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Chapter Text

It’s raining. And it’s cold. The ground is hard and Bilbo has never missed his smial more. It will never stop raining. He is miserable.

The dwarves know it too. They could see his misery grow every day, grow with every drop of rain that plastered his hair to his cold, cold head. Some of them are sympathetic, like Bofur or Ori, others are indifferent to his suffering, like Dwalin or Nori. Only Thorin looks on him with contempt. That may be better than looking on him with pity though. Some of them do that too.

Bilbo curls more tightly into himself. The ground is hard and cold beneath his bedroll. They’d managed to find a small cave, but Thorin wouldn’t allow them to light a fire. The rain beats down outside and Bilbo is close enough to the uncovered entrance to feel the occasional splash on his cheek. His blanket won’t reach all the way over his head without leaving his legs bare to the knee or else Bilbo would pull it up and never come back out of that cocoon.

Instead, he shifts, he burrows, and he tries to get warm. He certainly does not watch as Dwalin relieves Thorin’s turn on the watch or as Thorin stalks past him to his own bedroll just a few feet away.

His fingers are like icicles. Wrapping them in the edge of his blanket and pressing them to his cheek doesn’t help.

Bilbo forces his eyes closed, wills his body to stop shivering. This is the way it is and the company will be on the move early tomorrow so he has to get some sleep. It’s non-negotiable. But all the will in the world isn’t working.

He thinks maybe he’s started to slip into something, maybe not sleep but an unconsciousness of sorts at least, when a gruff noise from Thorin’s bedroll, next to him but closer to the cold cave wall, pulls him out of the encroaching darkness.

It takes a moment longer to realize that Thorin is actually speaking to him, not just rumbling and grumbling in his direction.

“Come here.”

Thorin’s voice is low and raspy. He’s whispering, Bilbo realizes. Trying not to wake the rest of the company, as if anything short of a mountain troll could wake Bombur anyway. When Bilbo turns his head to peer over his shoulder, the blanket on top of Thorin’s bedroll is pulled back and he’s beckoning Bilbo to join him.

Bilbo’s seen the other dwarves do this sometimes. When it’s particularly cold or it’s been a hard day. Fili and Kili do it more than most, but Balin has combined bedrolls with Dwalin before and Ori often shares with either Dori or Nori.

Thorin’s blanket looks awfully warm. Warmer than Bilbo’s.

Why not? Thorin may despise him, but being cold and unable to sleep isn’t going to change that anyway.

Biblo rises from his own bedroll, as quietly as he can, and starts to drag it the few feet to Thorin.

“Leave it.”

Bilbo drops it, confused but so tired that it doesn’t matter. With every inch he shuffles forward, the exhaustion of this whole cursed adventure weighs down on his shoulders. Thorin’s bed looks inviting. Thorin looks inviting and that’s a dangerous path that Bilbo has kept his conscious mind from exploring. But now he’s too tired to fight it.

Let him have tonight. A warm night in comforting arms that he likes the look of and he’ll be better on the road. He will be. Just tonight to be in his own head and to be warm.

Bilbo crawls in next to Thorin, who lowers the blanket, careful not to wriggle in so closely that they touch. But the heat from Thorin’s body reaches out and fills the gap between them. It presses against Bilbo’s dirty coat and he wishes they didn’t sleep fully clothed. To feel that heat through just a thin shirt, or against his skin, would be the best kind of torment.

There’s a few moments of silence while Bilbo settles into the bedroll. He’s tense and still, wanting to say something but not having the energy to banter or fight or thank Thorin.

Thorin finally does it for him. “Your teeth were chattering.”

Bilbo swallows and whispers back, “I’m sorry if they were keeping you awake.” It’s sharp and biting and there’s nothing apologetic about it.

There’s only a hum, or a growl, in response.

It takes a long time for Bilbo to relax. Thorin’s breathing behind him is deep and steady before his muscles loosen and his eyes drift closed. He stays right on that edge of unconsciousness, much more restful and peaceful than he was in his own bedroll, with Thorin’s warmth an ever present temptation and blessing.

He’s so close to falling asleep, maybe properly asleep since the first time he left Bag End, when Thorin’s arm wraps around his waist and pulls his back snug against Thorin’s chest.

Warmth is the least of his temptations now.

Thorin’s breath is hot and damp on the crown of his head but Bilbo is so exhausted he falls asleep almost instantly.

***************
It’s not warmth he notices when he wakes up. It’s hardness.

And it’s at his back, not the ground beneath him or a cave that has collapsed on top of him. Bilbo’s not dumb enough to think that Thorin sleeps with his sword inside the bedroll either.

He really does try his best not to wiggle, not to writhe, but it’s difficult. Especially so because Thorin is pushing against him, not just resting there passively. Grinding against him and erect. Very erect.

Thorin’s arm is still around Bilbo’s waist, but his head has dropped so that his mouth is level with Bilbo’s ear.

That proximity may be the only reason he hears the quiet, raspy “Bilbo” Thorin lets slip, his lips pressed against the shell of Bilbo’s ear.

That admission is enough for Bilbo. Thorin is awake, he’s participating, he’s eager. Bilbo presses back, canting his hips so his arse grinds against Thorin’s cock. The arm around his waist tightens and Thorin grinds against him.

It has been a long time since Bilbo has done this. Even before setting off with the company, it was hard to find hobbits out of their experimental adolescence that prefered the company of other males. Every family seemed to have at least one confirmed old bachelor but they all seemed to be much older than Bilbo. He had trouble finding anyone in the middle and had no interest in boys or old men.

Even if Thorin despises him, this shocking turn of events is too good an opportunity to pass up. He’s had plenty of practice pretending a liaison had never happened. Surely he could do it again with limited awkwardness.

Thorin’s thumb strokes across a strip of flesh that has been exposed between Bilbo’s trousers and shirt. The rough callouses on Thorin’s thumb grab at the fine hair across Bilbo’s belly and his hips kick forward in response. He tries not to groan. The sky is dark and the others are still sleeping.

Thorin’s fingers lock around Bilbo’s hip and pull Bilbo back against his cock.

Even if the dwarves would have found this scandalous or criminal, Bilbo’s not sure he would have cared. He wants Thorin nearly as much as he’s exasperated by him. And now the King Under the Mountain is doing a valiant job of fucking him through his trousers.

Sleeping dwarves be damned. Bilbo could be quiet.

He wraps an arm over his shoulder and fists a hand in Thorin’s hair, using it for leverage to meet him thrust for thrust. It’s an awkward, stifling affair under the blanket but Bilbo is mad for it.

Thorin licks, bites at his neck while they grind and writhe together. Bilbo’s hair sticks to his forehead in a mess of sweaty curls. He keeps his lips sealed together to stop the stream of naughty words and breathless moans that want to escape.

Finally, Thorin mutters something in Khudzul and pulls back. Bilbo’s hips stop their back and forth grind and his breath rages in and out. Are they done? Was this it? But Thorin’s hands are shoving the back of his trousers down and Bilbo scrambles to loosen the ties on the front so the damn dwarf doesn’t tear them. He leaves them caught just below the curve of Bilbo’s arse.

The air between them is hot for just a moment on Bilbo’s exposed skin and then Thorin is there again, covering him from behind. He spreads Bilbo’s cheeks with his hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin kept hidden there, just lightly along the sides. Then one hand moves away and soon Bilbo feels the hot, hard flesh of Thorin’s cock directly against his arse. That skin on skin contact makes Bilbo bite the pad of flesh just under his thumb to keep from crying out. Thorin pants at the back of Bilbo’s neck as he slides his cock between Bilbo’s cheeks.

They are both slick with sweat and Bilbo imagines the precome leaking from the tip of Thorin’s cock spreading across his skin. He wishes he could see it, could see the hard, thick cock that is currently driving him mad, could see it drag and slide against his skin. He wants to turn around and take Thorin’s cock in his hand, in his mouth, until Thorin comes all over him.

But Bilbo doesn’t even have the chance to turn around. Thorin has rolled him so that he’s part on his side, part on his front and Thorin is thrusting against him, pressing him down into the thin bedroll and the hard cave floor. Bilbo feels the ridge at the head of Thorin’s cock catch at his hole, feels Thorin’s weight bear him down to the ground as he thrusts harder against Bilbo’s arse.

Bilbo pushes back, meeting Thorin’s thrusts, to give himself enough room to work a hand down the front of his open trousers and around his cock. Thorin’s thrusts are harder, more erratic now. His teeth are set against Bilbo’s ear. He growls there, low and hot, saying Bilbo’s name as he comes. Bilbo feels those hot pulses all along his crack. Thorin keeps sliding there, spreading his come across Bilbo’s skin, until Bilbo tenses against him and comes in his own hand.

After, Bilbo is dazed. Thorin rests his forehead against Bilbo’s back, murmuring something Bilbo cannot hear until his heartbeat has almost slowed to normal. Thorin cleans him with something soft, getting most of the mess off his backside, pulls his trousers back up over the curve of his arse, and rolls him so they are pressed chest to back again. Thorin holds him just as tightly and Bilbo falls back asleep to the feeling of Thorin pressing tiny kisses to his hair.

Bofur shakes him awake when the sky is fully light. The others are breaking camp and Thorin is already talking to Dwalin outside the cave opening. Bilbo rolls up both their bedrolls, changes his trousers to his only other decently clean pair, and none of the other dwarves say a word about it.

But neither does Thorin.

It’s all right, Bilbo supposes. Thorin probably needed to work through some stress. Bilbo was a conveniently warm body in the right place at the right time and they both took their pleasure. Nothing wrong with that.

But it does sting a bit more than Bilbo had imagined.

Chapter Text

The next few days and nights see them running from wargs and catching whatever sleep they can propped against trees or tucked against rock formations. There’s no time for making camp, or laying out bedrolls, much less a fire. They have to be ready to run at a moment’s notice.

By the time Thorin decides they are far enough from the immediate threat of danger to actually make camp, Bilbo is exhausted. He barely keeps his eyes open as Bombur prepares the best stew he can with their limited provisions. He hears only bits and pieces of the watch assignment, too tired to care when his turn may fall. He slumps in front of the small cookfire, eyes barely open, as the others start to move away. Bilbo hears them make their beds and begin to settle down. He knows he should move, should find a level spot without many big rocks to lay down on and sleep for the night, but he’s too exhausted to force his legs into action.

The noises of the dwarves settling in for the night start to die down around him and the fire is burning out when Bilbo feels a touch on his shoulder. Turning his head, his gaze trails from the blunt fingertips resting there up a wide forearm, across a broad shoulder, and all the way to Thorin’s face.

Thorin who hasn’t spoken to him more than to bark orders since coming on his bare arse.

Thorin who tugs lightly at his shoulder as he speaks. “Come.”

At least that order wasn’t barked and, honestly, Bilbo’s exhaustion has settled so deep in his bones it doesn’t matter if it was an order or not. He rises slowly, stumbling after Thorin, who leads him away from the dying fire. He takes Bilbo to a spot where he’s laid out both of their bedrolls. They are tucked tightly together, overlapping at the edges, and their thin blankets have been laid on top of one another in the middle.

There’s a fleeting moment of anger. Bilbo wants to yell, to push Thorin away. How dare he ignore Bilbo so thoroughly after the last time they laid together like this, and then offer it to him again. It was beyond rude. It was taking advantage.

But it’s only a fleeting moment. Maybe he’ll do it later, after he’s had a good night’s sleep where he’s finally safe and warm. He could take the comfort he felt in Thorin’s arms again. There was no guilt in that.

Then he will yell at him.

With that decided, Bilbo lets Thorin tug him down to their combined bedroll and push and prod him until he is as Thorin wants him. Thorin arranges the blankets over them and tucks Bilbo tightly into the curve of his body. Bilbo rests the top of his feet against the thick socks Thorin wears inside his boots and falls quickly into a deep, still sleep.

He only wakes once, when Thorin’s arms pull away from him and leave him feeling cold despite the blankets. He turns toward him, seeking out Thorin’s warmth automatically.

Bilbo’s consciousness is a fleeting thing. He’s only awake long enough to feel Thorin press a kiss to his hair and say “I’ve the watch.” before falling asleep again. He does not rouse when Thorin returns from his turn protecting the camp. But Thorin does come back.

He’s there when Bilbo opens his eyes to greet the sunrise. He’s there and sleeping soundly. Bilbo manages to roll in Thorin’s arms, one in the space between Bilbo’s head and neck taking the place of the most comfortable pillow he’s had since Rivendell and the other thrown over his waist as it had been the morning he and Bilbo had had sex, without waking him.

Thorin’s dark lashes lay against his cheek and Bilbo had never dreamed that Thorin could look as handsome with those piercing blue eyes closed as he does with them open. He can’t look away from the delicate, paper thin skin of Thorin’s eyelids or the shadows cast by the heaviness of those black lashes.

Dark brows cut too-straight lines over his eyes. They were thick and unkempt and Bilbo wants to temper them by dragging his thumb along their slight arch. He wants to do the same to the long line of Thorin’s nose, over the bump in the middle that is surely a badly healed break. He wants to sink his hands in the thick hair of Thorin’s beard, to see if it is as deceptively soft as the hair on Thorin’s head.

But mostly, he wants to feel those lips. He could feel the ghost of the kisses Thorin had trailed along his neck, his ear, and into his hair in their last encounter. Some of them sweet, and some of them full of lust and want. How would those lips feel against his own? Hot and hard or soft and giving? Were they as changeable as the man himself?

Bilbo’s hand finds its way to the deep vee opening of the rough hewn shirt Thorin wears under his jacket and tunic. It had surely been made of fine, soft fabric before this journey. Something fit for a king. But now it’s barely fit for a farm hand. Bilbo watches his fingers run along the edge of the fabric, just barely touching the skin exposed there. He does this a few times, up and down, before letting his fingertips drift fully to that skin, to the crisp, dark hair spread across Thorin’s chest.

Pressing down through that thick hair to feel the soft skin and hard muscle of Thorin’s chest sends a stab of lust through Bilbo’s gut directly to his cock. He stills his fingers, pressing them flat to Thorin’s chest and watching those tiny hairs curl around them. This is getting out of hand. Bilbo needs to take a deep breath and calm the pounding of his heart.

Unfortunately, before he can remind himself that Thorin has no interest in him, that he had just taken pity on Bilbo for being so obviously exhausted, Thorin’s hand covers Bilbo’s and holds it tighter against his own chest.

“Explore as you will,” Thorin rumbles.

A brief flare of embarrassment burns across Bilbo’s cheeks at being caught, but the space between them is so warm and intimate that he cannot pull back. The Thorin here, in this cocoon of bedroll and blankets, is so separate from the one who sneers at Bilbo when he can’t keep up with the rest of the company. So different from the tense and stoic King Under the Mountain. This Thorin is someone Bilbo could be at peace with and someone he could find pleasure with.

Any pleasure to be found on this journey comes with a price. Bilbo knows that. He’s seen any of the glory of his adventures be paid for in blood and sweat. What the cost for these stolen moments with Thorin might be is anyone’s guess, but Bilbo’s going to take them anyway. Prices can be paid later.

His fingers move underneath the flat of Thorin’s hand, more boldly exploring that swath of exposed skin. He drags his fingertips across its width, slowly to enjoy the scratch of Thorin’s hair against them, until they dip just inside the fabric on the other side. Bilbo lets them rest there for a moment, touching skin not exposed to his gaze and kept covered by Thorin’s shirt, before sliding them back across the opening. His fingers travel down, following a trail of hair as it thickens and moves in a line in the center of Thorin’s chest. It feels so different from his own near-hairless chest, different from the hobbits he’s been with before. The texture against his fingers is the most erotic thing Bilbo’s ever felt.

He stops his downward exploration when he reaches the narrow point where the fabric comes together again. Instead of venturing lowering, instead of claiming Thorin’s hot skin with his touch, Bilbo drags his fingers upward, going against the grain of Thorin’s hair. It’s thick and crisp enough that it stands up and follows his motion.

Thorin lets out a groan and flattens Bilbo’s hand to his chest again. Bilbo looks up, finally tearing his gaze away from Thorin’s tantalizing chest and back to his eyes. He doesn’t get to look long before Thorin swoops down, needing to press Bilbo’s head back a bit because they are so close, and takes his lips in a fierce kiss.

The bit about the hair on Thorin’s chest being the most erotic thing Bilbo has ever felt is completely wrong, by the way. It’s nothing compared to the harsh scratching of Thorin’s beard against his mouth, his cheeks, his chin. It stings and bites and Bilbo wants to feel it on all his most sensitive skin.

The kiss itself is raw and powerful. It’s pure sex without the actual sex. If they weren’t on the ground, in close proximity to twelve sleeping (Oh, Eru, let them be still be sleeping) dwarves, Bilbo would be crawling on top of Thorin in a battle to take control, to ride him until they were both sweaty and limp.

Instead, it’s Thorin who controls Bilbo with nothing more than his mouth and one palm pinning Bilbo’s hand to his chest. Bilbo yields, tilts his head back, and lets his mouth be ravaged. Thorin pulls back after long minutes and stares down at Bilbo. They are panting. They have to be panting. Bilbo can hear it echo in the hot, humid air between them. How have none of the others not woken up and come to drag him away from molesting their king?

While Bilbo’s brain tries to catch up, to think logically about their situation for one damn minute, Thorin swoops down and presses that beard against Bilbo’s throat. His lips drag and his teeth nip at the tendons that stand out as Bilbo arches his neck. Thorin licks and sucks and he must be leaving marks and Bilbo is only sorry he doesn’t have the big floor to ceiling mirror in his room at Bag End to look at them with. Bilbo keeps panting, one hand trapped beneath his own side and the other still pressed against Thorin’s chest. He’s pinned there, beneath Thorin’s lips and unable to do anything but curl his fingers and wish he could take back some control.

Thorin’s hand yanks Bilbo’s shirt from his trousers and brushes up and across his chest. The callouses and rough patches catch on the smooth skin stretched across Bilbo’s collar bones and Thorin growls a bit against his neck. That causes Bilbo’s hips to jump forward but fall short of meeting anything to press against other than his own trousers. He’s embarrassed at first. Gentlehobbits shouldn’t let their bodies get away from them, even in the throws of passion, but Thorin’s thumb and forefinger close over his nipple and squeeze and Bilbo forgets that embarrassment is even an emotion he could feel. He wants to beg.

That squeezing, and plucking, and pulling goes on for a bit, along with the rocking of Bilbo’s hips. Thorin keeps his lips pressed against Bilbo’s throat, sometimes just resting there and sometimes trailing hot, wet kisses from collar bone to jaw. He pushes at Bilbo’s shirt but they are trapped in their nest of blankets and bedroll and have no room to actually shed clothing. Bilbo can feel Thorin’s impatience and almost wishes the dwarf would rip the fabric from his chest.

Thorin’s thigh comes up between them and on the next rock of his hips, Bilbo’s swollen cock presses against the hard muscle. A hobbit of Bilbo’s age and experience should not be so hot and bothered by some kisses and groping under a blanket but that grind of erection against thigh makes his breath catch.

He urges Thorin’s head up until their mouths come together. Their foreheads touch and their noses bump. They keep kissing. Bilbo pulls at Thorin’s shirt until he gets his fingers under the hem and against Thorin’s bare stomach. Thorin did say to explore as he would and up to this point it’s Thorin that’s been doing most of the exploring. The hair across his abdomen is as thick as his chest and Bilbo quickly follows the whorl and grain of it to the top of his trousers. Bilbo stops there, focuses on kissing for a moment, and lets his hands rest with fingertips tucked just inside Thorin’s waistband.

It only lasts a few moments before Thorin’s fingers mirror the path down to the ties of Bilbo’s trousers. Only Thorin doesn’t pause. He dives right in and pulls at Bilbo’s laces and buttons. Bilbo is not a man to be left behind, and though he would have liked a bit more conversation, if this is the sort of thing Thorin wants he’ll damn well make do with it. He has Thorin’s trousers open and his hand around Thorin’s cock before his own trousers are even unbuttoned.

Thorin groans at that and Bilbo captures his lips again to keep the entire company from coming to investigate. It’s not until Thorin’s fingers flex and his hand pumps up and down that Bilbo pulls back, just enough to keep their foreheads pressed together and their panting breaths against each other’s lips.

They move together, hands and hips going up and down and back and forth until Thorin’s free hand locks over Bilbo’s wrist. Bilbo stops moving, holds himself there while Thorin thrusts his hips, and then comes all over Bilbo’s hand. It’s only a few more smooth pulls on his own cock before Bilbo follows him.

They lay there together, foreheads still resting against each other, breath still coming in quiet gasps, until Thorin pulls away. He adjust himself and rises from the bedroll. Bilbo watches his broad back as he cleans his hands on a rag from his nearby pack. He tosses the rag to Bilbo and walks away.

If Thorin had been a lover he had taken to Bag End, or even someone he’d met in Bree and taken a room with at the Prancing Pony, Bilbo would have made him breakfast before bidding him goodbye. At the very least, Bilbo would have kissed him again.

Sex on the road must be different. Even as secretive as Bilbo had needed to be about his affairs in Hobbiton, none of them felt as shameful as this. And Bilbo hadn’t even yelled at him this morning.

****************
The day’s travel is uneventful. They cover a good amount of ground and there’s not much to be seen along the trail. When they make camp, many of the dwarves are restless. The combination of days of running, raised adrenaline, and then a perfectly good let down of a day was getting to them. Bilbo was happy for a little calm, a little complacency. His empty stomach and aching legs appreciated it.

Bofur and Oin build a fire, much larger than the cook fires Thorin has permitted the past few days, and Bombur gets to preparing a meal much elaborate than hardtack or chunks of rabbit in watery gravy called stew. It’s not the warm hearth or full pantry at Bag End but Bilbo is grateful for it anyway.

Fili, Kili, and Ori wander off to get more firewood, but Bilbo suspects it’s more to get some fresh air away from the company. The younger members have bonded together and spend more and more time with each other. Their friendship doesn’t seem as strong as the family bonds the dwarves have between brothers, or cousins, or nephews, but it’s good to see them growing closer. Bilbo thinks about the relationship he see between Thorin and Balin, as king and advisor and brother in arms, and hopes he sees the same growing between Fili and Ori. It’s like looking on to the next generation of Erebor before the mountain is even in their sights. It may be putting the cart before the pony but at least Bilbo doesn’t fear for the future of the kingdom. A kingdom that’s not even his.

The rest of the dwarves settle in around the growing fire. Bombur hands out small chores, potatoes to peel or a radish to chop, while he cooks. Dwalin sharpens his axe with Thorin next to him, smoking his pipe. Bilbo settles near Balin, not just because he can see Thorin from the corner of his eye but also because he likes the older dwarf’s company. He sits, the smell of Bombur’s cookpot drifting over to him, and watches the fire. Watches Thorin. It’s not a bad evening, all in all.

Eventually Balin chuckles. Bilbo turns to him, losing sight of Thorin with the motion. “Hmm?”

Balin bumps Bilbo with his elbow and nods back toward Thorin and Dwalin. “My brother has never been subtle.”

Bilbo looks back and Dwalin is gone. He finds Dwalin’s back retreating into the shadows and the trees around them. Leaving camp isn’t that odd. Everyone does it at some point to relieve themselves, or to go on watch. Even Fili, Kili, and Ori haven’t come back yet. Bilbo turns back to Balin. “I don’t understand.”

“Who else is missing, hm?”

Bilbo looks around again, counts heads, and discounts the dwarves he knows are off in the woods. He makes a second sweep of the camp just to be sure. “Nori?”

Balin chuckles again. “See? Not very subtle.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” Bilbo’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Nori and Dwalin. They sneak off together every time we have a spare moment.”

Balin is still chuckling, shaking his head in fond exasperation. He can’t mean they’re sneaking off to do what Bilbo thinks. An older brother would never tolerate such a thing in the Shire, even among young men, and Dwalin and Nori are hardly that. A hobbit of their age would be expected to settle down with a wife and a family, and not go sneaking off into the woods with another male.

His heart starts to pound and he pastes a blank smile on his face. Ignorance has always been his best defense. “Oh, maybe they just want to get some space from the rest of us? Nori is always disappearing. They probably aren’t even running into each other out there.”

Balin gives a knowing look down his nose at Bilbo for a long moment. Bilbo keeps that stupid, blank look on his own face until Balin snorts and grins again. “I’m not that old Master Burglar. I remember what it was like to want someone. I never tried so hard to keep it a secret though.”

Bilbo’s eyes go wide and his body goes very still. Balin keeps talking and Bilbo feels like the trees are closing in around him. Balin can’t know that Dwalin and Nori are lovers. Bilbo didn’t know until now and he’s gotten very good at identifying people like himself. It’s survival skill. But, it sounds like Balin not only knows but isn’t angry about it. Not even disturbed.

In the face of Bilbo’s silence, Balin keeps talking. “I hope that after our quest is over they may take up together in Erebor. I think Dwalin would be happy that way but I don’t know. They are both foolish.”

“You would want your brother to be with another man?” Bilbo can’t keep the disbelieving words from tumbling out of his mouth.

Balin’s bushy eyebrows draw together. “Why wouldn’t I? I suspect he and Nori love each other, even if they’re too pigheaded to admit it.”

Bilbo blinks at him, lost for words. Love was never something that had been considered between him and his other lovers. There was never a future for them so why go beyond a bit of fondness, maybe friendship, and mutual pleasure? That was the best they could hope for. But now Balin talked about love and taking up together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“That’s-” Bilbo stops to clear his throat and darts a quick glance to where Bombur is doling out heaping spoonfuls of thick vegetable soup and fluffy biscuits. He drops his voice to keep the other dwarves from overhearing. Just in case he’s wrong. “That’s allowed, men loving men I mean, among the dwarves?”

Balin looks appalled. “Allowed? Who could stop someone from loving someone else? There’s nothing to be allowed or disallowed there.” He stopped and looks over Bilbo’s face with great care. Bilbo can do nothing be pull in shallows gasps of air. Balin’s voice goes from shocked to comforting. “What happens if two hobbit lads fall in love?”

“Nothing. They don’t. That doesn’t happen.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t happen? It has to have happened at least once in the history of hobbits.”

“No, it doesn’t- we don’t-” Bilbo stops, takes a deep breath with his eyes closed. “What happens when two dwarven men fall in love?”

“They court, they fight, they marry or they don’t, same as anyone else. It’s no different between dwarven men than it is between a dwarf and a dwarrowdam, except having childing. But that’s rare even among our womenfolk.”

“You can marry?” Bilbo feels his heart break a little at that. He thinks of Bag End being shared with someone else. Going to the Party Tree together. Having everyone know. It’s not something he’s let himself consciously consider before. At least not in a very long time.

“Yes, whoever we choose.” Balin puts a tentative hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, a gesture he’s done many times along their journey. “You could too, if you stayed with us.”

Biblo jerks away, old fear rising to the surface. “Oh no, no, I’m a confirmed old bachelor. I’ll go back to Bag End with my books. It’s not lonely there. It’s fine. Fine.” He backs away, same blank smile back on his face, until he nearly runs into Bombur holding out a plate full of food.

Dinner is a welcome distraction from conversation but not from his own thoughts. He keeps running it through his head. The dwarves are so different, but could they be that different? Could they be offering Bilbo the freedom and future he’s been afraid to want his entire life?

They may be offering that as a group, as a benefit of their culture that extends to anyone they see fit, but it’s not what Thorin is offering.

Thorin is secretive and shameful and everything else Bilbo is used to from lovers. Dwalin and Nori may sneak into the woods but Balin, and maybe the other members of the company, know about them. Balin, at least, approves as well. Thorin barely speaks to him other than hotly whispered words against his ear.

Bilbo is no better off than when he started. For now anyway. But the possibility of an open and free life stretches before him now, like a wide field of wildflowers, calling to him.

That night Bilbo lays out his own bedroll and is asleep before Thorin retires. Thorin doesn’t join him and Bilbo only feels a quick stab of longing when he wakes up without Thorin’s arms around him.

Chapter Text

The next days pass in a blur. Bilbo almost falls from the side of a mountain and Thorin pulls him to safety but cruelly dismisses him in the next breath. He’s ready to sneak away but there’s the fall into the den of the goblin king, the creature in the dark and his ring, Bilbo standing over Thorin to defy Azog, and then the eagles carrying them away. Thorin hangs unmoving in an eagle’s talons and Bilbo lets his hand stretch out as if he could reach Thorin from his own eagle’s back. He falls asleep that way, careless if he would fall off.

When they finally put down at the Carrock, Bilbo is still exhausted and the breeze raised by the eagles wings feels so good against his face that he almost calls out to them to take him with them when they go. Instead, he watches Thorin struggle to his feet and feels relief and joy and the great grasp of icy fear knowing how much this dwarf means to him.

“You. What were you doing.You nearly got yourself killed.” Thorin is breathless, barely staying on his feet and the gash across his nose oozes blood. Bilbo takes half a step back. He wants to defend himself, to point out that he kept Thorin alive. What was the company to have done, what was he to have done, if Azog had slaughtered Thorin then and there? Thorin may not care for him. Bilbo may only be a convenient body to fool around with but he’d finally done something right, unequivocally right, and all Thorin can do yell at him.

Bilbo doesn’t say any of this. He offers no defense. Instead he blinks at Thorin’s advance, at his harsh words, in shock.

“Did I not say you would be a burden?” Thorin has pulled away from the knot of other dwarves. They looked as shocked as Bilbo feels. At least he knows he’s not alone in his opinion of his actions. He’s just alone in facing Thorin’s wrath.

“That you would not survive in the wild?” Bilbo takes another step back as Thorin comes forward. His hair is wild and his voice rumbles out the accusations. He’s beautiful and Bilbo hates himself a little for thinking so.

“That you had no place amongst us?” Bilbo stops stepping back now. Thorin is close. So very close when he strikes this final blow. Bilbo keeps his eyes leveled at Thorin’s chest because this hurts more than the others. He has fought and scrapped his way to not being a burden, to doing more than just surviving on their journey, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t feel at home among the dwarves. And Thorin knows it, even in spite of how intimate they have been.

Suddenly, Thorin’s voice changes. It nearly cracks with relief. “I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Thorin’s arms crush Bilbo to his chest. All but the loudest of the dwarves’ cheers are drowned out by the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. Thorin holds him tightly and all Bilbo can do is pat softly against his back. That doesn’t dissuade Thorin from continuing the hug. Finally Bilbo relaxes against Thorin’s broad chest, lets Thorin’s strong arms hold him close. It’s where he’s wanted to be all this time anyway.

He turns his face into Thorin’s hair to hide his smile from the other dwarves. Is Thorin apologizing for everything he’s said and done that was unfair to Bilbo? Or just the parts related to their official business? Did this apology extend to...whatever it is they have between them? Bilbo doesn’t know. For now he doesn’t care because he can feel a low chuckle rumbling out from Thorin’s chest. Thorin’s turned his head too and Bilbo can feel Thorin’s smile against his own cheek. It’s warm and soft and not quite a kiss.

Thorin gives him a last squeeze and steps back, arms sliding down the length of Bilbo’s to grasp his fingers lightly. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“No. No-” Bilbo drops Thorin’s hands. He needs his hands free to say this, to clench and twist at his sides while he confesses. “I would have doubted me too. I’m not a hero. Or a warrior. I’m not even a burglar.”

The eagles fly by and all heads, except for Thorin’s, turn to watch them. The distraction keeps Bilbo from finishing his confession. But I am in love with you and would protect you if I can. Even at the cost of my own life.

Instead, he watches the eagles fly away and looks back at Thorin just in time to see his focus shift from Bilbo’s face to something in the distance behind him. Thorin’s expression goes from fond (loving Bilbo’s mind whispers) to something much more complicated. It’s wistful, and longing, and determined, and maybe a little bit afraid.

“Is that what I think it is?” There’s only silence from Thorin, from everyone around them. “The Lonely Mountain?”

Thorin takes a deep breath that pushes them chest to chest for one brief moment. Then Thorin moves away, steps around Bilbo, to stare unabashedly at the mountain. The rest of the dwarves all take a step forward as if they were pulled as a single until toward that peak. Toward their home.

Bilbo feels a pit open up somewhere below his bellybutton and his stomach promptly tumbles in. This is their home. It’s big and drafty and cold and inhabited by a dragon. It’s the exact opposite of Bag End. There’s nothing comforting or cozy about it, and that’s how the dwarves like it.

What is he doing here?

Home is important. In the end, it’s all you have. A fire to come home to, whether it’s in a snug hobbit hole or a towering rock. That’s why he’s here. Even before Thorin, he would have tried to give this back to all of them. They deserve it, deserve peace.

Bilbo pulls in a great gasp and pushes down the bubble rising in his throat that feels suspiciously like a sob. Then he’ll go home. This is no place for him. And anything that happens in the meantime is just a pleasant, heartbreaking distraction. It’s good to have distractions when the boredom of constant travel sets in.

***************
Gandalf says he know a place they can stay for a few days, somewhere they will be safe from Azog and where they can rest their wounds. They climb down from the Carrock, slowly and steadily, because while it is defensible, it is also incredibly visible and they could easily be trapped there if the orcs catch them up. They make it to the base of outcrop and are again surrounded by trees. Relief floods Bilbo at not being so exposed, but the mountain is no longer visible and he can feel the effect of its loss on the dwarves.

He also notices the sheen of sweat across Thorin’s forehead. The climb down shouldn’t have been that strenuous. Bilbo catches Dwalin’s eye and knows he sees it too. With Dwalin’s curt nod, he knows that Thorin will be cared for. Hopefully Thorin doesn’t know it, at least not yet.

The sun is setting and Bombur builds a small fire to combat the dusk. Thorin slumps against a boulder and doesn’t even complain. That raises Bilbo’s eyebrows.

Dwalin sets the watch and Bilbo raises his hand for first shift. They have their backs to the Carrock so there’s only three sides to watch, and he managed to sleep on the eagle’s back unlike many of the others. He’ll be awake for several more hours anyway, might as well get his watch done before it gets too cold.

Dori volunteers as well and they set out in opposite directions around the perimeter Nori sets for them.

Despite the danger, the fear of what’s lurking in the dark that traces all the way back to that terrible winter in the Shire, Bilbo likes his turn at the watch. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet. And it’s the only time he has a moment alone. He thinks best when he’s alone.

Not that he really wants to think lately. All he seems to think of is blunt fingertips, what his name sounds like on Thorin’s lips, and walking away from Erebor after the dwarves retake their kingdom.

Still, solitude is good. It’s comforting for his confirmed old bachelor heart. He can breathe this way.

Until he hears a twig snap loudly and fear freezes that breath in his lungs. Before Bilbo can regain his breath and raise the alarm, Thorin steps from the shadows on the side nearest camp. His heart tries to slow down and speed up all at once.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people. Especially when they have the watch,” Bilbo scolds, a bit more breathless than one should be when scolding a superior. When did that happen? Not so long ago, Bilbo was terrified to speak to Thorin at all, let alone grouse at him. It feels good. Almost as comforting to talk to Thorin like a real person as it is to sit alone in the dark. Bilbo squashes that realization quickly.

Thorin stalks to his side and leans against a convenient moss covered, rocky outcrop. Bilbo stares at him, but no explanation seems to be forthcoming. Instead Bilbo shuffles a bit closer and leans back as well. Their shoulders brush and Bilbo can feel Thorin’s heat seeping from his furs and leather. His skin prickles with anxious wariness now that Thorin’s here.

Bilbo is tired, he’s drained, and he doesn’t have the energy to keep his defenses up. He also can’t keep his mouth shut.

“You should be resting. We’ve a long way to go before we get to wherever Gandalf is taking us. We’ll have to start early and supplies --”

“I meant what I said. On the Carrock.”

Bilbo’s brows pull together. He doesn’t even need to think back to what was said in those few blissful moments before the dwarves saw their mountain. They will be burned in his mind forever, like the feel of Thorin’s arms around his shoulders and Thorin’s breath against his ear. And, in this, the words don’t matter anyway.

“Of course you meant what you said. You always mean what you say.”

Thorin’s expression is pinched tight as he stares into the quickly fading light. His profile is so gorgeous, Bilbo’s heart aches. He could almost be keeping the watch, looking intently outward for trouble, except that his eyes are unfocused and glassy.

“You are an asset to us. To all of us.” Thorin pauses to lick his lips. His eyes dart to Bilbo for a split-second before he looks away again. “Especially to me.”

Bilbo is struck momentarily speechless. His mouth falls open like a caught fish, and Thorin takes advantage. He pivots, pushes Bilbo back against the rock, and looms over him.

There’s nothing left for Bilbo to do but surge up and finally, finally press his lips to Thorin’s. Thorin lets out a bit of grunt and Bilbo thinks maybe he’s hit him too hard, that Thorin’s injuries are still too much. He’s about to pull back when Thorin braces his feet against the ground and his hands on the rock behind Bilbo’s head and kisses him back.

Their noses bump and Bilbo’s calves strain as he stretches up. He’s already come in Thorin’s hand, felt Thorin fuck him into the ground, and kissed him caught up in great passion. But this is different. They are building that passion up with their kisses, not already pulling at each other’s cocks before they think to taste one another.

Thorin nips at his lips, then soothes the bite with his tongue before pushing in to seal his mouth fully over Bilbo’s again. Yes, this is different than what they’ve done before but it’s still sending sharp swells of pleasure right to Bilbo’s cock. It’s plump and full against his trousers and sweat is starting to break out along his spine.

Thorin presses him back against the rock and grasps at his middle. Thorin’s fingers knead the flesh over his hip bones, much less than there was at the beginning of the journey but still enough to grab. He growls and licks into Bilbo’s mouth.

Bilbo is well into this kissing thing, his own hands pulling at Thorin’s coat to bring him closer, when Thorin pulls back. Not far, but just enough to rest his forehead against Bilbo’s. Bilbo tries to stretch up and bring their lips back together again but Thorin’s hands on his hips keep him steady. They breathe together for a moment.

“What is between us,” Thorin whispers, “it’s temporary. It won’t be like this…” Thorin trails off as Bilbo presses his palms flat to Thorin’s chest. Bilbo just wants to touch him, to keep touching him, to make him stop talking. Bilbo never thought this would last, even if Balin’s comments had given him a small kick of hope in his chest, but surely Thorin doesn’t mean to end it right this very second? They could all die tomorrow. The least they can do is seek pleasure together tonight. That’s what Bilbo is used to: fleeting moments that never had the potential to be more. No need to change that now.

Bilbo’s hands keep moving, fingers plucking at laces and ties to get at Thorin’s hot skin. Thorin pulls himself together. He doesn’t stop Bilbo but he tries to speak again. “I am a king...”

That’s too much for Bilbo. Hands on his hips or not, he surges up and has his tongue in Thorin’s mouth before Thorin can continue. Bilbo knows Thorin is a king. He’s the king without a kingdom. The reason they are on this foolish journey to begin with. Bilbo doesn’t need to be reminded that, if they live, Thorin will sit atop a throne of gold and jewels while he goes back to the Shire to be a queer, lonely bachelor.

This is easier among Hobbits, Bilbo thinks. There’s no need to talk about such things. We understand how it has to be.

Thorin kisses him back, again eager with his lips and teeth. Bilbo finds himself pushed back against the rock again as Thorin’s hands fumble at the top of his trousers. Bilbo keeps kissing him, unwilling to let him go long enough to properly get Bilbo free of his clothes. It’s too big a risk to take. What if he never brings that mouth back close enough to kiss again? Best to just keep it busy.

Just as Bilbo is becoming aware of the burn that Thorin’s beard is leaving against his mouth, Thorin pulls back. Bilbo tries to follow him, wanting nothing but to keep their mouths pressed together, but Thorin sinks to his knees and Bilbo can barely breath.

“You have the watch?”

“Yes.”

“Then watch.”

Thorin’s fingers finally get the ties of Bilbo’s trousers fully open and he pushes them down all the way to the ground. Bilbo’s drab and dirty underclothes fall with them. He’d be embarrassed by the state of his clothes if this were a lover he’d invited back to Bag End, but things are different here. A sense of urgency and desperation makes how dingy Bilbo’s shorts are irrelevant. If Thorin wants him shoved back against a boulder or hidden under bedrolls, then Thorin can have him.

The evening air is cool and the hair on the back of Bilbo’s thighs stands up. Thorin’s finger tips trace along that hair all the way from the curve of Bilbo’s ass to his knees. He smoothes his palms over the front of Bilbo’s thighs as he slides his hands back up to bracket Bilbo’s cock.

He’s not hard yet, not really. But his cock is plump with arousal and growing. It already feels sensitive and Bilbo cants his hips toward Thorin, not entirely sure if what he thinks is about to happen is actually going to happen. A dwarven king on his knees for you in the wilderness seems a fantasy too far for Bilbo Baggins to ever have hoped for.

Thorin leans in, hot breath ghosting across Bilbo’s cock, and runs his nose along the curve of Bilbo’s balls. Bilbo’s head thunks back against the rock when he feels Thorin’s tongue trace along the thick seam bisecting his sack. Thorin lifts Bilbo’s balls with one big hand and licks all the way from the back to the front with the broad, flat surface of his tongue.

Bilbo’s cock is more than plump now. It’s hard and straining. Thorin keeps Bilbo’s sack in his hand, massaging it gently with his fingers, as he moves on to the base of Bilbo’s cock. With lips and tongue, he works his way from root to tip. Thorin takes his time and Bilbo has to clench his hands at his side to keep from wrapping them in Thorin’s magnificent mane of hair. Bilbo loves that hair, but it’s not polite to grab one’s partner and yank his mouth down on your cock. Though Bilbo is damn close to throwing manners out the window.

When Thorin finally closes his lips around the crown of Bilbo’s cock, Bilbo has to stuff a clenched fist in his mouth to keep from crying out. His hips stutter, push forward, trying to fuck Thorin’s mouth. Manners or not, he can’t help it. Thorin has teased him to a near-mindless state of arousal. His entire shaft and sack are sticky with Thorin’s spit. They burn with the scratch of Thorin’s beard and the only thing that will soothe him is to have his cock deep in Thorin’s throat.

He thinks that Thorin will grab his hips and hold him still. That Thorin will keep up his slow and steady pace to take Bilbo apart. Instead, Thorin groans. Bilbo feels it all the way to the soles of his feet. It vibrates down his hard length and makes his balls pull tighter to his body. He thrusts forward again and Thorin grabs his ass, hands spread and blunt fingertips flirting with the edge of his crack.

Bilbo rocks his hips back, watching his shaft slide between Thorin’s slick lips. He reaches out, slowly so Thorin can stop him or pull away if he’s reading this situation wrong, and buries his hand in the thick, dark hair at the back of Thorin’s head. When he thrusts forward again, he pushes a bit at Thorin’s head. Thorin lets himself be pulled forward eagerly and takes Bilbo to the back of his throat.

Not only is a dwarven king on his knees in the wilderness for Bilbo Baggins, but he wants Bilbo to fuck his face.

And Bilbo is not about to let him down.

Each thrust gets just a bit harder, just a bit faster. Bilbo pushes Thorin’s head forward just a bit more each time, until Thorin is looking up at him with that piercing blue gaze, spit running down his chin, and Bilbo’s entire cock in his mouth. Bilbo's next thrust slaps his balls against Thorin’s chin.

Bilbo is moaning. Thorin is making slurping, squelching noises around Bilbo’s cock. He’s sure all the dwarves back at camp can hear them and know exactly what they’re doing. He’ll care later. He can’t care now. Not when Thorin’s tongue is laving at his slit each time he slides his cock into Thorin’s mouth. He briefly think of Fili and Kili’s shocked faces, and of Bofur’s inevitable teasing. He’ll definitely care later.

But for now, Thorin’s hands have gripped tighter around Bilbo’s ass. His fingers have worked deeper into Bilbo’s crack, pulling apart his cheeks. He’s so close to rubbing his fingertips across Bilbo’s hole. Bilbo wants to reach back and drag those fingers directly to his center, to fuck himself on them as surely as he’s fucking Thorin’s mouth. Or maybe Bilbo wants to spin around and beg Thorin to use his mouth on Bilbo’s hole. But that would mean taking his cock out of Thorin’s mouth and he can’t do that either.

Thorin takes the debate out of his hands when he does move his fingers that fraction of an inch closer to skim over Bilbo’s puckered skin. Bilbo cries out and tightens his hand in Thorin’s hair. He thrusts back and forth, caught between Thorin’s tongue and his fingers.

It’s not long before he feels the hot coil of pleasure Thorin has built in him begin to unwind. It starts in his balls, twisting and radiating out. He can feel it in his ass and in his shaft and low in his gut. He pulls back, yanks Thorin by the hair maybe harder than he should have, and tries to call out a warning. Bilbo can only hear the blood rushing in his ears, so he’s not quite sure how much of his warning makes sense. But Thorin must understand. He grasps Bilbo’s cock and gives it long, hard strokes until Bilbo comes. He comes in long, hot spurts into Thorin’s beard, on his chest, and across his shirt.

Bilbo has no time to catch his breath. Thorin jumps from his knees and pushes Bilbo back against the rock. He crowds him back, kissing him again, smearing the mess Bilbo just made across them both.

Bilbo wants to sink to his knees and return the favor. He wants to take his time with Thorin’s cock, to find out if he likes his ass played with as much as Bilbo does, to see if Thorin will come down his throat. But Thorin is kissing him like he has no plans to stop and Bilbo can’t argue with that either.

It takes a few moments for Bilbo to realize that Thorin is fisting his own cock as they kiss. Bilbo tries to bat his hand away, to at least do that much for him but they end up in a tangle of fingers all stroking Thorin together while he comes against Bilbo’s flaccid prick.

“Not forever, I promise. Not like this forever,” Thorin pants against Bilbo’s neck as both their heartbeats slow back to normal.

A lump forms in Bilbo’s throat. He tries to clear it away but his eyes sting. “I know. It’s fine.” He rubs and hand through Thorin’s hair. “This is fine.”

They right themselves, clean themselves as best they can, and Thorin leaves Bilbo to the end of his watch. When Bilbo returns to camp, their bedrolls are spread out together and he tries not to meet anyone’s eyes as he settles next to Thorin.

Chapter Text

Gandalf leads the company to their safe haven starting bright and early the next morning. It starts well enough but ends in a madcap flight from orcs and intervention by a bear. A man who turns into a bear, at least. A man who is supposed to be their friend, according to Gandalf. By the end of their run to safety, Bilbo didn’t really care if the bear-man was friend or foe. His house was warm and there was food. At least it was a reprieve.

By the time they catch their breath, the bear-man has been introduced as Beorn. He, Gandalf, and Thorin grumble out some sort of agreement for their lodging. Bilbo didn’t hear the details and, again, he didn’t really care. All he cares about is that they can stay.

He watches Thorin through dinner. He’s still moving stiffly, as if his torso is sore and holding his arm close to his side. Bilbo chews thick slices of fresh made bread covered in honey but he watches. The dwarves pick sadly at their roasted vegetables but seem to get enough in them to sate their hunger. Bilbo was quite grateful for the turnips and carrots.

Beorn points them all to a great room laid out with blankets and pillows to sleep. The idea of collapsing in a pile of softness, even surrounded by snoring dwarves, with no need for a watch or threat of attack in the night sounds like paradise.

That paradise gets a bit derailed when Oin presses some strips of linen and a pot of liniment into his hands. Oin pushes him towards a door off the great hall where the other dwarves are already making their beds.

Bilbo knows what’s behind that door. Or rather, who’s behind that door. That fact that Oin is pushing him there makes his ears burn. His earlier conversation with Balin reassures him that none of them are going to jump him in the middle of the night for being who he is, but he’s still not sure how they might feel about him sleeping with their king. Not to mention, decades of shame and secrecy are hard to shed overnight.

His knock sounds very, very loud. He doesn’t turn around but he’s sure all the dwarves are staring at him. He can feel their eyes on his back. It makes his skin crawl.

Thorin calls to him to enter and Bilbo practically rushes inside and slams the door to avoid looking back at the rest of the company.

Oh, this is a different sort of paradise.

Thorin stands, clad only in trousers, next to a gigantic bed. There’s a fire crackling in the hearth and tossing long shadows across Thorin’s shoulders. Bilbo’s never seen so much of him before and he could drink in Thorin’s chest for hours.

His shoulders are broad and just the barest edge of his collar bones stick out from the corded muscles. His chest is thick, and covered in even thicker, springy hair. Bilbo can barely see his nipples in the dark curls. He knows what that hair feels like under his fingers. Now he wants to feel it against his bare chest or pressed tight to his back. The hair doesn’t let up as it moves down a slimmer waist and toned abdominal muscles. It converges, becomes a defined trail instead of a sprawling mat, at Thorin’s navel and disappears into his trousers. Bilbo wants to feel that trail rasp against his tongue. He’s never seen so much hair on a lover. Some hobbits have a bit that spreads from one nipple to the other in the middle of their chests, and Bilbo himself has a light dusting that leads to his cock, but nothing like this magnificence. It’s masculinity at its most raw and Bilbo wants to drown in it.

He can only hope that Thorin’s thighs and ass will be similarly covered because he plans to explore every inch of those as well.

Bilbo’s gaze finally makes it back to Thorin’s face, which he finds staring back at him confusedly.

“Ah, Oin sent me. With bandages. And medicine.” Bilbo holds the bandages and liniment up lamely between them. This is ridiculous. He’s behaving like a fauntling with his first crush.

Now that he makes himself see beyond the beauty of Thorin’s physique, he can also see the dark purple and green bruising wrapping around his ribs. No wonder Thorin’s progress had been slow and stiff since the Carrock. It’s amazing he’s standing at all.

Thorin follows the line of Bilbo’s vision and glances down at his own torso. “It’s only bruises.”

“Is Oin sure nothing’s broken?” Bilbo moves forward, and drops the care items Oin gave him on a footstool. It’s high enough to be a table for him. He stops just inches from Thorin, still gazing at the dark splotches on his skin.

He’s reminded of the time a Took lad fell from a tall tree and turned seven shades of black before he was healed.

Thorin nods, shifting slightly but not moving away. His heat radiates from so much bare skin and Bilbo feels it through his clothes. “Yes. He recommends a few days rest.” Thorin’s face twists at that, as if rest is the worst prescription a healer can give.

Bilbo reaches out and presses feather light fingertips to Thorin’s ribcage. The injuries aren’t as dramatic as some sort of open, bleeding gash but they’re still a reminder of how easily Thorin could have been lost. How easily Bilbo could have lost him. Bilbo looks up and find Thorin staring at him. He sees the scab from a scratch across the bridge of Thorin’s nose. Wounds big and small have an impact.

They stare for a moment, with Bilbo’s fingers resting against Thorin’s bruised flesh, until he remembers the bandages and liniment that he was sent to give. He could just hand them over and walk away. But the chance to take care of Thorin, to soothe with his hands as best he can, is too good to pass by. It feels necessary.

Bilbo turns away to pick up the discarded items and when he turns to face Thorin again, his breath catches in his throat. Thorin has turned to face the massive bed. His arms are raised slightly above his head, on the level with the side of the bed where they rest. It stretches his back and torso into lean lines of muscle. His forehead rests between his fists against the quilt and a dark curtain of hair obscures his expression.

“You’ll have to rub it in. You can’t be gentle.”

Thorin never expected, never wanted, him to deliver the medicine and leave. He was always to play nursemaid. That sends a thrill down Bilbo’s spine.

Bilbo steps forward, coming flush with Thorin’s side. His hands shake as he twists open the pot of liniment Oin gave him. He takes a great dip of the oily stuff onto his fingers before he touches Thorin.

Thorin winces at that first touch and Bilbo steels himself to not be gentle. If the muscles are to find relief, they must be worked. He places his clean hand on Thorin’s back to ground him. Whispered words of comfort, phrases without meaning, come easily.

Bilbo works the liniment across Thorin’s bruises. One time and then again for good measure. He ends up using both hands before he’s finished. On that second pass, Thorin’s breathing is deeper and his eyes are closed, but Bilbo doesn’t think it’s from pain. He rubs his fingers outward, across untarnished skin, to play across Thorin’s taut stomach and to massage his strong back.

Bilbo ends there, behind Thorin with his hands splayed low across Thorin’s back. His thumbs trace the small hollows just above the band of Thorin’s trousers and they stand still, just breathing for a moment.

Thorin breaks the silence. “The bandage next.”

Bilbo leaves his side reluctantly, forcing himself not to squeeze Thorin’s hips as he goes. He retrieves that bandage and stands in front of Thorin.

Thorin obediently raises his arms so that Bilbo can wrap the swath of linen around his torso. It will compress the bruise, hold anything that might be tempted to break apart together, and help Thorin heal faster. But wrapping that thin fabric again and again around Thorin’s middle, smoothing it down with his hands inch by inch is torture for Bilbo. When he stops this time, the roll of linen coming to an abrupt end, it’s directly in front of Thorin. He moves to tuck the end into the wrap but Thorin’s hands close on his.

When Bilbo looks up, those blue eyes are clouded and staring at him. Hard. Bilbo flattens the end of the linen tightly against Thorin’s stomach, pressing his palms flat against the tense muscles there, as Thorin’s mouth meets his.

The kiss is intense from the first instant. Thorin bites at his bottom lip and drives his tongue inside when Bilbo moans. Thorin’s arms come around Bilbo’s shoulders and crush them chest to chest. Bilbo wants to slide his arms around Thorin’s middle but his hands are trapped tightly between them. And putting any pressure on Thorin’s bruises isn’t a great idea anyway, even though Bilbo wants to. Eru, does he want to.

Instead, he pulls back as far as Thorin will let him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Bilbo scowls and tries to pull back another inch but Thorin holds him in place. “Would you like to try me?”

Thorin chuckles. It’s a low, sensuous rumble that Bilbo hears and feels where his hands are pressed to Thorin’s chest. A sliver of heat shoots down Bilbo’s body all the way to the soles of his feet. Some of that heat does settle in his cock on its way down though.

Thorin pulls him close again, so tight that he’s whispering in Bilbo’s ear.

“I believe I would.”

His voice is positively sinful and the curve of his lip just catches the edge of Bilbo’s ear. His cock takes a firmer interest in that.

How lovely would that be? They have a very, very big bed and soft blankets. And a strong door between them and the rest of the company. No threat of attack, no friends sleeping next to them, no hard ground or rocks beneath them. No need to wake at dawn. Bilbo could take his time. Draw pleasure from Thorin slowly, over hours. The walls are thick. He could make Thorin beg.

He needs to leave this room right now. The others will know exactly what is going on if he doesn’t. In such a place, with such comfort and security, he can’t be quick with Thorin. That would break his heart. And he certainly can’t be thorough and maintain secrecy.

Bilbo pulls back again. This time Thorin lets him go. Bilbo puts some space between them. He needs that space, that lack of heat and touch, to bolster his courage.

“I should go. The others will wonder why I’m taking so long. Even I can’t be that bad at wrapping some bruises.” Bilbo tries to shrug it off and fails in the face of Thorin’s confusion.

Thorin doesn’t try to close the space between them, thank goodness, because Bilbo’s not sure he could stand that, but he does reach out his hands between them. Palms up as if Bilbo is a skittish animal. Thorin thinks he’s going to bolt, but Bilbo is keeping himself from falling right back into those hands.

“Where would you go?”

“To bed. With the others in the common room.”

“You’re to sleep in here.” Thorin tips his chin toward the door and Bilbo turns to look. His smaller pack is there, next to Thorin’s. “I thought you would want that.”

“Oh…” He wants. Bilbo definitely wants. But if he doesn’t leave this room until morning, then all deniability is out the window. Even the densest of dwarves outside will know. Can he look Bofur’s teasing face in the eye, or Fili and Kili? They’ll know that Bilbo spent the night with their uncle. In privacy. In a great, big bed. Will Dori, who is so keen on propriety, shun him for daring to sleep with their king?

He takes a deep breath. His next protestation will be his last. If Thorin pushes, he won’t have the strength to say no. He’s already far too far down the path of ‘sad hobbit who falls for a king he doesn’t deserve and can never have’ to do anything more than gaze wistfully at the broken heart to come.

“Hobbits are more...secretive about their affairs.” He meets Thorin’s eyes, begging him to understand. “The others will know what we’ve been doing if I stay.” It’s the first time either of them has acknowledged this out loud and it feels as this might burst that bubble. Thorin could throw him out for daring to speak of it rather than just acting as they have been. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Bilbo could end this with some dignity.

Thorin’s brows come together over his far too regal nose. “They know already. Dwarves are not secretive about their lovers.” Bilbo’s heart trips over itself at lovers. He’s never had someone call him that before.

He steps closer to Bilbo and cups Bilbo’s elbows, runs the palms of his hands up Bilbo’s arms. The fire is not enough to stop the gooseflesh from rising beneath Bilbo’s clothes. “We’re not secretive. When we seduce, we give gifts. We make declarations in public. But…” Thorin licks his lips and Bilbo is momentarily distracted by the pink point of his tongue. “...under the circumstances, I am not at liberty to do those things. But the others know, at least.” He pauses and his grip tightens on the back of Bilbo’s arms. Bilbo sways a little closer, as if he’s being pulled. “I wish it could be different. But my kingdom-”

“It’s all right. I understand.” Bilbo cuts him off. Unable to hear about how he’s still just a dirty little secret, even among a people that don’t condemn two men being together. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s a hobbit, because Thorin’s a king, because he’s just Bilbo, or some combination of all those things. He doesn’t want to know.

If this is what Bilbo can have, he’ll take it. He’s likely to die along this journey anyway. At least he can die having experienced some comfort in his last days. He surges up and seals his lips over Thorin’s before Thorin can speak again. It’s better this way.

Thorin meets him eagerly, wrapping his thick arms around Bilbo’s back and dragging him so they are chest to chest. Their kisses are becoming comfortable. Still fierce and passionate, but Bilbo knows exactly how to tip his head to avoid bumping Thorin’s nose and Thorin knows just hot hard Biblo prefers his bottom lip to be bitten. It’s dangerous to feel so connected with someone.

But it can’t last. It has a natural end as the mountain looms beyond. Bilbo can indulge and deal with the discomfort later.

He slows their kisses. This doesn’t have to be a tumble in the woods or secret fumblings under their blankets. They have a bed and a fire, and Thorin is wounded. They can take their time and be careful.

Thorin must agree. He lets out a long moan when Bilbo’s tongue sweeps into his mouth. It’s positively luxurious that Bilbo can take his time with this.

He pulls back, and Thorin follows his lips for a split second. “Up on the bed.”

Thorin uses a step stool next to the bed to help haul himself onto the mismatched quilt. It’s not graceful, but even without injury it wasn’t likely to have ever been graceful. Bilbo shrugs off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“No.” Bilbo looks up, and up to the bed, at Thorin’s quiet command. His fingers pause on his dingy and dented buttons. “I’ll do it.”

Bilbo follows Thorin’s climb onto the bed with no more grace, but he also doesn’t fall. That’s as much dignity as he can manage in the moment. He shuffles toward Thorin on his knees. Immediately Thorin’s blunt fingers take over the work of undoing Bilbo’s buttons.

They stay quiet, just ragged breathing between them, as Thorin peels away the waistcoat. His fingers stroke the skin peeking through the open neck of Bilbo’s shirt. He leans forward and places several sucking kisses along the trail of exposed collar bone.

Bilbo’s head spins. He’s entirely caught up in the feeling of Thorin’s lips against his chest, the rub of his beard against that skin, and the pressure of his hands grasping Bilbo’s hips.

Those hands are tugging on Bilbo’s shirt, and he barely noticed. He raises up a bit, to help Thorin pull the shirt from the waist of his trousers. It passes over his head and Thorin is instantly back to kissing his chest. Lower this time, flirting close to Bilbo’s nipples but not quite touching them.

It’s not a good angle. Thorin is bending too much and his side must hurt. Bilbo takes Thorin’s hands in his and pulls them both down to the bed. They lay side by side, with Thorin’s injury up as to not put pressure on it, trousers still on and hands roaming across bare chests.

Bilbo’s hand skims over the bandage and Thorin tenses. He’ll have to be careful of that, even if his stubborn dwarf would never say anything about it. But that was all right. Tonight could be slow and gentle.

He wiggled forward so that he was closer to Thorin. Not touching chest to chest but enough to feel the heat that always seemed to be radiating from the dwarf.

“Are you cold?” It was as if Thorin could read his thoughts.

Bilbo shook his head. “No. Just getting closer.”

“We could get under the covers.”

That was the last thing Bilbo wanted. He’d had enough of Thorin’s body being hidden from him on the road. He wanted to see it and see his hands on it. Instead of answering, he tipped his chin up and trailed his lips along the bottom of Thorin’s jaw.

One of Thorin’s arms wrapped around his waist, a large hand falling to cup his ass. The other roamed across his chest again while Bilbo set to making Thorin writhe and moan with his mouth. He kissed and bit and sucked his way down Thorin’s neck, with a short detour to Thorin’s ear, across Thorin’s collar bone, and all the way down to drag his tongue across a peaked nipple.

Thorin’s hips jerk and thrust against nothing while Bilbo indulges. And indulge he does. Thorin’s chest is a piece of art. The bandage pushes his pectoral muscles a bit higher, making them feel even thicker and fuller in Bilbo’s hands and under his lips. The thick fur that starts just under Thorin’s collar bones is soft and smells musky against his nose. Bilbo moans as he sucks Thorin’s nipple into his mouth.

He could do this for hours, but Thorin’s hips are moving too much to ignore. Bilbo slides a hand down the front of Thorin’s trousers and meets the blazing hardness of Thorin’s cock pressing against his flies.

That just his hands and mouth on skin that’s not even that scandalous can make Thorin react like this is amazing. Bilbo feels powerful and wanton. He keeps his hand there, stroking through Thorin’s trousers while he continues to rub his face and lips across Thorin’s chest.

The hand on his ass is gripping harder and harder, all but dragging him forward on the bed. “Bilbo…” Thorin moans and Bilbo finally looks up. Thorin’s cheeks are red, his lips kissed and bitten enough to be swollen, and his eyes are foggy with lust. Powerful, indeed.

“Here.” Bilbo pushes at his side. “Roll onto your back.”

Thorin does as he’s told but when Bilbo sits up on his knees and starts to rid Thorin of his trousers that wariness that Bilbo associates with Thorin resurfaces.

“What are you doing?” His tone is not concerned, not exactly, but it’s not as relaxed or consumed with lust as it had been moments ago.

Bilbo can fix that. He’s still riding the high of having Thorin thrusting into his hand and moaning. He leans over Thorin and kisses him deeply until Thorin’s hand comes up to grasp his hair and he feels that wariness slip away. Bilbo slides his mouth toward Thorin’s ear and, before Thorin can properly catch his breath, Bilbo whispers, “I’m going to take your trousers off and then I’m going to suck you until you come down my throat. Are you amenable to that plan?”

Thorin sucks in a great breath through his nose. Bilbo can feel Thorin’s chest expand beneath him. “Mahal, yes.”

It’s almost begging and that goes straight to Bilbo’s cock.

Bilbo sets to work on Thorin’s trousers again, much more eager to get them off now. Thorin raises his hips to help as Bilbo drags them down. They’re finally off and Thorin is finally entirely naked under Bilbo’s gaze. He’s gorgeous. Thick and strong and masculine. And nearly begging for Bilbo to suck his cock.

Bilbo is just about to push his thighs apart and settle between them when Thorin speaks again. “Wait.”

Bilbo’s head snaps up. Please don’t let this be the moment Thorin decides this is all a mistake. Bilbo can walk away from this, he could make himself do it, but he wants so much it hurts.

“Is something wrong?” Bilbo keeps his words as light as he can, despite the panic building in his breast.

Thorin pulls himself up so that his back is resting against the giant headboard. He slides a pillow behind him. “I want to watch you.”

Any blood that had threatened to leave his cock at Thorin’s hesitation comes rushing back full force. Bilbo pushes at Thorin’s thighs, sliding them wide, and settles between them on his stomach. It’s not a position he can stay in the entire time he does this, because he plans for this to take a long time, but it’s good to start in.

Bilbo grasps Thorin’s cock by the root and uses his other hand to press Thorin’s hips down when they try to thrust up.

“Shhh, stay still. Just for now. Let me taste you.” Bilbo drags his tongue from the base of Thorin’s cock all the way to the tip where he laps at the clear fluid dripping from the slit there. He keeps his eyes on Thorin the entire time. If he wants to watch, let him watch.

Thorin’s head thunks back against the headboard. “You’re going to kill me. Sweet Mahal, I’m not going to make it to the end of this.”

It was the most lighthearted thing he’s ever heard Thorin say. Bilbo laughs, air tickling across the head of Thorin’s cock. “Don’t worry. I’ll start slow. If you’re in danger of death, please do the polite thing and let me know.”

He kisses his way back down to where his fist wraps around Thorin’s cock. He slides his hand so his palm cradles Thorin’s length and he can mouth at the base of his cock. Bilbo plans to go very slow indeed. Thorin will be a moaning, begging mess by the time he’s done.

He works his way down to suck at Thorin’s sack. He laves with his tongue and presses kisses there between sucking each side into his mouth. He wants to tilt Thorin’s hips up, slide his hand under Thorin’s ass and lift him, so he can lick at Thorin’s hole. He wants to open him up with his tongue and fingers and take his time doing it.

But they haven’t done anything like that and maybe Thorin wouldn’t like it. Bilbo will stick to his cock and balls for now, because that has certainly been well received. Thorin’s muscles are shaking as he restrains himself. He’s biting his lip but tiny moans of pleasure are still slipping out.

Bilbo abandons Thorin’s balls for the moment and give another long, base-to-tip lick of his cock.

“You don’t have to be so quiet. Beorn's walls are thick,” Bilbo teases.

He presses his lips to the soft spot just below the crown of Thorin’s cock and licks the sensitive flesh there. Thorin moans again, this time long and loud.

“I will shout this house down if you’re not careful.”

Bilbo smiles against Thorin’s cock. “Good.” He’s foolishly brave at the moment. There’s an inkling in the back of his mind that he’ll be embarrassed tomorrow. That he’ll be shamefaced in front of the smirking or disappointed dwarves who will now have irrefutable evidence that Bilbo did more than just sleep in this room with Thorin. That their king sullied himself with a lowly hobbit for a bed mate.

But right now, Thorin’s cock tastes too good to care.

Bilbo can tease no more. He swallows it down, working Thorin’s cock to the back of his throat. It’s longer than a hobbit’s cock is, generally speaking, but not much thicker. It stretches the corners of Bilbo’s mouth in the most pleasant way.

Thorin grabbed the hair at the crown of his head, not hard but enough to make Bilbo look up. He has to open his eyes to meet Thorin’s gaze. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them at all.

“Careful.” Thorin grits his teeth. Bilbo can see the muscles of his abdomen straining under the bandage and feel where his thighs grip at Bilbo’s shoulders.

Gods, it would be amazing to pull those thighs over his shoulders and have his way with Thorin. But it looks like there won’t be time for that.

He could make Thorin wait. Drag this out until he’s taken Thorin to the edge again and again and Thorin is panting and sweating and babbling for Bilbo to let him come. But Bilbo is suddenly greedy for it.

Bilbo gives Thorin a few moments to get himself under control. He peppers kisses along the inside of Thorin’s thighs and licks the crease where thigh meets ass before rising up and taking Thorin’s cock in his mouth again.

He slides his mouth up and down, all the way to the base and then back until just the head remains. He sucks, hollowing his cheeks and flicking his tongue across the slit. Thorin’s hand is back in his hair. Not pushing exactly, but encouraging Bilbo’s movement up and down.

Bilbo is happy to oblige. He picks up the pace, sliding faster and applying more pressure. He can’t take Thorin as deeply at this pace so he wraps a hand around the base of Thorin’s cock to stroke in time with his bobbing head.

He feels it first. Feels it in the way Thorin’s muscles tighten again. He can hear it too, in the deepness of the growl rumbling from Thorin’s chest. Bilbo takes Thorin’s cock about halfway into his mouth, using his hand to keep stroking the rest of Thorin’s shaft, and sucks. Sucks hard and presses the flat of his tongue to that sensitive spot just under the head.

Thorin cries out and both of his hands tangle in Bilbo’s hair. He holds Bilbo’s head still as he gives a couple of shallow thrusts before coming in Bilbo’s mouth. Bilbo pulls off Thorin’s cock with a wet pop and spits into his balled up shirt. He’ll worry about that tomorrow.

In the meantime, the taste of Thorin clings to his tongue and his own cock is throbbing. He stands on the bed and shimmies out of his trousers and underpants. He stands between Thorin’s spread legs, naked as the day he was born and cock jutting out on display.

Thorin motions him down with a wave of jelly-like arms. “Here. Come here. Sit in my lap.” His speech is nearly slurred with spent pleasure.

Bilbo lowers himself down, mindful of Thorin’s softening cock and of his injured ribs. He settles in with his knees bent around Thorin’s hips and his ass sitting against the sticky wetness of Thorin’s cock. If Thorin were still aroused, he could rub against Bilbo’s ass like that first night in their bedrolls. Bilbo whimpers at the thought.

“Here, I’ll take care of you.” Thorin’s eyes are level with Bilbo’s in this position, since he’s slumped a bit against the headboard. He raises his hand between them and licks from heel to finger tips. It’s obscene and Bilbo’s hips jerk forward while he watches.

Thorin wraps that hand around Bilbo’s cock and begins a slow, rhythmic push and pull. It doesn’t take long for Bilbo to be caught up in it. He plants his hands on Thorin’s shoulders and rocks back and forth, thrusting his cock into Thorin’s grip and grinding his ass back on Thorin’s cock. It’s not showing an interest in the proceedings but that doesn’t stop Bilbo from wanting it there, from enjoying the motion anyway.

When Thorin’s other hand cups his balls, Bilbo throws his head back and groans.

“That’s it. You’re so beautiful.”

Bilbo laughs both at Thorin’s ridiculous assertion and the sincerity in his voice. It comes out as a bubbling, joyous sound.

Thorin groans and leans forward to press his face against Bilbo’s neck. The scent of him, the feel of his beard and lips there, sends Bilbo over the edge. He comes, shouting, against Thorin’s stomach and hand.

Thorin licks that hand clean before Bilbo can manage to crawl off his lap and it’s one of the most erotic things he’s ever seen. If only he weren’t now too bone tired to do anything about it.

He does eventually crawl off Thorin and they arrange themselves so that Thorin’s injured side is opposite where Bilbo is snuggled against him.

It’s the closest Bilbo has felt to safety in a long time. It’s the closest to comfort he’s felt in even longer.

Chapter Text

They sleep late the next morning. Well, it’s not exactly sleeping, but they stay abed.

It makes Bilbo forget the mortification hanging over his head. Walking out, before Thorin (thank goodness), to see the other dwarves standing around either smirking, blushing, or avoiding his gaze brings it all crashing back down.

These are his friends, his company for better or worse. How is he supposed to face them when they know he’s giving himself over to their king with no hope of it being anything more than a fuck along the roadside? That Thorin will leave him with a pat on the back and his share of the treasure to ascend to his rightful place, and that Bilbo will go home? Alone.

It’s not that it could have become any more than what it is in Hobbiton either. Sure, occasionally confirmed old bachelors shared a household but they were always looked at askance by the community. And having a dwarf move in would bring down more than just a little social censure, to be sure.

But it’s the possibility that it could have become more among the dwarves that hurts. It’s all the things Bilbo might have had, if only Thorin hadn’t been a king or if he hadn’t been a hobbit or...Or if he had been anyone other than himself.

The knowing looks of the rest of the company drive Bilbo from the house fairly quickly after breakfast. None of them look at him with pity, but Bilbo feels miserable anyway. Some are a bit embarrassed, but most of them look pleased. Bilbo can’t stand it.

If anyone had told him that a day beginning with him biting the furry, perfect ass of a dwarven king and getting tossed to the bed in a fit of giggles would end up a disaster before second breakfast, he would have called them a liar. But that was before today actually happened.

All in all, though, he’s had worse days.

He find the dwarves gathered around the table eating… elevensies, if they had such a meal. Maybe he and Thorin weren’t the only ones to stay abed longer than usual. That thought raises heat along his cheeks as he approaches the table. The knowing looks he feared are present across all twelve faces. Some are smug and others are embarrassed, and some even sit somewhere between the two emotions.

He raises his chin and Bofur lets out a huff of laughter. Bilbo refuses to be cowed. He’s made his choice and now he has to live with it.

He elbows in between Dwalin and Dori. Dori looks too embarrassed to say anything and he trust Dwalin to be taciturn even if some of the others would have teased or asked questions. There’s no way he’s getting near Fili or Kili for awhile. Or maybe ever again.

Unfortunately, Dwalin’s silence only lasts until Bilbo bites into his first buttered roll.

“This isn’t like him.”

Bilbo’s stomach drops at Dwalin’s quiet, gruff voice. He forces himself to chew slowly, until the roll is nothing but mash in his mouth. His throat is dry and the bread scratches all the way down.

Of course this isn’t like Thorin. What part of this could possibly be a habit for the dwarf? Taking a common lover? Taking a common lover who happens to be a hobbit? Taking a common lover who happens to be a hobbit while on a potentially fatal journey to reclaim his throne? Oh yes, clearly Thorin does those things everyday.

He washes down his annoyance with a bit of fresh fruit juice. It’s the sweetest thing he’s tasted since leaving Rivendell.

“I know.” He doesn’t look at Dwalin. Just keeps his eyes on his own plate. There’s nothing else he can say to that. He’s sullying their king just by being with him, but he’s certainly not going to stop.

Bilbo can see Dwalin’s head turn in his peripheral vision. None of the other dwarves seem to be paying attention to them. They’re laughing and throwing bits of food around, grateful to be alive and safe. Bilbo longs to join them but Dwalin is staring at him and this is a tension that won’t ease on its own. He tips his head toward Dwalin, still not quite able to meet his eyes.

Dwalin huffs at him. “Thorin doesn’t take lovers.”

Bilbo’s gaze shoots up, looking Dwalin fully in the eyes. That can’t be right. Thorin has to be rather experienced. It’s not that he’s skilled...well, he is but it’s not that he’s just skilled in bed. Thorin is confident and comfortable with his body. And comfortable with Bilbo’s. That’s not the sort of thing that inexperienced people can fake. Because of his proclivities and the attitude among the hobbits, Bilbo has taken an inexperienced man to bed more than once. They are unsure. Thorin is not. They second guess and stumble. Thorin does not.

He’s had at least a few partners before. Maybe Dwalin means Thorin doesn’t take lovers often.

“What do you mean?” As soon as the words leave his lips, Bilbo realizes he may not want to know. The reality of Thorin’s previous lovers, their genders and positions in society, or how attractive they were, may all be about to be revealed to him from a source that will know the truth. Will know as many details as Thorin was likely to ever tell another person.

An enumerated list of the ways in which he does not measure up is almost enough to put Bilbo off his breakfast.

“I mean, he doesn’t take lovers. Not nearly as much as others and never when his attention is needed elsewhere.” Dwalin bites into a thick piece of grilled meat, the juice running over the curve of his bottom lip. Is this a threat?

Bilbo rises to threats with ire. “I would never distract him from the journey. From what he needs to do. I’ve come along to help you succeed, to take back your home, and I’m not going to let a bit of… a bit of roadside fun jeopardize that.” His breath comes faster at the end. Dwalin looks up, over Bilbo’s head, and Bilbo realizes some of the other dwarves have quieted down to listen.

Dwalin gives them a look and the noise level picks up again. When he looks back to Bilbo, his face is hard. Bilbo realizes it wasn’t a threat before, because now he’s starting to feel threatened.

“A bit of roadside fun? You’re not as quick as I thought you were, Master Burglar.” He points a grimy finger in Bilbo’s face. “Thorin was frantic when you were lost in the goblin caves. The others may not see it, but I do. He feared you had left us. If you had left us of your own will, that would have been harder on him than if you had been taken by the goblins or killed in the fall. That’s what he’s most afraid of.”

Dwalin stands, moving Bilbo aside with his shoulder to do it. “You need to figure out what you’re most afraid of here, because it’s not a dragon.”

All the other dwarves look politely away, except for Ori who blinks at him owlishly, as Dwalin stomps from the room. Bilbo can’t breath, like a band is constricting around his chest, and the dwarves uncharacteristic avoidance would set off alarm bells if he could think straight at all.

That’s what he’s most afraid of.

***************

He spends most of the day outside, feeling the green grass between his toes and communing with Beorn’s animals. They don’t judge him for being stupid enough to take comfort from a man his heart trips over every time Bilbo sees him. Bilbo’s traitorous mind runs circles around all that’s happened since the journey’s start. Around Thorin’s words, Dwalin’s challenge, Thorin’s hands on his body, his own feelings…

He can’t walk away from this thing with Thorin. It’s too good. He’s not strong enough to sleep in the common room with the rest of the company, to pull his bed roll to the other side of the fire, to keep himself from reaching out to touch Thorin now that he knows he can. That’s his own fault. He could be stronger. Somehow, breaking your own heart feels more reasonable than waiting to have it broken by someone you care about. Someone you love.

But that doesn’t mean he has to be reckless either. He can minimize the damage. It’s too late for Bilbo to protect his heart, he’s resigned himself to that, but he can protect as much of his pride as possible.

Maybe he doesn’t have to minimize anything. Dwalin says Thorin is afraid he’ll leave. That Thorin was frantic. Kings can change the rules, right? Or at least bend them? Maybe the King Under the Mountain playing house with a hobbit wouldn’t be forbidden after all.

Bilbo scoffs at himself and a lamb that’s settled near his hip startles. He rubs his knuckles across her downy head to ease her. An adventure and a skilled lover that he has feelings for are already more than he could have asked for. Throwing in defeating the dragon, reclaiming the kingdom, and a happily ever after is too greedy to feel plausible.

And that’s all assuming that Dwalin is right, which Bilbo highly doubts. Dwalin may know Thorin better than anyone, but Bilbo finds it hard to believe that Thorin is afraid of Bilbo leaving the group. Of leaving him. This is all just fun, it’s not serious. It’s stress relief. There’s no future to it.

He still can’t walk away. He’s talked himself in circles. It’s about the time some giant bees show up to sip at the flowers along the hillside that he realizes what he has to do to protect himself as much as possible.

He’ll ask Thorin to be discreet. The others already know and there’s nothing he can do about that, but they don’t have to talk about it. Or even mention it. Ever.

Bilbo’s just fucking their king. That doesn’t warrant a conversation from anyone. Not from Balin, the trusted advisor, or Dwalin, the protector, or, heaven forbid, Fili and Kili. Or at least not another conversation from Dwalin. Or Balin, considering the timing of his first introduction to dwarven views on same-sex attraction.

Good lord, are Fili and Kili the only key players who haven’t lectured him on Thorin yet?

But if Balin and Dwalin both have nudged him, subtly and then not-so-subtly, toward Thorin in a more long-term capacity… maybe that meant there was something to this...

Bilbo groans to himself and tips sideways in the grass. He’s doomed.

A shadow falls over him and he hopes, for a fleeting second, that one of Beorn’s oversized creatures has come to gobble him up.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Thorin’s voice rumbles from above.

Bilbo’s heart gives a kick and his stomach flips. It’s worse than a hungry, giant beast. It’s a beast he wants to gobble him up.

He looks up and meets Thorin’s eyes. Thorin looks hungry indeed.

But first they need to have this conversation. Bilbo has to set some boundaries. It’s the only way he won’t get swept away in all of this and left broken and bleeding when the tide of Thorin’s lust recedes.

It is just lust. It has to be. He will continue to tell himself that, despite Dwalin’s words, until Thorin tells him otherwise. That’s the safest course of action.

Bilbo pulls himself back to sitting and pats the soft grass next to him. Thorin sits without complaint, close enough that their thighs press together. Thorin doing anything without grumbling should be a sign of disaster.

Bilbo takes a deep breath. “I know that the others know already but I’d like to keep this quiet. In the Shire, we’re more circumspect about…” Bilbo glances up at Thorin and the words die in his throat.

Thorin looks crestfallen for just a moment. Bilbo catches just the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks before he looks away. Thorin stares at the ground, leaving Bilbo to wonder what he’s said to upset Thorin. It’s not as if discretion is a strange thing to request. Even men and women keep to themselves whether they be just lovers or more romantically inclined. It can’t be as if the dwarves don’t.

He can almost hear Dwalin’s growl at the back of his neck.

Thorin doesn’t leave him wondering very long. He looks back to Bilbo, his face settled back into the slightly grumpy, heavy-on-the-furrowed-brow look he often sports. Bilbo used to find that expression annoying, but he’s suddenly struck by how endearing it is. He wants to reach up and smooth away the tension gathered just above Thorin’s long, straight nose.

He doesn’t though. He just listens to Thorin’s stern and clipped words.

“What’s between us is unusual in every aspect. Dwarves don’t do this. It’s not proper for…” Thorin stops, looks frustrated with himself.

Bilbo wants to volunteer the end of his sentence. It’s not proper for a king to fuck a hobbit. Maybe it would do them good to just get it out there. To admit, out loud, what this really is and to stop dancing around it. To know for sure that Dwalin was wrong, that Balin wasn’t hinting at what Bilbo now thinks he was hinting at.

But that self-denigration, the admission that he’s lesser than Thorin and acceptance that this is all there will be between them, sticks in his throat. He ends up staring as Thorin pulls himself together.

The grumpy expression flattens out so all traces of tension fall away. But it’s a ruse. Bilbo’s seen it before. Thorin is angry. So angry he’s trying to hide it, and that’s not something he does well or often.

Thorin stands and dramatically brushes tiny bits of grass and dirt from the backs of his thighs. “This is not what’s done. But I want so I will do it. We will keep this a secret.”

It’s all said slowly, measured out like a royal proclamation. Like something Thorin doesn’t want to say at all. Bilbo watches as he walks away. Thorin’s shoulders are stiff and his hands barely swing at his sides.

But I want so I will do it.

That doesn’t sound like Thorin at all. He’s not the type to do something simply because he wants to, especially if it’s at odds with his duty.

Now he can definitely hear Dwalin nagging at the back of his mind. Bilbo pushes that phantom voice away. Hope has wormed its way into his heart since breakfast but he can’t let it gain ground. It would be too big a loss. It will be too big a loss, Bilbo tells himself.

He thought, just maybe, that Thorin would be relieved. If Bilbo wants to keep this quiet, he can’t possible have expectations, right? And if he doesn’t have expectations, Thorin doesn’t have to worry about letting him down at the end of this affair. Keeping it quiet makes it neater for everyone involved. It ensures they are on the same page.

Thorin’s annoyance is more fuel for his slowly building bonfire of hope. Thorin is upset because they’re not on the same page. Thorin wants more. Dwarves don’t care about men being with men, and Thorin may not care about Bilbo’s race or station in life. Or maybe Bilbo’s just letting that bonfire take over a bit too much and there’s some other reason for Thorin’s reaction.

Maybe it’s possible that Bilbo will never totally understand Thorin at all.

It should have been a relief for him too, but Bilbo feels unaccountably sad as Thorin fades into the distance. Maybe if he hadn’t said anything, they could have sat next to each other in the soft grass and just enjoyed a day without anyone trying to kill them.

Instead, Bilbo sits alone until well after tea time and thinks of Thorin. He comes to no better understanding of what’s going on between them.

***************
That night, Thorin fucks him slowly and deeply until Bilbo collapses into a sweaty mess. Thorin tucks them together under the covers and kisses the back of Bilbo’s neck, where his curls stick to the skin. He doesn’t mention their earlier conversation, so neither does Bilbo. He certainly doesn’t mention Dwalin’s chat with him over breakfast. They barely talk at all.

Their stay at Beorn’s lasts almost a week. It’s enough time for them to recover from their wounds, resupply, and regroup, and for Bilbo and Thorin to spend hours shut behind the heavy wooden door in their own private room. The intimacy comes to be something Bilbo craves. It wraps around him offering comfort and safety. And more sustained pleasure than he’s ever known in his life.

Sometimes they have sex slowly, wrapped in blankets and warmth. Other times, it’s fucking hard and fast and so, so satisfying. Either way, Bilbo wants to call it making love, but he pushes that down and still doesn’t look the other dwarves in the eye.

The morning they leave Beorn’s is cold. They pack up the ponies Beorn is kind enough to lend them. Bilbo’s hands are stiff with cold and red from the bite of the early morning wind by the time they finish. He curses his lack of gloves and tries to rub some feeling back into his fingers. He rubs, then holds them close to his mouth and huffs a hot breath over them. It barely registers.

“Here.”

Thorin is suddenly there, taking both of Bilbo’s hands in his own. Thorin’s hands are calloused and that shouldn’t stick out to Bilbo, since he’s felt them over just about every inch of skin he has in the last week, but it’s suddenly the only sensation he can focus on.

That and the heat. Thorin’s hands are so warm. Thorin closes his fingers over Bilbo’s clasped hands like a cage and the warmth sinks quickly right down to Bilbo’s bones. He almost groans right then. Thorin doesn’t need to rub or chafe or blow on their joined hands; he just has to hold them and Bilbo almost immediately feels warmer.

For a split second, Bilbo wonders if they can ride like this somehow. Hands grasped together with Thorin’s grip warm and strong against his fingers. It’s too ridiculous a thought for Bilbo to keep for long, but it does make him smile.

“Better?” Thorin rumbles and Bilbo looks up to catch Thorin smiling with a small curve at the corner of his mouth. Thorin’s eyes are so blue. The shade of blue Bilbo once saw on a map that depicted a far away sea. Not the murky shade of blue-green of the ponds in the Shire or the deep blue that river water often runs. It’s something a long way off and untouchable to Bilbo’s humble hand.

But here he is for a stolen moment, being warmed by Thorin’s skin and smiling stupidly up into those sea-blue eyes. Resolve settles into his stomach then, like a lead weight. He’ll take this time and run with it. He was hired as a burglar, after all.

There’s a discreet throat clearing behind Thorin. He shifts enough so that Bilbo can see Balin raising an eyebrow at them and Nori more openly smirking.

He drops Thorin’s hands. “Thank you. My fingers have some feeling again. I can grip the reins.”

Thorin nods, face settled back into that blankness Bilbo knows is covering something but still can’t quite figure out what. He turns away and barks orders for everyone to mount up and move out.

Beorn walks beside Bilbo’s pony until they reach the end of his land. It’s easy to chat with Beorn, about the animals, the land, his excess of honey and what to do with it. It’s almost pleasant until they part company.

Then comes Mirkwood and all traces of pleasantness die even before the spiders find them.

Chapter Text

Bilbo had been looking forward to traveling through the Greenwood. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as the others had whispered. They could just take a lovely stroll through the forest and when they came out on the other side Laketown and Erebor would only be a few days travel away.

They’re nearly there. Just a walk in the woods to go.

That fantasy dies as soon Bilbo gets a good look at the darkness hanging between the trees on the perimeter of Mirkwood. It looks like a Mirkwood. Dark and dank and entirely unwelcoming. It looks sick.

They lose their way quickly. The days run together in an exhausting blur. Their food runs out, they constantly feel as if they are being stalked, and Bilbo can barely keep his feet moving. Every shuffling step feels as if he’s dragging himself up the steep face of Erebor itself by his fingernails.

With their packs lost what feels like forever ago, the company just collapses wherever they can to sleep each night. Maybe it’s night. Bilbo can’t tell anymore. He hasn’t seen the sun since he set foot in Mirkwood.

Wherever he falls when the company halts for sleep, Thorin is beside him. Thorin pulls Bilbo tight against his chest each time. Bilbo does his best to wrap his exhausted arms around Thorin but it barely matters. Thorin clings to him with a desperation that leaves bruises on his back, on his hips, anywhere Thorin can grab onto him. Bilbo might ordinarily complain of such rough treatment night after night but that vice-like grip is the only thing that feels real to him in these woods. The only sleep Bilbo gets are restless hours with his face tucked into Thorin’s neck.

There’s no sex anymore, no kisses, not even any conversation. Any sort of intimacy feels wrong here.

They are weakened and on the verge of dying due to dehydration when the spiders make their move. Bilbo doesn’t think this is when the spiders find them. He thinks the spiders have been watching them for awhile, just waiting for the right moment. It’s almost a relief to have it over with, really. Death may be the only way out of this wretched forest and, in the grand scheme of things, death by spider isn’t the worst way Bilbo’s seen to go.

But then he thinks of Thorin. Thorin who, even in the deep darkness of this place, held him and kept him safe in the night. Who desires Bilbo and cares for Bilbo, even though he should not.

But I want so I will do it.

Bilbo wants too. What he and Thorin have will not be forever, but it can be for one more day. And another day after that, and another after that, until Bilbo can see Thorin sitting proudly on the throne in Erebor.

So Bilbo fights back.

He swings Sting and feels spider flesh give way under his blade, but it’s not enough. He’s exhausted and his body is weak from days trying to navigate the cursed woods. He keeps swinging until his arm feels like lead and his knees buckle.

If the spiders had just killed him outright, this wouldn’t be so disappointing. He’s going to die just on the verge of being able to save his friends. Of being able to save Thorin. Bilbo can be honest with himself at least. Thorin is far more than a friend, even an intimate friend as Bilbo has had in the past. His heart beats a little harder when he thinks of Thorin and he feels peace like he’s never known before when he sits next to Thorin by the fire.

Consciousness is slipping from Bilbo when the elves descend from the trees. That jolts the last of his adrenaline into play and he slips his stolen ring onto his finger before they spot him.

Elrond and the elves of Rivendell were kind, even if Thorin was suspicious of them, but the Mirkwood elves would be different. Gandalf and Beorn had both warned them. But at least the company wouldn’t die in giant spiders’ webs.

Bilbo pads quietly behind the elves and their captives, willing one foot in front of the other and praying his exhaustion won’t get the better of him. They would live and Bilbo would free them.

He could only solve one problem at a time after all.

***************
Freeing the dwarves turns out to be the second problem Bilbo needs to solve. First, he has to find them.

Thranduil’s kingdom is vast and twists and turns more than any garden hedge maze Bilbo’s ever solved. But at least there’s food and clean water. And Bilbo can sleep without the darkness of Mirkwood sinking into his dreams.

The ring he needs to keep himself hidden affects his mind, a bit, but he can handle that. He’ll make sure he controls the ring. It’s the only way he can sneak through the twisting rooms of the Woodland Realm to find the dwarves.

It takes a just less than two days to find the company. Bilbo thinks it’s two days anyway. Bilbo searched, then slept in an abandoned hallway, huddled in a dark corner, for what felt like hours, and then searched again. That seems like enough time to call it two days.

He finds them spread across a warren of tiny cells. They’re yelling, challenging the elves who walk by on their guard patrol, and Bilbo can’t help but smile at them from behind the safety of the ring and the shadows it creates. Creates or pulls Bilbo bodily into a dark world that already exists? He’s not sure.

The raised path is well lit, exposed, and well traveled. Bilbo retreats to a dark corridor and waits for the Woodland Realm to sleep before he reveals himself to the dwarves. Rows of faces press against the bars and their voices cry out.

“Hush. Shhh! They’ll come back if they hear you.” If Bilbo needs to be the voice of reason, even over Balin or Dwalin, he knows the company is stressed and stretched to the breaking point.

They all quiet fairly quickly, though. Bilbo holds his breath but hears no rushing footsteps coming to check on the racket.

“We’ve been making so much noise since they brought here, they’re not likely to notice,” Ori says, pressing his face next to Balin’s.

That was probably true, but Bilbo doesn’t want to risk it. He could run and hide from the Mirkwood guards but the twisting hallways are too easy to get lost in for that to feel like a safe solution. He may never find the dwarves again if he’s not careful.

“Be that as it may,” he whispers, “it’s still best to avoid the notice of the elves.” Bilbo smiles as he looks over their dirty, tired faces. It is good to see them again. Now he needs to figure out a way to get them out of here. One problem at a time.

Something registers in Bilbo’s mind as he scans the faces in the cells. A thought forming around a niggle of anxiety.

“Have you found him?” Dwalin cuts in as that thought just begins to materialize.

Bilbo looks again. Looks over the faces more slowly. There’s no clear blue eyes looking back at him. His breath catches.

“Thorin?” The name hangs heavy between them for a moment. Dwalin looks ashamed, Fili and Kili afraid. The rest of the dwarves look at the ground. Bilbo’s heart pounds so loudly that for a fleeting second he thinks the elves may hear it and come racing back to their captives.

Balin’s voice settles into the silence between the cells. “Taken to Thranduil when we arrived. We haven’t seen him since.” Balin’s voice is calm but when Bilbo meets his eyes he sees fear. Fear he only recognizes because he’s seen it creep into Balin’s gaze a few times over the journey. He knows Balin can see it in his eyes as well.

Fili and Kili are easier to read. Their anxiety is plan in their pleading faces. “The guards won’t tell us anything! We’ve demanded and threatened but they’re silent all the time,” Killi whispers.

Bilbo looks across the faces of the dwarves trapped in their cells. Fear, shame, anxiety all reflects back at him. The weight of his responsibility settles in his chest. Not just to them, but to Thorin as well. Thorin is more to him than they know, even if they know what he and Thorin have been doing together. It’s more than that. It’s been more than that for a long time and Bilbo cannot leave Thorin alone in Mirkwood. For the company’s sake and his own.

“I’ll find him. I can move among the elves without being caught and I will search every inch of this labyrinth until I find him.” Bilbo’s own fear and rage and uncertainty bubbles up until his fists clench and his voice shakes.

The dwarves are silent for a moment, just staring at him as if he’s facing down a warg all over again.

“You can’t be caught, Master Baggins.” It’s just like Dwalin to jump on a call to action like a lifeline. The predictability of his reaction brings a small smile to Bilbo’s face. The worried tone of his voice is less normal though.

“I won’t be. I’ve avoided them without issue for days. I can keep that up.” Bilbo’s hand instinctively closes around the ring in his pocket. “I’ve already searched part of the grounds looking for you. Hopefully I can find him quickly.”

That hope doesn’t seem to rally the normally optimistic dwarves. Bilbo has never seen them back down from a fight. But this isn’t their charge to lead. They are stuck behind bars, separated in cells, with no control. Bilbo is the only one who can fight this fight.

“I will find him for you.” For us.

Joy and adoration shine out at him from those dingy cells and Bilbo wishes he felt as confident in his ability to find Thorin as the dwarves seem to be. He has to find Thorin before he’s discovered, before the elves do something terrible to the rest of the company, or before they kill Thorin himself. If they haven’t already.

Bilbo has to find him. From the moment Thorin pulled Bilbo into his bedroll and began whatever this is between them, Bilbo has been prepared to lose him. Either because they will die on this journey, die facing the dragon at the end, or because they will succeed and Thorin will ascend to kingship. Every outcome Bilbo envisions ends the same for him, with or without the death part. That’s largely out of his control.

But finding Thorin isn’t.

He can do this. He can sneak and scuttle around Thranduil’s halls until he finds wherever Thorin is being kept. If he has to crawl into the darkest parts of the kingdom to find him, Bilbo will do it. Thorin’s alive and Bilbo will find him in time to keep him that way.

And then he’ll figure out what to do about the fact that he’s stupidly in love with Thorin. And that Thorin may want him to stay in Erebor. One problem at a time.

Chapter Text

Bilbo visits the dwarves everyday. Sometimes with bits of stolen food to keep their strength up. But never with news of Thorin to lift their spirits.

He refuses to be lose hope. He ruthlessly pushes away the fear that Thranduil has already killed Thorin each time it sneaks into his thoughts. He puts on a strong face for the company, but he can see they are losing faith as the days roll by.

Bilbo toys with the idea of lying to them, of saying that he’s found Thorin, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe the Bilbo that first left Bag End would have made loose with the truth to avoid hurting his friends, or to keep the peace in times of conflict, but Bilbo can’t do that now. If the unthinkable comes to pass and they never leave Mirkwood, the deceit wouldn’t be worth a few moments of hope.

But he can’t think like that. He must find Thorin in the dark and musty corridors of the Woodland Realm.

He spends late nights sitting next to the dwarves’ cells, back against a wall and his head tipped against the bars. He talks to Balin, to Dwalin, to Bofur or Nori.

He searches as methodically as he can. He has no map to go by and no tools to draw his own. Everything must be done by memory. He watches Thranduil hold court to see if Thorin will be brought before him or if Thorin is mentioned at all. All the while, the darkness of the ring pulls at him.

On the eleventh day, Bilbo finds him.

The hall is dark and hot, the air stifling. He hasn’t paid much attention to this area because it seems as if the guards rarely enter here. He assumed Thorin would be well guarded, with a regular rotation like the other dwarven captives. But it seems as if Thranduil has left Thorin to rot with as little contact as possible.

It was the food that tipped Bilbo off.

The elves take a plate with dry bread and a bit of soggy meat, barely any gravy to speak of, down the abandoned looking hallway once a day. Bilbo nearly misses it because the time varies so widely. Sometimes they take it first thing in the morning, sometimes hours after the afternoon meal, and even sometimes in the dead of night. Bilbo only sees them because he begins searching more fervently, at all hours, as his desperation to find Thorin grows.

He follows the single elven guard, his ring keeping him hidden and his hobbit feet moving soundlessly against the stone floor. The guard leads not to a cell like the other dwarves are trapped in, but to a solid wooden door with a single window too high off the ground for Bilbo to peer through. After a quick glance through the window, the elf uses a key pulled from his pocket to open the door. He leaves it cracked open behind him. Bilbo slides through, his back scraping against the door frame. It seems sloppy procedure for a room holding a captive.

Bilbo quickly realizes why the elf is so unconcerned. Unlike the other dwarves, Thorin isn’t given free reign in his cell. He sits, slumped against the far wall with his hands chained together in his lap. The chain wraps around his waist and Bilbo thinks it must be attached to the wall behind Thorin because he makes no move to move or stand as the elf draws close to him.

His eyes throw daggers though.

The elf drops the food into Thorin’s lap. If there were any quantity approaching a real meal on the plate, it would have spilled over the low lip of the plate but the bread and meat stay put. Thorin doesn’t look to the plate, refuses to steady it with his bound hands, and Bilbo feels a fierce stab of protective pride for him.

The elf picks up a small pot that had been tucked near Thorin’s hip and Bilbo realises it must be a chamber pot. The pride he feels stays firm in his chest but is joined by white hot rage. How dare Thranduil treat Thorin like this? How dare he humiliate Thorin? Bilbo fiercely wishes Thorin has done something to really earn the chain around his wrists, like broken a few elven noses on the way down to this nearly forgotten room.

The guard glides out the door with the chamber pot held at arm’s length. As the door moves to close behind him, Bilbo makes a decision. He doesn’t rush or sneak out behind the elf. He stays with Thorin.

Thorin who still hasn’t touched the plate in his lap and continues to glare at the door. He’s waiting for the elf to come back, Bilbo realizes. He also realizes that he can’t stay in this room with Thorin. He has to get back to the other dwarves, to find a way for all of them to get out of here. But he has a few moments until the guard returns with the chamber pot.

Bilbo slinks back into a spot of deeper darkness behind the door and slips off the ring. Thorin’s head snaps to him instantly. Maybe there’s a shimmering change in the air when Bilbo leaves whatever shadow place the ring pulls him to or maybe it’s just the sudden disruption of a body appearing in the darkness. Bilbo doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. He’s moving to Thorin’s side, dropping to his knees next to Thorin, before he can think about it.

“Bilbo-”

“Shhh, we haven’t got much time. He’ll be back in a minute.” Bilbo presses a flurry of quick kisses to Thorin’s cheeks, across his lips, up to his hairline. He didn’t realize he was going to that either until he feels the scratch of Thorin’s beard against his chin and such a rush of thank Valar I found him I found him he’s safe relief that it bring pinpricks of tears to his eyes.

He must be tired. Exhausted to react like this. At least Thorin has his eyes closed and his face tipped up to Bilbo’s lips, so he doesn’t notice how shiny Bilbo’s eyes must look.

Bilbo pulls back just enough to look at Thorin’s face. This close up, he can tell Thorin is exhausted as well. His cheeks have hollowed even more than they did while traveling with scarce rations and his eyes are carry heavy bags underneath.

“Where are the others? What has Thranduil done with them?”

Thorin strains against his chains as he reaches for Bilbo. Bilbo grasps Thorin’s chaffed, cold hands between his palms. “They are being kept several levels up, in accommodation much nicer than yours. They are together and they are safe.”

Thorin nods. They both know safe is a relative term in their current circumstances, but the rest of the company is as safe as they can be. Thorin’s brows come together and a look of confused concern settles across his face. “How did you-”

“We don’t have enough time.” And Bilbo really doesn’t want to lie to Thorin about how he’s able to move undetected in the Woodland Realm. “I’ll let the others know I’ve found you. I’m going to find a way for all of us to escape, I promise you. Until then I’ll sneak down here and visit you every day.”

“Don’t do anything risky.” Thorin leans forward, resting his forehead against Bilbo’s. It’s a stolen moment of comfort and Bilbo will appreciate it for as long as he lives, even if that’s not very long at all. “If it becomes necessary… if it’s too dangerous for you to stay. You run. You escape and leave us here, do you understand?”

Bilbo is shaking his head before Thorin even finishes. “I won’t do that. I can’t leave you, or Bofur, or Dwalin, or Ori, or any of the others.”

Before Thorin can argue, Bilbo catches a noise in the hall. He squeezes Thorin’s hands and rises to slink back to the shadows in the far corner of the room, near the door. Thorin’s eyes stay glued to him and Bilbo waits until the last possible second with the door already swinging open to slip the ring back on his finger.

To Thorin’s credit, he gives no sign that his lover just disappeared before his eyes. Bilbo will figure out how to explain that later.

He slips from Thorin’s dark, forgotten cell on the heels of the disinterested elven guard feeling lighter and more optimistic than he has in weeks. He’s found Thorin, he can give the rest of the company good news, and he will get them all out of here. He will find a way.

***************

The company takes the news of Thorin’s condition well. Fili and Ori cheer that he’s been found, Kili bristles at his solitary confinement and conditions, while Balin frowns and keeps his tongue. Finding Thorin was a necessary first step, but only the first step. Bilbo still have to find a way to get them out of there. Thorin being kept in such a far removed place makes that even more difficult. Balin knows it, and so does Bilbo.

Bilbo keeps searching and carries messages back and forth between Thorin and the company. The only contact Thorin has with the outside world is when his single guard enters, leaves a tray of food, and empties the chamber pot. Every few days, they force Thorin to strip, bind his hands, and scrub him down with soap and a hard brush before dousing him with a bucket of cold water. It seems as if the elves can’t tolerate grime and stench even in their captives. The time this care occurs varies so widely that Bilbo has all but taken up residence in the hall near Thorin’s door.

That thick, wooden door with no window or slit drives Bilbo mad. If Thorin were kept behind bars like the other dwarves, he could talk to him or at least see his face. Instead, Bilbo stares at the dark grain of Mirkwood lumber and waits. He has nothing to do but think in the face of that great slab of wood.

He thinks about what Dwalin said, about Thorin’s reaction to Bilbo’s disappearance in the goblin caves.

This isn’t like him.

Thorin was frantic... He feared you had left us.

You need to figure out what you’re most afraid of…

This. This was what he was most afraid of. Not a dragon, or the scorn of his own kind for loving someone of the same sex, not even of never returning to the Shire at all. Being separated from Thorin was what he was most afraid of. To have him so close to be separated by nothing but a door for all but a few moments a day.

Even when that door is removed, and by Valar it will be, Bilbo will still be separated from Thorin. He’s let his fear of what this thing between them truly is blind him. This isn’t the Shire and dwarves are not Hobbits. Balin told him right away what this could be if he wanted it.

Bilbo doesn’t know Thorin’s feelings. He knows Thorin’s actions. His passion, his frustration at being Bilbo’s desire for secrecy, his affection that feels like it has nothing to do with sex at all. As soon as they are free from the wood elves, Bilbo will sit him down and drag it out of him if need be. Even as he promises himself this, Bilbo knows he won’t need to drag it out. The more time he has to stare at that door and reflect, the more he realizes that Thorin may have been wearing his heart on his sleeve all along. Just in some strange dwarven way Bilbo couldn’t have anticipated. Maybe Thorin has been clear about what he wanted this entire time.

And what Bilbo wants, what’s he’s most afraid of losing, is Thorin. Somewhere in his adventure, lust turned to love and Bilbo has learned to fight hard for things. He’ll fight for this.

Worst case, if he’s wrong, Thorin turns him down and he goes home to Bag End with a broken heart. Imagine, he’s found an end game worse than being roasted alive by a dragon. This journey is full of surprises.

Bilbo nearly giggles out loud at that thought and almost gives himself away to the guard coming down the hall. Instead, Bilbo rises silently to his feet and trails close enough behind the guard to slip into Thorin’s cell.

He stands back, safe in shadows, while the guard does her duty. Something is different and Bilbo bites his lip to keep from gasping.

Thorin is always chained, but with enough room to use his arms and hands. Enough chain to use the chamber pot and eat, but never enough to pose a threat. Today his arms are stretched high above his head and his wrists are chained together flush against the wall. It makes Bilbo’s stomach twist to think that the elves did this to him while Bilbo was visiting the others or sleeping in a hidden corner.

His shirt is gone and his shoulders are stretched taut. It’s a deliberately uncomfortable position. His legs are stretched out in front of him but not chained this time. It’s the first time that’s happened in the weeks since Bilbo found him.

Because he’s too weak to push himself to his feet anyway.

Bilbo can see the wasted muscle in Thorin’s stretched arms and how the waist of his breeches sag around his middle. Weeks, maybe months now, of living in a dark hole with no movement and very little food would weaken anyone. Thorin has held up remarkably well, all things considered. Bilbo is proud of him then, and proud that Thorin stares down his guard with open hostility.

She leaves and Bilbo rips the ring from his finger and practical falls to his knees at Thorin’s side. Thorin barely looks surprised when Bilbo appears from thin air anymore.

“What have they done to you?” Bilbo whispers, aware that the guard may be quick about emptying the chamber pot.

Thorin let’s his head rest against the wall behind him. “Thranduil is unimpressed with my resistance. They are trying to break me.”

Bilbo runs his hands along Thorin’s sides, up over his shoulders and across his biceps. He feels whole and undamaged but Bilbo’s heart still races with worry.

“This is only the beginning. It will get worse.” Thorin’s voice is grave. He stares at Bilbo and Bilbo cannot look away. Either from Thorin’s eyes or the reality of their situation. They are running out of time. Fast.

The jingle of the guard’s key ring makes Bilbo jump. He presses a quick kiss to Thorin’s lips and melts back into the shadows by that hated door before slipping on his ring.

The guard comes, the guard goes, and the door locks firmly behind her. But Bilbo stays.

He can’t bring himself to leave Thorin like this. One day of sitting with him in the dark won’t do any harm. He can take a break from searching for a way out for this.

He watches Thorin for a moment. When the door closed, Thorin slumped against the wall. The fight not taken out of him, exactly, but put back into reserve for when it would be needed again tomorrow. Thorin closes his eyes and looks absolutely exhausted.

Bilbo slips the ring from his finger and takes a step forward.

Instantly, Thorin’s eyes open and he’s at the ready. He’s nothing less than a temporarily inconvenienced warrior once again and all signs of weakness are gone. Until he realizes who stands before him, behind the locked door, and he softens again.

“Bilbo?” It’s a soft question from Thorin’s lips and Bilbo’s heart almost breaks with the trust he knows Thorin has in him.

“I thought I might stay the night. My usual accommodations are quite lonely.” Bilbo tries to flash a smile but it feels wrong on his face after so many long days in the Woodland Realm.

“What about the others?”

Bilbo continues his slow trek across the room and only stops when he lowers himself into Thorin’s lap, his knees straddling Thorin’s hips. He has to touch Thorin. His hands need to stroke and bring comfort and convince himself that Thorin is all right.

“They’ll worry when I don’t check in after so many hours, but I’ll go to them as soon as I leave here tomorrow.”

“It may not be tomorrow. They may not come back for more than a day.”

Bilbo huffs out a dark laugh. “None of us know what day it really is, Thorin. Let me stay with you.”

There’s nothing they can do about it now, and they both know it. Bilbo is locked in this room until the next tray of food arrives. But seeking Thorin’s permission feels polite. Bilbo doesn’t want to spend this time fighting over the notion that he should have left. His hands rest at Thorin’s waist. Thorin’s skin is cold.

Thorin lets his head fall forward and rests his forehead against Bilbo’s. His eyes are closed and their noses brush and bump together. “Stay with me.”

Bilbo can’t say no to that.

Chapter Text

Bilbo’s hobbit instincts take over almost immediately. He reaches for the plate of inadequate food, intent on feeding it to Thorin when he can’t feed himself.

“No,” Thorin says. “I can’t eat. They will wonder how I managed it on my own. It will put you in danger.”

He’s right and Bilbo knows it immediately. He also hates it. He wants to throw the whole plate against that hateful wooden door.

Instead, he reaches for the cup of water the guard left as well. “At least drink. We can knock the cup over to make it look like you kicked it and spilled the water. They won’t know.”

Thorin nods. “Only a little. I can’t use the chamber pot either.”

Bilbo raises the cup to Thorin’s lips and he drinks a very small sips before pulling away and murmuring his thanks.

Bilbo stays where he is, sat firmly in Thorin’s lap. His hands take over again and he caresses across Thorin’s cold and exposed chest and up to his surely aching shoulders. He starts to knead the muscle there to ease their tension.

Thorin lets out a little moan so Bilbo digs in a little harder.

“Yes…” Thorin lets his head fall back to the wall again, eyes closed. Bilbo works his hands from the round of Thorin’s shoulders all the way to his neck. Bilbo uses his thumbs to press into the muscle straining where neck meets shoulder.

It reminds him of the first night at Beorn’s, when Bilbo massaged salve into Thorin’s bruises.

“When am I going to stop taking care of you?” Bilbo laughs.

“Hopefully not today.”

“Not today.”

“Thank Mahal.”

Bilbo giggles again. He misses this. He misses how light hearted Thorin can be, how well they can talk to each other.

He stands, feet still plants on either side of Thorin’s hips, and works his hands along Thorin’s triceps, his biceps, and all the way to his abused wrists. Bilbo tries to move the manacles just enough to give the irritated skin some room to breathe.

Thorin rests his forehead on the small swell of belly Bilbo has never quite been able to lose. Bilbo works and Thorin lets out little sighs of relief and moans of pleasure. Bilbo can feel Thorin’s hot, damp breath against his crotch and it makes him shiver.

He sinks back down to Thorin’s lap, dragging his hands back down to Thorin’s shoulders. “Here, lean forward a bit.”

Thorin obeys and now rests his forehead against Bilbo’s shoulder. With that little space opened between Thorin’s back and the wall, Bilbo can work his hands along the back of Thorin’s neck and across the tight balls of muscles in Thorin’s upper back. He ends up scooting closer to Thorin’s body to reach more of those muscles. Thorin’s mouth ends up pressed to the side of Bilbo’s neck.

Bilbo is very aware of Thorin’s dry, cool lips against his skin. It’s not the time or the place, but he’s very aware of them. He’s missed that too.

Thorin rests his lips there, unmoving and applying little pressure, while Bilbo works his sore muscles. He groans when Bilbo digs into a particularly tender knot and the feeling of his breath against Bilbo’s throat sinks all the way to the pit of Bilbo’s stomach. He holds back a groan in response.

Their closeness, after such a long and dire separation, must affect Thorin similarly. His lips move against Bilbo’s skin, pressing harder to pepper kisses and sliding along the column of Bilbo’s throat.

Thorin’s chained arms and strained back keep him from being able to reach as much of Bilbo’s neck as either of them would like. Bilbo finds himself shifting forward, settling more firmly on Thorin’s lap and tilting his head to give Thorin greater access to his throat. Thorin takes advantage. His lips are dry and rasp against Bilbo’s skin. His tongue darts out leaves a damp trail for his lips to follow.

Bilbo loses himself for a few moments. He’s pressed chest to chest with Thorin now, his hands clutch at Thorin’s shoulders, and it’s both erotic and comforting to have Thorin back with him like this again.

Thorin nudges Bilbo’s jaw with his forehead. Bilbo answers Thorin’s unspoken request by turning to catch Thorin’s lips with his own. They are exhausted, weary in both mind and body. They are unwashed and unkempt. Their futures are bleak, even without Thorin being chained to the wall.

But he is chained while Bilbo is free. At least free to sneak around the Woodland Realm in a desperate attempt to save his friends and the dwarf he’s fallen in love with. Their kisses grow heated with that desperation. Thorin surges forward, straining his neck, rocking his hips up into Bilbo’s ass, and biting at Bilbo’s lips. It takes Bilbo by surprise, how aggressive Thorin is given their current situation.

He pulls back with a groan. “Thorin, we have to stop.”

Thorin tries to chase after Bilbo but his chained arms and straining shoulders won’t let him move another inch. His eyes glitter and his lips are wet. The muscles in his chest and shoulders bunch and flex. He’s beautiful and Bilbo can’t keep from running his hands along those shoulders, over his neck, cupping his cheeks.

“I want you,” Thorin growls. He can’t reach Bilbo’s mouth but instead turns his head to kiss Bilbo’s palm where it rests against his cheek. His tongue snakes out and licks along Bilbo’s fingers. Thorin’s beard scratches pleasantly along Bilbo’s calloused hand, his lips and tongue send hot waves of lust through Bilbo, and his stare burns Bilbo’s cheeks.

Bilbo laughs. “I haven’t bathed properly in weeks. I smell.” He has managed a few splashes with fresh water and a scrub, but no soap. It’s not even as thorough as the rough treatment Thorin has had at the hands of the elves. He dreams of his big brass tub back in Bag End.

Thorin sucks one of Bilbo’s fingertips into his mouth. His tongue swirls before he drops it. “I don’t care.”

This could be their last time together. What if Bilbo is caught? Or never finds a way out of their prison? Or Thranduil just grows tired of this cruel game and executes Thorin? Bilbo has only recently fully realized what Thorin means to him, what he might mean to Thorin. How can he walk away from this last chance to pour those feelings into Thorin with his body?

Bilbo watches as Thorin sucks another finger into his mouth. He shivers as Thorin’s tongue dips all the way down to the sensitive skin between his fingers, the tip flicking lightly there before Thorin allows Bilbo’s finger to slip slowly from his lips.

If Thorin has no reservations, is keen in fact, why should Bilbo?

Bilbo surges forward and brings their mouths crashing together. Thank Valar this hallway is abandoned unless someone is coming to see to Thorin’s needs, because both Thorin and Bilbo let out groans that bounce and reverberate off the solid walls of Thorin’s cell.

They kiss and bite at each other’s lips, each other’s jaws and throats. Bilbo’s hands wander across Thorin’s bare chest. He’s always been particularly fond of Thorin’s chest. It’s broad and strong and covered in springy hair. Having his arms stretched above his head like this opens his chest in a way that Bilbo is embarrassed to find so pleasing. Thorin gasps into his mouth when Bilbo pinches at a nipple, and that’s been an enticing discovery over the course of their relationship as well. So, Bilbo pinches again and this time feels Thorin rock his hips to press hot hardness against Bilbo’s bottom.

Bilbo presses down, keeps his fingers playing with Thorin’s nipples, keeps kissing him, but doesn’t move to escalate things further. He wants Thorin to ask for it, to beg even. Bilbo has failed to find them a way out, so far at least, but for tonight he can take care of Thorin in another way. All Thorin has to do is ask for it.

Thorin presses up against, grinding his erection against where Bilbo is seated in his lap. That’s not asking. That’s demanding and Bilbo won’t give in to it. Instead, he kisses his way down Thorin’s neck, licks down his exposed chest, and sucks hard at Thorin’s peaked nipple.

That causes a particularly strong buck of Thorin’s hips, almost enough to unseat Bilbo, and a string of Khuzdul cursing.

Bilbo smiles against the swell of Thorin’s pectoral, kissing him gently there before sitting up tall in Thorin’s lap.

“You have to ask for what you want.”

Thorin pulls against his restraints, his hands clenching around nothing. Bilbo has no doubt that if Thorin could get his hands free, Bilbo would find himself quickly laid flat on his back and covered by aggressive, lustful dwarf.

Bilbo rocks his hips so that his ass drags along the bulge in Thorin’s trousers. “Hmm, I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he teases.

Thorin flashes him a wicked grin. “No.”

“Oh, then I guess we’ll have to stay just like this then.” Bilbo scratches his nails lightly along Thorin’s chest knowing it will make Thorin groan.

Bilbo is enjoying this playful power more than he anticipated. It doesn’t make him forget their situation, but it is a distraction. They are as safe as they can be, locked away under Thranduil’s order to isolate Thorin from dwarves and elves alike. It isn’t carefree but it’s enough.

“Please, Bilbo.”

“Please what, Thorin?” Oh yes, he is enjoying this much more than he thought. It’s not exactly the type of game he’s played with previous lovers. There had always been a nice comfortable bed and silk scarves rather than chains, but Bilbo thinks he could come to enjoy this very much.

Bilbo’s not paying quite enough attention and Thorin manages to surge forward and catch him in a kiss. It’s quick but scorching. “Please fuck me,” Thorin breathes against Bilbo’s lips as he pulls away.

Bilbo’s breath catches in his throat. This is what Thorin wants and it’s exactly what Bilbo wants to give him right now. Thorin is hurting, he’s losing the tenuous chance of success this journey had with every passing day, and all Bilbo wants to do is take care of him. This is just another way of doing that. As surely as other hobbits might make tea or bake bread to comfort their love, Bilbo will do this. In an ideal situation, perhaps he could do all three: tea followed by warm, fresh rolls and finally shattering, sweaty bliss.

Yes, that’s exactly what he’ll do the first chance he gets. But for now, the best he can do is the shattering, sweaty bliss bit on the floor of a prison cell. And he will do his best.

He rewards Thorin first with more of the deep kisses he knows Thorin loves. Bilbo threads his hands through Thorin’s hair to hold Thorin’s head in place while he takes what he wants. He kisses Thorin long and hard enough to hopefully make Thorin forget what he’s just asked for. They both know what’s coming but Bilbo doesn’t want Thorin to expect it. He wants to surprise and overwhelm Thorin.

Soon enough Thorin’s hips are rolling and bucking under Bilbo in time with Bilbo’s tongue in his mouth. Bilbo takes that as his cue to move away. He slides down Thorin’s body, leaving Thorin’s lap and giving him nothing to seek release against, but his hands quickly undo Thorin’s trouser ties.

Bilbo makes quick work of Thorin’s boots. Thorin then plants his feet and lifts his hips as Bilbo strips his trousers down and tosses them across the cell. Bilbo stands, breathes hard through his nose, and takes a moment to appreciate Thorin laid out before him, nude, hard, and gagging for it.

He doesn't leave Thorin untouched for long. As Bilbo kneels, Thorin spreads his legs to accommodate him. Bilbo settles there, knees pressed to the inside of Thorin’s thighs and mouth inches above Thorin’s cock. He lets his hands run along Thorin’s thighs, through the thick hair at the base of his cock, and all the way down to the sensitive line of flesh where buttock meets the back of Thorin’s leg. He lets his fingers play there while he presses open mouthed kisses to the tops of Thorin’s thighs.

Thorin tries to keep his hips from thrusting upward. Bilbo can tell he’s trying. The muscles in his legs shake with the effort. Bilbo has yet to touch his cock and the tip leaks with want.

Instead, Bilbo lets his fingers trail toward Thorin’s center. His thumbs hook at the curve of Thorin’s cheeks and pull them apart.

Thorin does let his hips thrust this time. He plants his feet again, wraps his hands around the chains, and lifts. His knees are bent and his thighs rest near Bilbo’s ears. Bilbo presses a quick kiss to Thorin’s sack as a reward. It’s hot and tight against his lips and Bilbo moans. He wants to bury his face against Thorin’s crotch, to breath in the scent of Thorin there, and take Thorin down his throat.

But that’s not what Thorin wants, or at least not all he wants, and Bilbo plans to give him what he wants.

Bilbo dips his head lower and runs his nose along the sensitive skin of Thorin’s crack. He works his hands under Thorin’s ass and helps lift. He doesn’t want Thorin to put too much strain on his wrists or arms. Bilbo won’t be able to do this for long. Thorin is too heavy and too weak, but Biblo will give him what he can.

Bilbo licks, dragging the flat of his tongue directly over Thorin’s hole. The effect is instantaneous. Thorin heaves a great sigh of relief. He would go boneless, Bilbo knows from past experience, if only he didn’t have to hold himself up to make this possible.

He keeps those broad strokes going across Thorin’s arse, never straying too far from center. There’s no time to tease or to make this last. He hopes, he prays to the Valar, that there will be time for that later. That he’ll be able to lay Thorin out in the biggest bed Erebor has to offer and spend days pleasuring him.

For now, he works his tongue into Thorin’s body and tries to spread as much wetness as he can. Thorin’s chest is beginning to shine with sweat in the light. Bilbo feels a little guilty at how attractive he finds Thorin’s position. If Bilbo had been the one to stretch Thorin’s arms high above his head, to tie him down, and cause him to put his body on display like this...well, then that would be a very heady thing. Maybe the big bed in Erebor will have a sturdy headboard.

He licks and swirls and pushes until Thorin’s thighs shake beside his ears. He pulls back after a last, long lick all the way up to Thorin’s sack. Thorin’s cock juts out hard and thick in front of Bilbo’s face and his mouth waters. He’ll get to that soon.

“Here,” Bilbo says as he rubs his hands comfortingly up Thorin’s thighs. “Relax a bit. I’ve got you.”

Thorin stretches out one leg, flexes his hips and rotates his shoulders as much as he can. He’s as comfortable as he can get. Now it’s Bilbo’s job to take his mind off the rest.

Bilbo shifts and settles himself more comfortably between Thorin’s legs. He strokes his fingers along hot skin, dipping into the indent where Thorin’s thighs meet his torso. He traces that line down over the curve of Thorin’s arse.

Thorin tries to lift up. He tries to arch his hips forward to make more space for Bilbo’s hand, but Bilbo pushes him back down with a firm hand on his hips. “No, no. Stay where you are.”

He works his fingers deeper until he finds Thorin’s hole. It’s hot and soaking wet. His tongue did a good enough job loosening the muscle that Bilbo is able to push one finger in past the second knuckle with ease.

Thorin sucks air in sharply through his nose but keeps himself still. Bilbo knows it must be a struggle. Normally, Thorin would thrash and writhe and buck. Bilbo misses that, but is also glad Thorin isn’t putting any more strain on his shoulders.

Bilbo takes the head of Thorin’s cock in his mouth as he strokes in and out of Thorin’s arse with his finger. Just the head for now. Just enough to wrap his lips around and suck. To flick his tongue over the slit but not run his tongue along the underside of the shaft the way he knows Thorin likes.

Thorin breathes more heavily now.

Bilbo adds a second finger, slowly and carefully and very aware that they lost the oil they took from Beorn’s house long ago. With the second finger, Bilbo slides his mouth down Thorin’s cock. He sucks and massages Thorin’s flesh with his tongue. He can taste the musky, bitter fluid that leaks from Thorin’s cock and his own trousers feel tighter.

Bilbo loses himself a bit in pleasuring Thorin. He strokes his fingers in and out, slowly at first but building to a more insistent rhythm. He hooks them every few passes, to rub over the gland inside Thorin that makes him twitch and moan. He sucks and bobs his head up and down on Thorin’s cock to match that rhythm. He wants Thorin to feel fucked and as if he is fucking. To be overwhelmed and transported away from this filthy dungeon by the pleasure Bilbo gives him. It’s ridiculous and fleeting, but Bilbo has failed at everything else since the dwarves were captured so it is the least he can do.

He thinks about his inability to find a way out of Thranduil’s halls and about how this could be the last time he’s with Thorin like this. Instead of sobbing, he pushes himself to take Thorin just a fraction of an inch deeper in his throat.

Thorin has given up on staying still. He’s constrained, obviously, but his legs jump and twitch on either side of Bilbo, his hips jerk when Bilbo touches his prostate, and he tries to grind his arse on Bilbo’s fingers each time Bilbo pushes them deep.

Sweat rolls down Thorin’s chest, following the ridges of lean muscle that weeks in Thranduil’s dungeon have exposed. Thorin’s strength has always been rooted in his bulk, his thick, tree-trunk like torso. Bilbo adores it. Seeing how much weight Thorin’s lost as his muscles contract and release in building pleasure makes him want to force the plate of inadequate prison food down Thorin’s throat.

Instead, Bilbo keeps working on what he can. He wraps his free hand around the base of Thorin’s cock and strokes in time with his thrusting fingers. He alternates swirling his tongue over and sucking the head of Thorin’s cock deep into his mouth.

Normally, Thorin would tug at his hair or pull himself from Bilbo’s mouth to spill elsewhere. A few times, Bilbo has ignored him and swallowed down all Thorin had to give him. This time, Thorin being in the situation he is in, Bilbo gets little warning.

Thorin whines, he thrashes, and Bilbo’s name escapes his lips before he comes, hot and heavy, in Bilbo’s mouth. Bilbo pulls back to swallow and misses the last weak pulse as it leaks from Thorin’s cock. He’s tempted to bend back in and swipe it away with his tongue, but watching it roll down Thorin’s softening shaft is almost beautiful.

The whole picture is something shockingly erotic. Thorin, chest heaving and sweat silk, bound at the wrists with his arms high above his head and come dripping down his cock does something to Bilbo. It’s animalistic and possessive and Bilbo has been so close to the edge of reason since their capture that maybe this is his tipping point.

He stands and rips at the ties of his trousers. He’s been hard since spreading Thorin’s arse and licking him into readiness. Seeing Thorin’s state now makes his cock even harder. He steps forward, spreading his feet on either side of Thorin’s hips. He only has to bend his knees a bit to bring his cock to Thorin’s lips.

“Open.” Bilbo’s voice is raspy and dark. Thorin opens his mouth without a word, staring up at Bilbo in wonderment.

Bilbo guides the his cock to Thorin’s lips. He rubs them there for a moment, back and forth across the plumpness of Thorin’s bottom lip, before pushing in. He thrusts forward slowly, savoring the feel of gliding along Thorin’s tongue but careful not to choke him.

In his current position, there’s not much Thorin can do here. But that’s all right. Bilbo is in the mood to take. He reaches back and cups a hand around Thorin’s skull. Even if he can’t move much, Bilbo holds Thorin’s head in place while he slides his cock between Thorin’s lips.

Thorin moans around his cock. Bilbo’s thrusts pick up speed. He can’t help it. This gorgeous man is laid out before him, sated with the bone-deep pleasure Bilbo gave him, and Bilbo loves him deeply. Loves him too much not to get him, get them all, out of here.

Bilbo pulls back and gives himself two long strokes before he comes on Thorin’s face and in his beard. It’s probably ill advised since there’s not much to clean up with but the sight of the last singular drop of Thorin’s own come sliding down his prick is still burned in Bilbo’s mind. He wants to see more but of a mess that he made. He wants to mark Thorin, even if he’s the only one who understands that this is his way of telling Thorin that he is Bilbo’s. Even if they never take the mountain, if they die in dragon flames, or if Bilbo slinks back to Bag End alone, Thorin is his.

Thorin is his for now but not forever. And maybe Bilbo isn’t Thorin’s in return.

While his cock is giving its last to Thorin, with drops of come leaking out to drop on Thorin’s chest,shouldn’t be the time for heartache. But Thorin’s staring up at him with a come splatter face and eyes shining with admiration and a little bit of loss, so maybe now is the time for a bit of heartache.

Bilbo’s a little embarrassed, standing over Thorin with his cock out. He tucks himself away and tries to ignore that he’s a bit sticky. Instead, he focuses on getting Thorin cleaned up and sorted out. He rips a strip of fabric from his shirt and pours some water from Thorin’s cup onto it. His shirt is ruined anyway so might as well put it to good use.

He carefully cleans Thorin’s face and beard. He wipes away come and sweat and goes back for more clean water to rinse away anything that might be left. He cleans Thorin’s cock and his balls and his arse too. It’s a different kind of care than when Bilbo brought him pleasure but it feels just as important.

When he’s sure that Thorin is clean and dry, he raises the cup to Thorin’s lips. “Take a sip or two. I’ll turn over whatever’s left to make it looked like you kicked it.”

Thorin drinks more than he probably should but Bilbo doesn’t stop him. The guards aren’t going to notice how much water is on the floor when they come for him tomorrow. When he’s finished, Bilbo overturns the cup near his feet. He tries to make it so the water won’t run and make Thorin wet throughout the night.

The night that Bilbo is now going to spend with him. It’s the first time in a long time.

Bilbo settles in Thorin’s lap, almost how they started this encounter. Instead of kissing, he lowers his head to Thorin’s shoulder and strokes his hands along Thorin’s chest. He needs a moment to breathe.

“Are you all right?” Bilbo asks Thorin without raising his head.

Thorin is quiet but pushes his chin against Bilbo’s hair. It’s as close as he can get to holding Bilbo in return. Bilbo lets his eyes close and tries to take comfort in Thorin’s nearness, even as limited as it is.

“It’s hard not to put my arms around you.” It’s quiet, and Bilbo doesn’t open his eyes when Thorin says it. He does smile and press a kiss to Thorin’s chest, though.

“It’s hard not to have them there.” There’s the tiniest lump in his throat and Bilbo wishes he hadn’t overturned the cup of water already.

Thorin stretches his neck so that he can press his lips to to Bilbo’s head. He only holds the kiss for a moment before pulling back with a pained groan. There’s nothing Bilbo can do about the pain Thorin must be feeling in his arms and shoulders. He hates it. Since he can’t do anything, he stays quiet.

It’s only because he’s quiet that he hears Thorin’s softly spoken words.

“I didn’t think you’d want me like this.”

Bilbo sits up so quickly he almost tips off Thorin’s lap. Thorn is looking away, eyes cast down.

“Hey. No, no, no. Look at me. Please, Thorin, look at me.”

It takes a moment for Thorin to meet his gaze. Bilbo wants to look away immediately. The uncertainty and vulnerability in Thorin’s eyes is almost too much. He’s seen flashes of those feelings in Thorin before, always in their bleakest moments on the road and always covered too quickly for the others to notice. Bilbo only recognizes the expression for what it is because he’s spent so much time trying to figure Thorin out, staring at Thorin when he’s not paying attention.

Those had always been fleeting glances. Now Bilbo has to hold that look. This is too important to back away from. And it may be his only chance to say it.

It suddenly doesn’t matter if Dwalin’s heavy handed hints are true, if Thorin feels anything at all for Bilbo, because Bilbo loves him desperately, and that truth doesn’t change if Thorin doesn’t love him back. This feeling that has been growing in Bilbo’s chest since the start of the journey, maybe from the moment Thorin banged on his door, is more than lust or infatuation or desperation. It’s love. Bilbo’s sure of it.

Bilbo takes Thorin’s face in his hands, just in case Thorin gives in to the same urge to look away as Bilbo is fighting. “I will always want you.”

That’s as close to saying it as Bilbo can come, at least right now. He watches as the uncertainty clears from Thorin’s eyes and is replaced by dawning realization of what Bilbo’s really saying. It’s a slow slide of wonderment and disbelief across Thorin’s face. It’s an open and raw look that takes Bilbo’s breath away.

Thorin parts his lips as if to speak, but Bilbo knows his heart can’t take whatever Thorin is about to say. Instead, Bilbo gently leans in and presses his lips to Thorin’s.

He’s used kisses to shut Thorin up before, but always in the playful sort of way they often are in bed together. Never to avoid or to replace real intimacy with something superficial. He should feel guilty about that, but he needs a moment to think.

Thorin kisses him back, lips moving slowly and softly, and Bilbo’s not certain this was a better choice than listening to whatever Thorin was about to say.

Dwalin was right. Thorin doesn’t take lovers or engage in affairs. He loves. He commits.

This is Bilbo’s, if he wants it. If he can get them out of here.

He pulls back and Thorin opens his eyes. His expression is less openly adoring, but not as closed off, as shuttered, as Bilbo has grown accustomed to seeing.

His anger at seeing Thorin treated this way, the last stirrings of his possessive lust, and everything he’s been using to fight acknowledging his feelings for Thorin all melt away into an exhaustion deeper than he’s ever felt before. He wants to close his eyes and go to sleep on Thorin’s chest like he did while they were at Beorn’s.

“I’ll find a way out of here for us.”

“If you can’t-”

“No, we’re not discussing that again.” Bilbo kissed Thorin again, more firmly this time. “I’m not leaving you, or any of the other dwarves, behind. That conversation is done.”

Thorin never relents that easily, and Bilbo would never expect him to. “I want you safe.”

“You want me to steal from a dragon.” It’s a deflection but Bilbo doesn’t want to forcefully remind Thorin that he has no way of making Bilbo leave the company in Mirkwood to seek his own freedom.

It does make Thorin smile though. “Because I know you can.”

“You didn’t at first. You said I looked like a grocer.”

“I was wrong.”

Thorin is so earnest in his statement that Bilbo smiles back at him. “I’ll remember you said that.”

Thorin clears his throat a little and looks away. “I won’t hide this from my people forever. I can’t do that if… I want you to stay with me, after Smaug.” He looks back up as he finishes his silent plea, trepidation shining in his eyes.

Bilbo knows what it has cost Thorin to lay his feelings so bare, to reopen the wound at the base of their disagreement about how to conduct a relationship. A relationship is what this has been since the start, it just slipped Bilbo’s notice. It still makes him nervous, like the sensation of a creeping, crawling thing across his shoulder blades, to think about publicly acknowledging this. Old habits die hard, but they still must die.

“I misunderstood,” Bilbo says carefully. “I didn’t realize, not really, what it meant to you to be open with the others. Or that we even could.” Thorin opens his mouth to protest but Bilbo raises a hand to stop him. “No, I knew but I didn’t truly believe it or really feel it for certain. But I do now and I’m ready for that.” Bilbo doesn’t believe it until the words leave his lips but he is. He is ready for this thing with Thorin to be given a name to be said out loud and to see the sunshine and the smiles of their friends. It’s an immense relief.

Thorin leans forward and Bilbo meets him part way for another slow, lingering kiss. When Bilbo pulls back it looks like Thorin has more to say but Bilbo is suddenly exhausted. Not in body as much as in his heart. How so little seems to have sucked away all his vital energy, he isn’t sure. But if he doesn’t sleep soon, he’s going to fall over where he sits. He slumps a bit against Thorin’s chest. Maybe falling over where he sits wouldn’t be so bad.

Thorin rests his chin on the top of Bilbo’s head. “Rest. You have hours before they come back.”

Bilbo feels safe and unexposed in a way he hasn’t felt since entering Mirkwood. So he sleeps.

Bilbo wakes a few times during the night, or day. He’s lost track of time. He rubs Thorin’s shoulders and tries to ease his aches before he sleeps again. He wakes the last time when he hears someone coming down the hall. They’ve come back sooner than expected. Bilbo wishes he hadn’t slept so much. He’s wasted their time together.

He has enough time to kiss Thorin goodbye, to give him a silent promise that this will all be over soon, and melt into the shadows to slide the ring into place.

He stays in the room long enough to see Thranduil’s guards release Thorin’s arms from their chains. Thorin struggles to keep himself upright and Bilbo is so proud of him.

Bilbo wants to stay, but their time is running out. He can stay here with Thorin and waste away to nothing or he can do his job and steal the dwarves away from their jailers.

There’s no choice at all, and so he goes.

Chapter Text

Bilbo searches without rest for days. He tells himself he won’t go back to Thorin or the rest of the company until he can lead them from their captivity.

But he does it. He finds a way that starts with stealing keys and waiting until the elves are too far in their cups to stop him. It ends with barrels and a race for their lives down a rushing river and then they’re free.

Bilbo lies on the bank of the river, sopping wet and finally out of danger. The sun shines on his face and he wants to laugh, if only he could catch his breath. He’s almost there, almost ready to take a deep gulp and fill his lungs with fresh air for the first time since they left Beorn’s, when Thorin grabs him by the should and hauls him to standing.

Thorin is dripping wet as well, but at least he spent the entire ride in a barrel and not hanging on to the side for dear life. His hair hangs in limp tangles and water drips from the point of his nose. When Bilbo gets his feet under himself, Thorin’s hand slides the length of his arm, from shoulder to wrist. He pulls Bilbo close and kisses him.

It starts slow, just the press of river-soaked lips together, but then Bilbo licks at Thorin’s mouth. He sighs when Thorin’s tongue meets his, as if he could breath all their hardships into this kiss and have them be gone.

He doesn’t forget where he is. Kili’s whoops of joy and the satisfied grunts and mumblings from the other dwarves wouldn’t let him, even if he tried. He doesn’t suddenly stop caring that he’s finally kissing Thorin, kissing anyone actually, in the light of day with others to bear witness. It’s uncomfortable and sends an irrational spike of fear through his chest.

These are his friends. They all knew about this and approved of it, both in the general and the specific. This love is accepted here. He just needs to acclimate to showing his feelings and his desires publically.

He will acclimate to it, because it’s important to Thorin.

When Thorin finally releases him, he’s panting and gazing up at Thorin with wonder. They are really doing this. Not all the details are worked out yet, but that’s the case with every new relationship, Bilbo assumes.

Kili whoops again and Thorin turns to glare at him. His hand drops from Bilbo’s wrist but tangles their fingers together to pull Bilbo from the edge of the river.

It doesn’t surprise Bilbo at all that, once given permission, Thorin wants to hold his hand, touch him, lay claim to him, in public. It doesn’t surprise him but it does delight him just a bit. That’s a much better feeling to have bubbling in his chest than anxiety or fear as the company regroups on the rocky shore of the river.

***************
Their first night in Lake Town is fueled by fine drink and rich food and warm hearths the like of which they haven’t seen in ages. Maybe since they all left their homes and gathered at Bag End to start this adventure.

The others drink and eat and make a ruckus at the banquet tables, but not Thorin and Bilbo. They savor their wine, their bread, and the lingering looks that pass between them. Thorin’s hands seem to always be touching Bilbo, at his elbow or cupping the back of his neck or resting on his knee. It’s more than a distraction. It’s a promise.

The party tips from celebration to something a bit more out of control and Bilbo rises to retire. He doesn’t ask Thorin to come with him, he doesn’t expect it, but he does squeeze Thorin’s fingers for a moment before leaving the table. It’s the first he’s initiated public affection between them and Thorin looks radiantly happy. He will acclimate, Bilbo reminds himself.

Their bags had ended up in the same, private room together without Bilbo needing to direct them there. He’s not sure if Thorin did that or if the rest of the company sorted out the sleeping arrangements themselves and agreed this was the way it would be from now on.

That sort of quiet acceptance without a lot of fanfare felt much easier on Bilbo’s nerves. But he may have to acclimate to fanfare as well if he’s going to be with a king.

By Valar, a king.

Thorin is a king who wants him, who may even love him though the words have not been said out loud, and who isn’t prone to romantic trivialities. Bilbo is just a hobbit from the Shire and nothing can be done to change that, so he’ll have to learn to live with it.

Even more acclimation.

Thorin follows him to their room and barely says good night to the others. Bilbo can hear a few shouted lewd remarks, none from Fili and Kili he prays, but that’s to be expected when the dwarves are in their cups. It’s embarrassing but Bilbo feels a niggling sense of warmth at the camaraderie of it. They are so close to the end of their journey, for better or for worse, and it feels good to be treated as a true friend. Even if it is a bit rudely treated.

The heavy wooden door thunks behind him as Thorin pushes it shut. He’s not nervous, exactly. They spent several nights and long mornings in a secluded bedroom at Beorn’s, but there was no definition to this thing between them then. No promise of a future. It was all good fun with no consequence, with nothing further to discuss than how one might like to be touched or stroked.

Bilbo remembers the look on Thorin’s face during their conversation in Thranduil’s prison. He has nothing more to say, he’d rather just get on with this business of loving and learning to love someone like Thorin, but he knows he’s not the only one to consider now. Thorin likely has much to say.

He turns to face Thorin, shoulders stiff and back straight. Best to get this all out in the open as soon as possible. Bilbo can’t have the slaying of two dragons on his mind.

Thorin has already dropped his heavy belt and swords to the floor. His tunic flows loosely around his body and his hair hangs down around his shoulders. The light from the fire hits him in profile, and he’s strikingly beautiful. Bilbo’s breath catches a bit. He wants to knock Thorin to the ground and crawl over him until they are pressed together from head to toe.

“We should talk, about what you didn’t say in Thranduil’s palace,” Bilbo says instead.

Thorin stalks forward and grasps Bilbo by the hips. “It’s unimportant. We’ve already decided. Haven’t we?”

His voice is low and rumbles out from his chest. Bilbo almost sways into him before stopping himself.

“Oh no, we’re not doing that. That’s no way to conduct a relationship.” He steps back, just enough to make some space between them but not enough to dislodge Thorin’s hands. He’s neither a masochist nor strong enough to separate himself from Thorin. “Yes, we have decided as far as I’m concerned, but I don’t think whatever you were going to say to me has magically gone away. What? Did it get drowned in the river? Did it fall out of your pocket over dinner?”

Thorin does separate them. He drops his hands and moves to stand before the fireplace. His tunic has grown so thin that Bilbo can clearly see the outline of his body through the fabric. It’s no way for a king to dress.

“It’s hard for me to believe that you want to pursue this.”

“What?” Bilbo heard him just fine. He’s just struck by disbelief. He’s been walking around since this started with the same doubt.

Thorin doesn’t turn but continues to speak to the fire. “My companionship is not in high demand.” He sounds weary, sad.

“Thorin, you’re a king.” It’s the most obvious argument to Bilbo. One of the things that’s been haunting him since day one.

Thorin turns to face him. “I’m a king that could only inspire twelve of his subjects to follow him. I have no throne. No kingdom. No home.” He smiles sadly. “I am a king in name only. And barely that.”

A knot forms in Bilbo’s throat. He loves Thorin enough that he hates to see him brought low by doubts, even as doubts echo in his own mind. In a way, it’s nice to know he’s not alone in his lack of confidence. In his confusion about why this is happening to them.

“You’re a king. And soon you’ll have your throne and your kingdom back.” Bilbo smiles. “I won’t tell the others you implied they were not worth an entire kingdom of ready dwarves.”

Thorin smiles back at him and Bilbo’s hands itch to reach out and touch him. He only pauses for a moment. It’s been ages since Thorin would have minded that kind of possessive claim, but it’s another thing Bilbo is still getting used to. That, even in private, he can reach out and take as he wishes. He reaches out and cups his hands around Thorin’s elbows. With just a bit of pressure, Thorin steps toward him until their chests are barely touching. Bilbo has to tilt his head back to see Thorin’s face. There’s still something there, so Bilbo waits.

Eventually, Thorin leans in for a kiss but Bilbo tilts away. Thorin’s lips graze across his cheek instead. “Tell me the rest,” Bilbo insists before Thorin can pull away.

His lips stay, warm and dry, against Bilbo’s cheek for a moment longer. He keeps their faces close together so Bilbo cannot see him clearly. “You’re not a dwarf, so you don’t notice but… I am not handsome.”

Bilbo is startled that he jerks back. “Pardon?”

Thorin looks embarrassed, his cheeks pink. “By dwarven standards, I am not handsome. Far from it. If it weren’t for my lineage, no dwarf would consider me as a partner.”

Bilbo laughs. He can’t help it. “By what standards could you possibly be considered ‘not handsome’? You’re stunning, Thorin.”

“I’m too tall, not broad enough. I keep my beard shorn.” He reaches up and touches the bridge of his nose. “It’s too straight.”

Thorin doesn’t look like the other dwarves in those ways. Bilbo had noticed that immediately. But he had thought it was the other way round. That Thorin was handsomer than the rest. He’d also been considering himself a bit of a plain creature next to Thorin with his magnificent blues and blacks and sharp features.

It’s amazing what the mental contortions of years of loneliness will make you believe.

Instead of arguing, Bilbo reaches up, grasps Thorin by the back of the neck, and pulls him down to kiss the side of his nose. He moves across, kissing the sharpest, straightest line of the bridge, then the other side, and then down to Thorin’s lips. He kisses Thorin breathless.

When Bilbo pulls away, Thorin follows him a bit. He lets Thorin steal another quick kiss before separating them again. “I like your nose. And I’m glad no other dwarf staked his claim before I did, because you’re meant for me.”

“And you for me.” Thorin’s voice is low and sad. There’s nothing else Bilbo can say. Time will make them more confident. Like a long sea voyage, it will be easier to walk tall once they are sure of the waves beneath their feet.

Bilbo leans against Thorin’s chest and brings his lips to the underside of Thorin’s jaw. He lets his mouth linger there. He rubs his lips along the grain of Thorin’s not-at-all-too-short beard, he nips at Thorin’s perfectly-square jaw line, his tongue drags down the column of Thorin’s throat all the way to where it meets Thorin’s just-broad-enough shoulders. He noses the fabric of Thorin’s shirt away to place a final kiss there.

Thorin’s chest rises and falls slowly, so slowly, as he forces himself to breath deeply and evenly. Bilbo can’t have him exercising that sort of control. Not on what might be their last night together. Certainly their first and last night in a real bed for ages.

They’ve laid everything else bare. It’s no time for control.

Bilbo changes tactics. He sucks hard on the spot where Thorin’s neck meets his shoulder. Thorin shakes and his breath shudders. Bilbo keeps at it, sucking until Thorin groans loudly. Bilbo soothes the bruised flesh at the base of Thorin’s throat with gentle swipes of his tongue.

Bilbo can feel something break in Thorin at that moment. Something shakes apart and Thorin’s muscles loosen under Bilbo’s hands. Thorin grabs him around the hips to haul him closer and brings their mouths crashing together.

It’s a complete change from the last time they were together, finding comfort in the desperation of Thranduil's dungeon. Thorin takes charge and, in a few blurred moments, Bilbo is stripped bare, practically tossed onto the human-sized bed, and an equally naked Thorin is braced over him.

Bilbo is definitely not complaining. Variety is the spice of life and all.

Thorin keeps him pinned to the bed as he takes Bilbo apart. Bilbo writhes and arches and thrusts under Thorin’s hands and mouth. It’s glorious. It’s not drawn out teasing, it’s not a rushed fumble, it’s just a constant, pleasurable build to completion. A completion beyond this one physical encounter. An acknowledgement of that they’ve agreed to and the work they have yet to do.

Thorin ends up braced over him again, weight balanced on his elbows, hands in Bilbo’s curls, and hips rutting to grind their cocks together. Bilbo works his hands between them and wraps both his palms around their erections, holding them tightly together. His hands make a tunnel for Thorin to fuck, to drag the underside of his cock against Bilbo’s on every thrust.

Bilbo rubs the pads of his thumbs into the head of his own cock as Thorin’s cock bears down on him. It’s positively blissful. Wetness, made of sweat and precome, mixes between them, making their slide together that much easier.

Thorin pants in his ear and Bilbo rocks his hips up to meet him until Thorin comes with a shout. He spills come across Bilbo’s cock, over his fingers, and onto his belly. Bilbo grips their cocks tightly and bucks and writhes until his own orgasm hits a moment or two later. He grinds against Thorin’s softening cock as his own come pools with Thorin’s.

It takes long moments of panting before Bilbo comes back to himself. Thorin’s weight pressing him into the mattress is comforting. It’s warm and soft, and Bilbo could sleep like this every night. Thorin’s lips sit against his shoulder, murmuring words Bilbo doesn’t understand.

It doesn’t matter if he understands the words, really. He knows the meaning.

He’s half asleep when Thorin cleans them up and pulls them both under the blankets. As much as Bilbo enjoyed having Thorin chained and at his mercy, and he did enjoy it, this sort of care has its benefits. There’s time for both now.

Thorin pulls Bilbo halfway across his chest, skin to skin, and Bilbo huffs a little laugh remembering how this started. Clothes barely pulled aside and pressed flat into the rocky ground. It’s been a long road from there to here.

He keeps quietly laughing to himself and Thorin doesn’t ask why. He only presses his lips to Bilbo’s temple. When Bilbo finally pulls himself together, he doesn’t tell Thorin. It will do him good to live in some mystery.

Instead it’s Thorin who speaks. “I cannot ask you to give up your home after helping me reclaim my own.”

Bilbo cranes his neck so he can look Thorin in the eye. “You’re not asking.” Bilbo wasn’t sure what would happen if they managed to evict the dragon and retake Erebor. He hadn’t been sure until he’d said it. Now there is no question in his mind. He thinks of Bag End and the Shire fondly, but it feels as if it belongs in his heart and not under his feet anymore.

He pushes himself up, using a hand on the hard muscle of Thorin’s chest for leverage. “I choose to stay.”

Thorin’s eyes shine and the light of the smouldering fire. “And I would have you stay. For as long as you wish. But I will court you properly. Dwarves shower their beloved with jewels and treasure and fine things. Once I have my kingdom back, I will give you all of that.”

Bilbo thinks of being laden down with heavy sapphires and diamonds and suppresses a shudder. “You will do nothing of the sort.”

“You will let me make right how I pursued you on our journey. It’s not proper for any dwarf to take someone they love to bed without courting. It was shameful.” Thorin looks away and it’s too dark to tell if he is blushing. “But I wanted you and I could not wait.”

He wants to argue back, to tell Thorin there was no shame in their actions then or now, but it’s late and he’s tired. He thinks about all the times Thorin seemed guilty or even angry during their rushed fucking in dark corners. The weight of expectation doesn’t just rest on Bilbo’s shoulders. He needs to let Thorin know they can move beyond all that together. But he’ll let him know tomorrow.

Some compromises are best undertaken after a full night’s sleep and a large breakfast. Instead, Bilbo kisses his way from Thorin’s lips down to his chest where he finally rests his head.

He drifts off with Thorin’s braids tickling his cheeks and Thorin’s heartbeat in his ear. Tomorrow, or the next day, they’ll argue about showers of treasure. They’ll have time for that later.

First, they’ll finish this mad journey and, if they’re very lucky, defeat a dragon on their way to building a new home. If they’re very, very lucky.