Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/750338.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      The_Hobbit_(2012), The_Hobbit_-_All_Media_Types, The_Hobbit_-_J._R._R.
      Tolkien
  Character:
      Thorin's_Companions, Bilbo_Baggins, Orcs_-_Character, Ori_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, Rape_Recovery, Character_Death, Character_Study, Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-06 Words: 2054
****** Undaunted ******
by Rubynye
Summary
     Ori tells Bilbo a terrible tale.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
It had been a merry evening, the dwarves laughing and joking around a cheerful
fire, and Bilbo laughed enthusiastically with his companions. But then, the
talk turned to each dwarf's first kill, and while all were listening raptly to
Dwalin's gory tale, Bilbo's eye happened to fall on Ori, gone sallow in the
firelight. When Fili cried out, "Who's next, whose tale is next!" and the
others began calling out names and pointing at each other, Ori quietly got to
his feet and vanished; Kili laughed and shouted, "Not you, Master Hobbit, we
know you've killed nothing but squirrels for the pot!" and Bilbo rolled his
eyes and groaned obligingly as he made the jibe an excuse to slip away from the
firelight.
Ori hadn't gone far into the woods, sitting with his back to a tree. Bilbo
walked deliberately loudly, giving him a chance to flee, and when he tensed but
stayed Bilbo asked lightly, "May I sit by you, Master Ori?"
"Of course, Mister Bilbo," came the reply, polite as ever but in sad and
listless tones.
Bilbo sat close and leaned in conspiratorially, hoping to cheer him out of
feeling left out. "I'd rather not hear their bloody babble anyhow." Ori was
very young, he'd been given to understand, not much older than Bilbo himself,
which was much younger in dwarves' reckoning. Having evoked a slight smile on
Ori's pensive face, Bilbo went on hopefully, "It seems to me to be no grand
thing to take a life."
"It is not," Ori answered, so woebegone Bilbo snorted. But then Ori continued,
"It was terrible," and Bilbo went cold all over as he regarded the young dwarf
anew, took in his bowed head and folded-up posture, understood his own
misunderstanding.
"Why did you leave the fire?" Bilbo blurted, and his heart ached as he watched
Ori smile sadly at his knees.
"It's not a tale of pride," Ori whispered, eyes glinting wet in the dimness.
Bilbo swallowed hard, and deliberately tilted so his shoulder touched Ori's.
"Would it help to tell it?"
"I don't know, Mister Bilbo," Ori murmured, but then he drew a great breath,
and another, and then began the telling.
                                     ****
How it hurts, Great Mahal it hurts, the thumping strain as one orc brutally
takes him, the scrape of the other's clawed hands clutched tightly round his
wrists, their cackling laughter over his aching dizzied head. Ori grits his
teeth -- he gave them one scream, he'll not loose more -- and clutches at the
dusty grass beneath him, striving to endure, waiting his moment.
He longs to let himself thrash, to struggle free of their noisome grasp, to
kick away from the scaly grip on his hips and wrench from the clawed manacles,
but all struggling won him was the orcs' merriment, culminating when the one
behind him, in him, had laughed, "The little worm, how he wriggles on me! He's
doing all the work!" Mortification searing his face, Ori made himself still,
and now presses his face into the grass till it snags his beard, just for
something else to feel than his wrists aching in the cruel grip, than the agony
breaking him asunder thrust by jarring thrust. Each blow knocks the breath from
him, bruising him deeper than he ever could have imagined, but he digs the toes
of his boots into the hard earth, snatches gulps of grassy air, and endures.
He's a Dwarf, he's a rock, he can get through this to the right moment.
So Nori told him on one and another infrequent visit home, during their
clandestine lessons in fighting while Dori's back was turned. "Fight from your
center, let them unbalance over you," he advised; surely he didn't mean this,
who could have imagined the depths of orcs' depravity, but Ori uses what he's
got, squeezing his teeth together till his jaw creaks as his hips creak under
the groaning orc's grip, as he smarts under the speeding rough slams, as the
one holding him down cheers with reedy eagerness. Claws prick his throbbing
skin as the one behind reaches his peak, and Ori feels tears burn down his face
as the orc spills into him, sunk past any scouring, but no, he thinks, grasping
breath after breath, flexing his aching fingers. His moment's approaching.
The orc behind slumps back with a horribly pleased groan, dragging free of his
battered flesh, the one before lets go to claim his turn. Now. Ori shoves
himself up, getting a foot beneath him, then another, staggering a step, two,
three --
One orc curses, one laughs, claws scrape through his tunic and tug it taut, and
Ori windmills, struggling, flailing as hard hands grip him, as scaly arms
entangle him. The orcs tackle him and throw him down on his back, one pinning
his hands with a stony knee and the other grabbing at his kicking legs.
"Thought you'd run off?" Ori hears from the one leaning over him, and the
gaping yellow-fanged maw keeps moving but Ori can't hear any other words, just
noise beneath his own shouting.
"No, no, get off me, damn you, get off," he yells over and over, as if it can
do any good, as if it does anything but bring a ghastly grin to the orc's face
as they grab Ori's knees and shove them up and apart.
He thrashes, fighting them as best he can, but they cackle, dragging him where
they would; one thumps his belly, and he coughs out all his air and hears as he
wheezes, "Lively fish we've hooked today!"
"And all the sweeter for it." The one grips his ankles and hoists them wide,
the other leans in over him, the scents of filth and dried blood thick and
choking. "What say you, sweet little worm? Give us a kiss?"
With his last desperate strength, Ori wrenches at the grip on his ankles, but
he's held fast. He aims and spits right in the orc's eye, but the orc doesn't
even wince nor wipe it away, just laughs and slams his hips viciously forward
in a crushing shove, knocking a cry from Ori's throat. "Ah, you've made him
sing," says the other, and Ori tries to grit his teeth again, he really does,
but he can't even hide his face anymore; his chest heaves within him as he
sobs, each thrust breaking him open further than the last, his blurred vision
filled by the orc's leering face.
Something glints, belted low on the orc's hip. Even weeping, Ori knows a
dagger's shine from Nori's lessons. With his wrists pinned he's no hope of
reaching it, but no, he can't give up, not now. Shuddering and aching, pummeled
and breathless, Ori twists his hands and clings to himself.
"Nnnh, watch him take it." The orc releases his ankle to rub himself, growling,
"I'll have another go, I think." Ori tries to kick but can't aim anywhere
useful, the one behind him laughs and the one on him doesn't even pay his
attempts any mind, eyes clenched and growling in pleasure, riding Ori
punishingly hard. But the other shifts, unwittingly easing the pressure on
Ori's wrists. "Hurry up, then."
"Bugger off, you've had your turn." The orc slumps forward as he huffs, bending
Ori almost in half so he cries out under the pain lancing through him. But the
one pinning him gets up to stomp off somewhere, bless Mahal, and though as soon
as he moves his arms the one on him grips his shoulders and laughs a puff of
hot stinking breath in his face, though he can't stop gasping in pounded agony,
Ori knows, if he can just reach… he shuts his eyes and forces himself not to
listen as the orc judders and growls through a foul peak, pushing away at
everything except reaching that dagger.
His fingertips brush the knob, climb the hilt, grasp and yank. The orc pants
unguarded above him, grip lax with pleasure, and Ori breathes and lunges
straight up, sighting the chin, skewering the throat. The orc roars, scrabbling
at his wrist, but Ori twists and yanks just as Nori taught him, and so much
black blood fountains out over his hand as he drags the dagger back. He stabs
once more for good measure, slicing the orc's throat open, time seeming to slow
as he grapples with the sinking weight. .
The other's running up, bellowing, prick swinging free, and Ori knows what to
do, he knows. When the orc's foot lands in reach Ori slashes the ankle's
tendon, sending the orc tumbling; scrambling around, one leg dragging, the orc
roars as Ori tips the other's carcass between them, and as soon as the snarling
face thrusts up Ori stabs right into the ear, the resistance of bone jarring
his hand. He shouts and shoves and the dagger sinks to the hilt, the orc's eyes
roll up as he twitches backwards, as sharpness pricks Ori's belly.
Ori gasps, letting the orc's weight free his dagger, pushing and kicking free
of the corpse, gritting his teeth as its prick slides out of him. The orc's
knife sank right through the body, the barest point grazing just above his
navel, loosing a trickle of red amidst all the sticky dark ichor. Ori shoves
himself onto his unsteady feet, looking down at himself doused in orc's blood
down to his squelching boots, his shivering thighs besmeared with their noisome
spendings.
He can't go home like this. Defeated, befouled, filthy -- he looks at the
dagger in his dripping hand.
He can't. He must go home. Losing him so soon after Mother would kill Dori.
Nori's lessons saw him through.
The dagger falls from Ori's hand, his belly roils till he has to clutch it, but
he presses his lips tight and doesn't retch. His trousers are shredded rags,
two orcs lie dead before him, if he just stands here swaying he'll fall down
beside them. He turns his back on the gory scene, tugs his tunic down to cover
himself as best he can, and begins to limp home.
                                     ****
"And so, you see why I could not darken the campfire with such a tale." Ori sat
curled tighter than ever, and Bilbo could but sit beside him, silent with
horror as the night creaked and sighed around them. "At least my brothers had
to let me come with them, since I had washed out my shame in blood, though I
haven't touched a blade since."
Ori sat huddled, plainly still sure the attack stained him, and Bilbo
incredulously echoed, "Shame?" as he turned to look at Ori full on. His mouth
was twisted in a painful little half-smirk, tears glittering on his cheeks as
he stared down at his knees, and furious admiration loosened Bilbo's tongue. "I
heard no tale of shame, except upon foul creatures who --" He stumbled there,
but Ori's eyes were widening to roundness. "Who were despatched much less
painfully than they deserved!" Ori glanced up, eyes shining, and Bilbo plowed
on. "I heard about courage that wouldn't give in, of a brave dwarf undaunted."
Ori's back was straightening, his smile untwisting, and Bilbo tried to think of
what a dwarf would do and dared to slap his shoulder, hopefully rousingly. "A
noble dwarf whom I'm honored to travel with, to share this company with."
With that Bilbo floundered to a stop, but he'd managed to hit somewhere near
his mark, as Ori's smile spread across his face; he opened his mouth as if he'd
speak, then gave up, wiped his eyes on his sleeve and gathered up Bilbo's hands
to squeeze them. Bilbo tried to nod sturdily, and to not wince at Ori's strong-
fingered enthusiasm, and Ori nodded back, stood and tugged Bilbo to his feet.
With wordless assent they turned back to their companions; Ori seemed lightened
in heart, Bilbo certainly hoped so, but as for himself he glanced back towards
the darkness beneath the trees. He'd learned a new and horrifying possibility
for the peril he'd chosen, but all he could do, he told himself, was to be as
bravely tenacious as Ori had been, whenever his danger arrived.
That would be a high-water mark of courage indeed, Bilbo thought, considering
anew their polite, unassuming young scribe as they stepped back into the
firelight.
 
 
End Notes
     The Prompt:
     Non-con, violent
     Rape where the victim fights with all they have. Kicking, screaming,
     biting, almost but not quite getting away. Bonus points for the
     rapist (not an elf or one of the company please) really getting off
     on it.
      
     Would prefer the victim to be Bilbo, Bofur or Ori.
      
     http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/
     5821.html?thread=12673981#t12673981
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