Fic: "Defiled," (1/3) Azog/Bilbo, Bilbo/Thorin, NC-17, NON-CON
Not my usual cup of chai, but the plot bunny bit.
Defiled (1/3)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey AU
Pairing: Azog/Bilbo, Bilbo,Thorin UST
Rating: NC-17, NON-CON
Word Count: Approx. 1500
Disclaimer: JRR is probably spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his beloved Hobbit.
Notes/Warnings: NON-CON. Spoiler-ish, but only if you squint. AU, because I took major liberties with the fight scene at the end of the movie and with the end of the book, basically wondering what would happen if the Eagles hadn't shown up so quickly, what would have happened if the other dwarves hadn't gotten to Bilbo and Thorin in time, and what would have happened had Erebor been retaken.
Summary: Written for the
hobbit_kink prompt: Azog the Defiler finally catches up with the group. He decides to torture Thorin a little but more by, well, defiling his precious halfling and making him watch. Whether Thorin rescues Bilbo or fails is entirely up to author.
Bilbo slays the first orc that comes at him and Thorin, but the pale orc on the white warg isn't so easily slain.
The warg feints at Bilbo, and through some miracle-of the kind that had allowed him to slay that other warg a few minutes earlier-Bilbo swings his sword and squinches his eyes shut as he lands a blow.
The warg goes down with a roar, Bilbo's sword embedded in its left cheek.
The pale orc, Azog springs off its back before the warg even hits the ground, and has Bilbo caught in his grip-lifts him up easily by the throat, until they're eye to eye.
Bilbo would shudder, if he weren't struggling just to breathe.
Azog smiles and says something in orcish . . . something Bilbo's fairly sure he doesn't want to have translated, as those pale eyes look him over and the thin, cruel mouth sneers.
Then Azog's walking toward Thorin, Bilbo struggling and trying to pry the orc's hand off his throat the whole way. He needn't have bothered. Once they're within spitting distance of Thorin, Azog drops Bilbo on the ground next to Thorin.
We're about to die, Bilbo thinks, with an odd and featureless calm. He supposes he's as ready as he'll ever be, though his one regret is that he couldn't save Thorin. . . .
He reaches out and touches Thorin's slack, unconscious face. He supposes it'll be his only chance to ever do so in this life.
Azog gargles out something in orc-speak and laughs, and when Bilbo looks over his shoulder, Azog is . . . he's undoing the ties of the ragged piece of cloth around his waist. Not that that piece of cloth is doing much to conceal the huge hardness underneath.
When the cloth drops to the ground, revealing a cruel spike of hard, pale flesh, Bilbo suddenly understands that death is not likely to be on the menu, just yet. For him or for Thorin.
Then Azog is smiling at him. That smile is an evil promise that makes Bilbo shudder and try to scramble away, toward his sword, which is still buried in the white warg's cheek.
Azog lets him crawl, following after him and laughing.
Bilbo doesn't get very far, however, before the laughter stops and that cruel hand is on his neck, once more, this time pushing his face to the dusty ground.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then Bilbo feels something sharp press against his back and hook into the waistband of his trousers, which are summarily ripped away from his body.
“No!” Bilbo screams and flails. But that does little or nothing to slow down Azog, who Bilbo can sense looming very close behind him. Then there's the press of hot, hairless orc-flesh pressed to his backside, his thighs, and his calves, and Bilbo gags.
Azog presses his erection forward, till it rests just against Bilbi's hole, and . . . this isn't happeneing, this isn't happening . . . he leans down to run his tongue down the auricle of Bilbo's right ear.
“Scream for your dwarf-lover to hear,” he growls, driving his hips forward hard and fast.
And Bilbo does. He screams and screams . . . and screams some more. And before he finally swoons into a half-conscious place where only pain exists, his last thoughts are of Thorin . . . he hopes Thorin survives this, somehow.
And he hopes his own death, after this . . . defilement, is swift and painless.
*
Thorin, aching all over and barely conscious hears heart-rending screams and opens his eyes to a sight that brings him to full consciousness, and will haunt him for the rest of his days.
Bilbo, on his stomach, with Azog kneeling behind him, the burglar's pale, slender thighs pulled up over his own. Azog is snapping his hips forward hard and fast, and each time he does, it drives the halfling's small, limp frame forward . . . only for Azog to pull him back by the hips.
Thorin tries to sit up, despite feeling as if every bone in his body has suffered a break-he tries. But his body won't respond to the commands he gives it, not in any useful way. Meanwhile, those horrible screams have stopped, and Azog is laughing that gravelly, awful orc-laughter. He's gazing over at Thorin with cold curiosity.
“Do you think to save him?” he asks Thorin, smiling almost gently. “I think it's far too late for that,” he grunts, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his entire body stills and he throws back his head and roars, his savage, obscene satisfaction echoing into the pre-dawn air.
“No-” Thorin tries, with one final surge to get to his feet, and it almost works.
Almost.
But instead of his body obeying him, it strains and struggles to get upright before falling back onto it's side, leaving Thorin at even more of a disadvantage. Meanwhile Azog is watching him once more, breathing heavily, but still smiling.
“Now watch, son of Thrain, as I cut his throat.”
Azog grasps Bilbo's head by the hair and pulls it up. Bilbo's face is pale, his eyes closed, as if he's already dead. Azog puts his other arm, the one that's been replaced by knives and daggers, to Bilbo's throat.
"No. . . ." Thorin gasps, his heart seizing in his chest. . . .
At that moment, two things happen:
There's a loud screech from above and to the west of them. And Azog is tackled to the ground by Fili and Kili.
Thorin's heart starts beating again, and he pants dizzily in relief as the trio goes rolling away from Bilbo and a few of the rest of the fellowship wade into the fray against the other, watching orcs and their impatient wargs.
And that screech sounds again, from almost directly above, followed by a large talon coming down and scooping up a still unconscious Bilbo.
Eagles, Thorin thinks, with another wave of relief washing over him. The Eagles have come to save us. . . .
Then he, too, is being scooped up in rough talons. It's all he can do to hold on to Orcrist.
The oaken shield is lost.
*
When next Thorin opens his eyes, it's to Gandalf leaning over him with weary, worried eyes.
“Where's the burglar?” Thorin demands, attempting to sit up, and finding that, while not easy, it is possible. He looks around the sunny outcropping of rocks he finds himself on and sees the whole company standying here and there . . . except for their burglar.
No sign of Bilbo Baggins, whatsoever. And Thorin is about to ask again, when he spots what he'd first taken to be a small pile of their belongings until he remembers: We have no belongings. They're lost to the goblins.
Thorin is up on his feet and approaching that too-small bundle before he realizes he's standing, waving away hands that try to help him, or hold him back.
When he gets to the bundle, he finds that it is their burglar, covered entirely in cloaks and coats, but for his pale, bruised, dusty face. And but for the very slight rise of his chest, Thorin would have thought he was dead.
Thorin hangs his head and closes his eyes, seeing on the backs of his lids what Azog had done to the halfling. He doubts there will come a time when he doesn't see it.
My fault, he thinks heavily, the backs of his eyes stinging. A hand settles on his shoulder, and he shrugs it away. But it comes back, and this time he lets it be. I failed to protect you . . . thought my quest for personal vengeance was more important than the company. And this is the result. . . .
“I thought it best to let him sleep for a while,” Gandalf says quietly. “He needs the rest. And the time to heal.”
“Will he ever?” Thorin asks, opening his eyes to gaze down at Bilbo. He looks like a child, but for the smile lines around his mouth and eyes.
But for what Thorin knows.
“Physically? I believe he'll recover fully. My talents at healing aren't as great as Lord Elrond's but they were adequate to repair much of the physical damage . . . to some extent. The rest will have to heal with time and care.”
Thorin looks up at Gandalf, not even bothering to hide the shine of tears in his eyes. “And his mind? What of that?”
Gandalf's care-worn face looks older than it ever has. “That remains to be seen, Thorin. Bilbo has led a heretofore sheltered life. And yet had he not, he still would have been unprepared to be . . . so violated.” He shakes his head and looks down at Bilbo again. “And I am the one who has brought him to this. I am responsible for what has been done to him.”
Thorin snorts. “Was it your life he was defending, Gandalf? Was it you who ran straight into the Defiler's trap like a fool?” He swallows and kneels at Bilbo's side, brushing lank fringe off his face and leaning down to kiss his forehead. The skin is cool and soft.
“I am sorry I ever doubted you, Bilbo Baggins, and on my life,” he swears grimly. “On my life, I will never let anything or anyone ever hurt you again.”
“You cannot promise that, Thorin,” Gandalf says regretfully. “Not for as long as he's with this company.”
“Yes, I can.” Thorin glances up at Gandalf again. “I'll look after him. Never again will he have to face such dangers, such . . . evil. Never again.” Turning back to Bilbo, Thorin feels under the cloaks and coats for the halfling's hand and takes it, squeezing it tight. It's cold and clammy, and lax in his own. “This I promise.”
Bilbo slumbers on. Thorin supposes that's for the best.
Part II
Defiled (1/3)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey AU
Pairing: Azog/Bilbo, Bilbo,Thorin UST
Rating: NC-17, NON-CON
Word Count: Approx. 1500
Disclaimer: JRR is probably spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his beloved Hobbit.
Notes/Warnings: NON-CON. Spoiler-ish, but only if you squint. AU, because I took major liberties with the fight scene at the end of the movie and with the end of the book, basically wondering what would happen if the Eagles hadn't shown up so quickly, what would have happened if the other dwarves hadn't gotten to Bilbo and Thorin in time, and what would have happened had Erebor been retaken.
Summary: Written for the
hobbit_kink prompt: Azog the Defiler finally catches up with the group. He decides to torture Thorin a little but more by, well, defiling his precious halfling and making him watch. Whether Thorin rescues Bilbo or fails is entirely up to author.
Bilbo slays the first orc that comes at him and Thorin, but the pale orc on the white warg isn't so easily slain.
The warg feints at Bilbo, and through some miracle-of the kind that had allowed him to slay that other warg a few minutes earlier-Bilbo swings his sword and squinches his eyes shut as he lands a blow.
The warg goes down with a roar, Bilbo's sword embedded in its left cheek.
The pale orc, Azog springs off its back before the warg even hits the ground, and has Bilbo caught in his grip-lifts him up easily by the throat, until they're eye to eye.
Bilbo would shudder, if he weren't struggling just to breathe.
Azog smiles and says something in orcish . . . something Bilbo's fairly sure he doesn't want to have translated, as those pale eyes look him over and the thin, cruel mouth sneers.
Then Azog's walking toward Thorin, Bilbo struggling and trying to pry the orc's hand off his throat the whole way. He needn't have bothered. Once they're within spitting distance of Thorin, Azog drops Bilbo on the ground next to Thorin.
We're about to die, Bilbo thinks, with an odd and featureless calm. He supposes he's as ready as he'll ever be, though his one regret is that he couldn't save Thorin. . . .
He reaches out and touches Thorin's slack, unconscious face. He supposes it'll be his only chance to ever do so in this life.
Azog gargles out something in orc-speak and laughs, and when Bilbo looks over his shoulder, Azog is . . . he's undoing the ties of the ragged piece of cloth around his waist. Not that that piece of cloth is doing much to conceal the huge hardness underneath.
When the cloth drops to the ground, revealing a cruel spike of hard, pale flesh, Bilbo suddenly understands that death is not likely to be on the menu, just yet. For him or for Thorin.
Then Azog is smiling at him. That smile is an evil promise that makes Bilbo shudder and try to scramble away, toward his sword, which is still buried in the white warg's cheek.
Azog lets him crawl, following after him and laughing.
Bilbo doesn't get very far, however, before the laughter stops and that cruel hand is on his neck, once more, this time pushing his face to the dusty ground.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then Bilbo feels something sharp press against his back and hook into the waistband of his trousers, which are summarily ripped away from his body.
“No!” Bilbo screams and flails. But that does little or nothing to slow down Azog, who Bilbo can sense looming very close behind him. Then there's the press of hot, hairless orc-flesh pressed to his backside, his thighs, and his calves, and Bilbo gags.
Azog presses his erection forward, till it rests just against Bilbi's hole, and . . . this isn't happeneing, this isn't happening . . . he leans down to run his tongue down the auricle of Bilbo's right ear.
“Scream for your dwarf-lover to hear,” he growls, driving his hips forward hard and fast.
And Bilbo does. He screams and screams . . . and screams some more. And before he finally swoons into a half-conscious place where only pain exists, his last thoughts are of Thorin . . . he hopes Thorin survives this, somehow.
And he hopes his own death, after this . . . defilement, is swift and painless.
*
Thorin, aching all over and barely conscious hears heart-rending screams and opens his eyes to a sight that brings him to full consciousness, and will haunt him for the rest of his days.
Bilbo, on his stomach, with Azog kneeling behind him, the burglar's pale, slender thighs pulled up over his own. Azog is snapping his hips forward hard and fast, and each time he does, it drives the halfling's small, limp frame forward . . . only for Azog to pull him back by the hips.
Thorin tries to sit up, despite feeling as if every bone in his body has suffered a break-he tries. But his body won't respond to the commands he gives it, not in any useful way. Meanwhile, those horrible screams have stopped, and Azog is laughing that gravelly, awful orc-laughter. He's gazing over at Thorin with cold curiosity.
“Do you think to save him?” he asks Thorin, smiling almost gently. “I think it's far too late for that,” he grunts, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his entire body stills and he throws back his head and roars, his savage, obscene satisfaction echoing into the pre-dawn air.
“No-” Thorin tries, with one final surge to get to his feet, and it almost works.
Almost.
But instead of his body obeying him, it strains and struggles to get upright before falling back onto it's side, leaving Thorin at even more of a disadvantage. Meanwhile Azog is watching him once more, breathing heavily, but still smiling.
“Now watch, son of Thrain, as I cut his throat.”
Azog grasps Bilbo's head by the hair and pulls it up. Bilbo's face is pale, his eyes closed, as if he's already dead. Azog puts his other arm, the one that's been replaced by knives and daggers, to Bilbo's throat.
"No. . . ." Thorin gasps, his heart seizing in his chest. . . .
At that moment, two things happen:
There's a loud screech from above and to the west of them. And Azog is tackled to the ground by Fili and Kili.
Thorin's heart starts beating again, and he pants dizzily in relief as the trio goes rolling away from Bilbo and a few of the rest of the fellowship wade into the fray against the other, watching orcs and their impatient wargs.
And that screech sounds again, from almost directly above, followed by a large talon coming down and scooping up a still unconscious Bilbo.
Eagles, Thorin thinks, with another wave of relief washing over him. The Eagles have come to save us. . . .
Then he, too, is being scooped up in rough talons. It's all he can do to hold on to Orcrist.
The oaken shield is lost.
*
When next Thorin opens his eyes, it's to Gandalf leaning over him with weary, worried eyes.
“Where's the burglar?” Thorin demands, attempting to sit up, and finding that, while not easy, it is possible. He looks around the sunny outcropping of rocks he finds himself on and sees the whole company standying here and there . . . except for their burglar.
No sign of Bilbo Baggins, whatsoever. And Thorin is about to ask again, when he spots what he'd first taken to be a small pile of their belongings until he remembers: We have no belongings. They're lost to the goblins.
Thorin is up on his feet and approaching that too-small bundle before he realizes he's standing, waving away hands that try to help him, or hold him back.
When he gets to the bundle, he finds that it is their burglar, covered entirely in cloaks and coats, but for his pale, bruised, dusty face. And but for the very slight rise of his chest, Thorin would have thought he was dead.
Thorin hangs his head and closes his eyes, seeing on the backs of his lids what Azog had done to the halfling. He doubts there will come a time when he doesn't see it.
My fault, he thinks heavily, the backs of his eyes stinging. A hand settles on his shoulder, and he shrugs it away. But it comes back, and this time he lets it be. I failed to protect you . . . thought my quest for personal vengeance was more important than the company. And this is the result. . . .
“I thought it best to let him sleep for a while,” Gandalf says quietly. “He needs the rest. And the time to heal.”
“Will he ever?” Thorin asks, opening his eyes to gaze down at Bilbo. He looks like a child, but for the smile lines around his mouth and eyes.
But for what Thorin knows.
“Physically? I believe he'll recover fully. My talents at healing aren't as great as Lord Elrond's but they were adequate to repair much of the physical damage . . . to some extent. The rest will have to heal with time and care.”
Thorin looks up at Gandalf, not even bothering to hide the shine of tears in his eyes. “And his mind? What of that?”
Gandalf's care-worn face looks older than it ever has. “That remains to be seen, Thorin. Bilbo has led a heretofore sheltered life. And yet had he not, he still would have been unprepared to be . . . so violated.” He shakes his head and looks down at Bilbo again. “And I am the one who has brought him to this. I am responsible for what has been done to him.”
Thorin snorts. “Was it your life he was defending, Gandalf? Was it you who ran straight into the Defiler's trap like a fool?” He swallows and kneels at Bilbo's side, brushing lank fringe off his face and leaning down to kiss his forehead. The skin is cool and soft.
“I am sorry I ever doubted you, Bilbo Baggins, and on my life,” he swears grimly. “On my life, I will never let anything or anyone ever hurt you again.”
“You cannot promise that, Thorin,” Gandalf says regretfully. “Not for as long as he's with this company.”
“Yes, I can.” Thorin glances up at Gandalf again. “I'll look after him. Never again will he have to face such dangers, such . . . evil. Never again.” Turning back to Bilbo, Thorin feels under the cloaks and coats for the halfling's hand and takes it, squeezing it tight. It's cold and clammy, and lax in his own. “This I promise.”
Bilbo slumbers on. Thorin supposes that's for the best.
Part II