You're so strong for me; so strong and supple beneath my hands and I will never become tired of you, my darling; how could I when you were made for me?

“Because you're so gorgeous when you're begging, when I'm stretching your entrance beyond what should be possible. You're my gorgeous perfect mate and I think that you could even take my dragon form. Would you like that, darling? Would you like to feel the very essence of my spirit buried deep inside of you?”

With every word, Kíli feels a little more confident, a little surer of the dragon's honesty. For while the dwarf doesn't look normal anymore, no normal lover could ever hope to touch him the way his master does. And the archer does want it; he wants to feel scales against his back and claws against his body as Smaug shifts inside of him. He wants to be Smaug's mate – heart and mind and body; he wants to own the dragon as much as his dragon now owns him.

So this time when his master says, “Please my dear, tell me you understand. Fuck yourself on this gleaming treasure and know that you're beautiful,” Kíli does as the dragon asks. I am beautiful, the dwarf thinks, watching the way that the golden dildo moves beneath his skin.

“I am beautiful and I am yours,” Kíli says, meeting Smaug's gaze and flushing at the heat that he sees there. It warms him like a caress and while the archer hadn't thought that he could get any harder, he manages somehow. But despite the dwarf's best efforts, the dildo is so large that he cannot pull off of it completely and the slow slide of it within him isn't enough to find release. Instead each stroke just makes Kíli more frantic, more desperate for Smaug to finish him.

“Please, Master, I need you. Please, I just want to feel you inside of me,” the archer babbles and eventually the dragon gives into his pleas. Smaug kisses the dwarf fiercely as he lifts him off the dildo, pressing one hand against Kíli's stomach to ease the ache of loss.

“It's all right, my love, you won't be empty long. It's finally time for us to mate properly.” These words do little to stop Kíli's squirming, Smaug's promise only fanning the fire of anticipation underneath his skin. So the dwarf raises his ass toward Smaug in invitation once he's placed on the edge of the bed, one long stream of desperate begging leaving him. Kíli doesn't know what he's saying anymore – he's not even sure if it's coherent; all the archer knows is that his master needs to fuck him so that he can finally be complete.

“This will hurt again, my darling, but I know that you will accept it as you've accepted everything,” Smaug warns his lover, hands wrapping around Kíli's hips to hold him steady before he begins the long slow thrust inside.

It does hurt, the dwarf's pelvic bone shifting to accommodate the extra girth as Smaug pushes forward relentlessly. But this pain is nothing next to the knowledge that it's his master inside of him and he'd take this agony a thousand times over to know this truth again. He's giving the dragon something that no one else ever has, something that no one else could ever manage, and if his master can just break through his last shred of resistance, Kíli will never be alone again.

And the archer is right because it hurts until it doesn't, his body opening that last tiny increment in a sudden rush of euphoria. Kíli is stretched wide, stretched so full and broken that he cannot even move.

But even though the dwarf is completely vulnerable, helpless to do anything beneath the pressure bearing down on his body, Kíli has never felt more powerful. Because the archer can feel the pulse of Smaug's cock against his inner walls, he can feel the way that the dragon's hands are shaking, and he knows that he's the cause of it.

Kíli is the one making his master – his mate – let out those soft cries of pleasure and he wants to feel Smaug break inside of him. The dwarf wants them to fall apart together, to find completion in each other's bodies, and he clenches around the dragon as best he can.

“Fuck me, Master,” Kíli moans, turning his head to meet Smaug's gaze in the mirror again. This reflection thrills the archer as much as the sight had horrified him earlier, the swell of his stomach a badge of honor now. Because the dragon's hips are flush against Kíli's ass, Smaug three times his size and yet the perfect length inside him, and the dwarf reaches out his hand to grab his master's tail. It had been flicking back and forth wildly as Smaug struggled for control and when the archer sucks one of the soft spines into his mouth, the dragon snaps.

“You will come with my seed inside you,” his lover growls, pulling out until just the tip of his cock is holding Kíli open and then slamming back inside. He shoves the dwarf forward roughly, making Kíli choke on the flesh in his mouth. But the archer just wraps his free hand in the sheets and opens his lips wider, sucking down the dragon's tail as Smaug pounds into him.

“Mine!” His mate snarls with every thrust, the word barely audible over the wet slap of skin on skin. All Kíli can do is hold on for the ride, letting himself go limp as his master drives ever deeper into him. It shouldn't be possible, eventually Smaug should reach the limit of what physical flesh can handle, but Kíli's body just gives and gives and gives until his mind whites out.

There's just the ecstasy of belonging, the pleasure and contentment and the rising wave of all-consuming need. The dwarf's own cock is so hard that every brush against the sheets threatens to overwhelm him, but without permission all he can do is scream.

“Yes... yes... yes...” Kíli groans in counterpoint to his master's litany of possession, the words muffled by the tail pushing down his throat. It's in so deep that the archer is gagging on it, spit and tears streaming down his face. He can't breathe but he doesn't want to if that means the emptiness again and so the dwarf just tries to open his jaw wider, dick throbbing in an ecstasy of pain.

He wants everything, wants Smaug to shove so deep that his tail meets his cock and leaves no inch of him unclaimed. However, his master's rhythm has begun to falter, the smooth thrusts turning jagged as his hands tighten on Kíli's hips.

Another handful of strokes and his mate is coming, seed pouring into the archer in one burning stream. The dwarf convulses as the dragon's seed fills his body, choking on his master's tail as the scalding liquid cleanses him. For Smaug's gift is washing Kíli clean of every other lover, branding the dragon into his bones and body until he can only scream.

The dwarf will never be alone again, never be alone or unwanted as long as he can feel the echo of his mate beneath his skin. So Kíli lets go as his master ordered, trusting that Smaug will protect him as his release slams through his body and sweeps him into unconsciousness.

When he wakes again, the archer is laying on the bed with his sleeping mate curled around him, Smaug's cock soft but still buried in his ass where it belongs. In truth, Kíli has never felt so content as he does in this moment, his entire body tingling with the echoes of his master's pleasure and all the dwarf wants is to feel that bliss once more.

Because there's none of the hollow shame that he felt when splayed out on the table for his punishment, none of the nausea that he used to feel at the thought of Smaug inside of him. For how could there be shame when Kíli's master loves him and has shown the dwarf the heights of ecstasy?

No, this is where Kíli is meant to be; this is where Kíli wants to be and there's no point in thinking about other possibilities. Smaug will take care of him now; Smaug will take care of everything and all the dwarf must do is answer when his master calls. So Kíli snuggles back into the dragon's embrace, resting one hand against the solid length of Smaug's dick inside him before drifting off with a smile on his face.


End