The next few days, or so Bilbo guessed them to be, passed much the same. Smaug would hunt, sleep, count his treasure, and then play with his new toy, delighted with his reactions and the way Bilbo screamed. It amused him how the hobbit continued to fight despite everything. Each time he took Bilbo, it was harder, more violent, wanting to push him past his limits. Yet somehow the hobbit still bore it, writhing and crying underneath him without quite breaking. Smaug was quite determined to see the stubborn creature give up.

It was nearly a week before he succeeded.

Bilbo was asleep when Smaug came to him. He had been trying to keep from sleeping for fear of this very thing happening, and barely even stirred when the dragon rolled him over onto his stomach. His naked body was dirty and cold to the touch, his once plump frame now thin with travel and lack of proper sleep or food. Smaug considered him for a few moments, nosing his legs apart. That long, thin tongue slipped out, brushing across Bilbo's soft backside. The hobbit made a little sound, but didn't wake. Amused, Smaug leaned forward more, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh.

With a sharp cry, Bilbo finally woke, immediately starting to panic. His fear was nearly palpable, strong enough that Smaug could almost taste it. The hobbit struggled, but he didn't stand a sliver of a chance. The dragon was on him in an instant, biting into his neck and making him cry out. Before the poor thing could start to beg, he buried himself inside his tight little body yet again, relishing in how those muscles spasmed around him. Bilbo screamed, but Smaug paid him no attention, biting and licking at his neck. His long claws dug into his sides, drawing blood and making the hobbit struggle even worse.

"Shh…this could be so good for you," the fire drake grunted, burying himself deeper inside him. "Submit to me. Stop fighting. You may find you enjoy it."

Bilbo sobbed, wishing with all his heart that he'd never taunted the dragon, that he'd stayed at home and dealt with the regret of never joining this quest.

Smaug was much slower with him this time. Each thrust was deep but purposeful, making Bilbo squirm and cry out. He could never predict when the wyrm would impale him. His movements were uneven, making it impossible to prepare for when the pain would strike more intensely.

But as Bilbo scraped his nails roughly against the stone, too breathless to beg for him to stop, he felt that flicker of pleasure again. The deepest of Smaug's thrusts brushed against something that made him shudder with desire rather than revulsion. It felt…good.

It was so obvious now Smaug meant to keep him. Perhaps it was best he took what pleasure he could from this instead of dwelling on how much it hurt. He had no idea how long the dragon would keep him here, in the ruins of this Dwarven city, fucking his tight little body until his poor heart gave out. There was no chance of escape.

Bilbo stopped fighting.

The great beast chuckled when he felt the hobbit attempt to relax, felt those muscles starting to loosen around him. "There's a good little thief," he murmured, his long tongue brushing against his ear.

He rutted into him, settling into a steady rhythm and filling the hobbit's insides with his enormous cock. It was still painful for Bilbo, but he focused on the pleasure, on that jolt of sensation that made him moan. He lifted his hips, rising to his knees as his own body began to stir with arousal. Soon he was crying out for a completely different reason than before.

When Smaug released, the hobbit was desperate for his own climax. His neglected cock was throbbing hard and heavy beneath him, and he whimpered, rocking back against the dragon still buried inside him. Amused and satisfied, Smaug let him. His arousal was softening inside him, but Bilbo was frantic, rocking back faster, fucking himself on the dragon. It wasn't long before he finally hit the edge, sobbing in shame and pleasure as lines of hot, sticky release painted the stone floor just beneath him.

"Pretty little hobbit," Smaug murmured in his ear, and pulled out of him, rolling the limp hobbit onto his back. He cleaned the remains of Bilbo's essence off his naked body with his mouth, licking and sucking until nothing remained.

"Your name," he breathed. "Tell me your name."

Bilbo had no fight left in him, disgusted and ashamed with what he'd done. As the dragon crouched over him, he half-sobbed it out, his heart hurting far worse than his body.

"B-Bilbo Baggins…"

X

Thorin was fuming as he stalked back up the passageway to rejoin the company. All conversation died down and twelve anxious pairs of eyes moved to the king's face. They had all heard Bilbo suffer.

"Well?" Fili demanded after a long pause.

Thorin shook his head. "I don't know. I called for him as long as I dared, but there was no answer."

The company grew noticeably more nervous at this announcement.

"Maybe he's asleep?" Ori suggested.

Thorin gave no answer, stalking outside. He was frustrated and terribly worried for the little hobbit. He'd proven to be of sterner stuff than he looked, but how long could anyone hold up against a dragon? Thorin sat down heavily on the slab of rock that Bilbo had dubbed 'the porch'. It seemed months now since he had been captured. The moon beamed down, bathing the dwarf in its light, and Thorin recalled that night, Durin's Day, when the door had opened for them. For clever Bilbo. He could picture that smug smile on the halfling's face perfectly. He'd been immensely proud of himself, and rightfully so.

Allowing himself a moment of weakness, Thorin let his head fall into his hands, sighing deeply.

"…Uncle?"

Thorin did not stir. Fili sat down beside him, rock crunching beneath his boots. A moment later, Kili joined them both, sitting on the opposite side of his uncle. For a long moment, none of them spoke, the king and his nephews arrayed there in silence. Minutes passed, and Kili let his head drift to rest on Thorin's shoulder.

"I miss Bilbo," he said, rather unnecessarily.

Thorin nodded. "As do I," he replied softly, wrapping an arm around each of his nephew's shoulders.

Fili tensed, shaking Thorin's arm off and pushing himself to his feet. "He's not dead," he snapped. "Don't talk about him like he's dead."

Thorin's eyes met Fili's, dark with grief. "There's nothing we can do."

"No!" Fili's knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. "No. I won't let you give up on him. Not after everything he's done for us. We would all be dead if it weren't for him! Or stuck in that damned elf prison!" He paced back and forth. "He could have left us for dead time and time again, but he didn't. He fought for us, at the risk of his own life! Are you so driven by revenge that you are not willing to do the same for him?"

Thorin stood abruptly, and Fili was caught off-guard for a moment. "Do not think I don't care," he said quietly. "I do care. I would have Master Baggins here with us rather than trapped where he is. But I must look out for your own safety as well. I promised your mother."

Fili wasn't cowed in the slightest. "Do you remember when Azog had us cornered in the trees, with all his goblins and wargs? You went after him on your own. He would have killed you in front of all of us if Bilbo hadn't had the courage to take on Azog by himself." Thorin looked away, and Fili knew he had him. "How is this any different?"

Kili stood as well, looking between the two. "What do we do?" he asked. "Thirteen dwarves against a dragon? That's impossible."

There was a pause.

"We don't have to kill Smaug to free our burglar," Thorin said finally. "All we need is a chance to get to him."

"It may take some time, but we could unblock the tunnel," said a voice from behind them. They turned to see the rest of the dwarves had filed out of the dark passage into the moonlight. Dwalin, who of course had been the one to speak, was hefting a pickaxe over his shoulder. "Surely none of you have forgotten how to mine."

Something like a smile twitched at Thorin's lips.

Meanwhile in the heart of the mountain, their little hobbit slept soundly against the dragon's side, a mighty wing unfolded across him to keep him warm.