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Chapter Text

"Master Baggins."

The voice saying his name was vaguely familiar, but it was only registering in some deep, distant part of his mind, the part that insisted that it was very un-Hobbit-like to ignore a person when they were talking to you. And yet he found that, no matter how insistent that voice sounded, he just could not tear his gaze away from the form that lay still and bloodied on the small medic cot before him. His eyes were slowly filling with tears, and as his vision blurred, he found that his mind unhelpfully filled it instead with images of those last moments ...

"Bilbo?"

He was forced to watch again how his friends, the Company, had fought so valiantly around him. He was forced to relive how his initial relief and sense of triumph at the idea that the tide was turning in their favour had quickly turned to horror at the pained cry that cut through the cold air around them, making him turn on the spot to locate the source of that sound. He was forced to bear witness once again to the way one particular Dwarf, his friend, his King, had fallen under the great white Orc's blade. He must have been knocked out shortly after that, because the next thing he knew, Dwalin had been carrying him to the medical tent, and there he'd found -

"Bilbo." Firm yet surprisingly soft hands gripped his shoulders, and he blinked away the water from his eyes as he made himself focus on Balin. The old Dwarf looked tired, a little harrowed, but not nearly as aggrieved as Bilbo would expect the King's adviser and closest friend to look in a moment like this. Balin gave him a small, knowing smile as he murmured, "He's alright, laddie. He's only gone into stasis."

"I ..." Bilbo blinked again, trying not to let his gaze flick back over Thorin's too-still body to highlight his disbelief at the suggestion that he was, in fact, alright. "Stasis?"

"Aye, stasis," Balin said slowly, carefully. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and began to gently lead him away from Thorin's side. Bilbo turned his head desperately, tried to refuse being moved, but then he realised that he was only being pulled aside, so that the others could take hold of Thorin's cot and lift it between them. He tried to focus on Balin's words as the Dwarf explained, "It's a hereditary trait. Dwarves have been fighting battles since they were first created by Mahal. Over time, we had to evolve survival mechanisms that would allow us to outlast a grievous wound until help arrived. This stasis is one of those mechanisms."

"But his ... His eyes ... I felt his p-pulse -" Bilbo swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat, his head spinning wildly as his mind tried to keep up. But his vision kept swimming, and the back of his head ached awfully, and he was sure that he was going to vomit, right here, in the middle of this tent, in front of his friends who had already lost so much. Bilbo fought for breath, fought against the dizziness, the pending blackness at the edges of his vision. A large hand, bigger than Balin's, closed around his shoulder in a vice-like grip, the pain cutting easily through Bilbo's borderline hysteria.

"Look at me, little Burglar." Dwalin's scarred, dirt-streaked face swam into view, and Bilbo made himself look right into the surly Dwarf's ice-blue eyes. "Balin is telling you the truth. Thorin's alright. Granted, he's lost a lot of blood, and it may be some time before he stirs, but he really is going to be alright." Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but the action was apparently the tipping point, and all at once the effects of his own injury caught up with him. He fell forwards, right into Dwalin's waiting arms, and felt himself being lifted effortlessly as the gruff Dwarf sighed, "Took you long enough. Come on, best get you seen to, an' all."

Three days. Three whole days, Bilbo had sat at Thorin's bedside. Three whole days he had kept his vigil over the King's body, waiting for a sign of life, anything that would indicate that the Dwarves were speaking truthfully. That Thorin was not dead, as Bilbo believed.

In that time, Bilbo's own wound had been cleaned and examined, and pronounced as a very fine first battle scar by both Kili and Fili, who had hobbled over from their own sick beds within the make-shift infirmary that had been hastily established inside Erebor in order to ogle his scalp. In that time, the boys had been patched up and discharged, though they came by once a day to visit. In that time, Bilbo had read six books aloud to the inert King, had cried four more times, and had held his hand at every opportunity, which was whenever he thought that they were alone.

And Thorin had not stirred once.

It was on the evening of the third day that Bilbo was sent away by Balin to get some rest, after the old Dwarf had found him slumped over Thorin's bed, determinedly fighting off the fatigue that clawed at his eyes. The adviser had been, once again, calm yet firm as he had guided Bilbo to the door of the infirmary, insisting that he would be summoned the moment anything changed about Thorin's condition. Bilbo had tried to protest, but then he'd caught sight of a smiling Bofur waiting for him, and he'd resigned himself to his fate. The most cheerful of the Company, Bofur was also the most stubborn, and Bilbo just didn't have it in him to fight his friend.

So he had allowed Bofur to escort him through the suddenly bustling and crowded streets and corridors of Erebor, the Dwarf chatting amiably the whole way: about how the rebuilding had already started; about how there was already word from the Blue Mountains that a contingent of their brethren were making preparations for their journey home; about how everyone was positively tripping over themselves to meet the Hobbit who had left his comfortable, peaceful little Shire to help them reclaim their birthright, their homeland.

Bilbo had smiled wanly at this, sure that his friend was merely being his usual exaggerating self, increasingly happy to let him lead the conversation. For, as they made their way deeper into the mountain, Bilbo realised that he was indeed feeling mighty tired. Bofur led him to a small set of guest suites, ones that had miraculously remained untouched in the whole time that the mountain had been out of their grasp, and as he showed Bilbo to one of the small, neat rooms, he explained that the whole Company would be residing in these rooms until more suitable accommodation could be established.

His eyelids were drooping in earnest as he thanked Bofur and bid him goodnight, and his movements were slow and sluggish as he dragged himself around the bed chamber, getting himself ready for bed. He had just pulled a long nightshirt - one that he'd found in the drawers and had clearly been made for Dwarves as it reached Bilbo's ankles - over his head, when he heard raised voices in the corridor outside his room, and frowned. What could it possibly be now?

Before he could even start to make his way over to the entrance to peek out and see what all the fuss was about, the large wooden doors banged open, and between them stood -

"Thorin?" Bilbo was already racing towards the Dwarf before he'd fully taken in the King's appearance. He froze about 5 feet from the dark haired royal when he finally took in that Thorin was bare from the waist up, only a thick bandage wound around his middle shielding his abdomen from Bilbo's view. It did nothing to hide his muscled, hair-covered pecks, and despite his worry, Bilbo felt himself blush. He made himself look away, made himself meet Thorin's gaze, and he almost swayed on the spot at the intensity he found waiting for him in those dark, stormy blue eyes.

"Ah," Thorin rasped, his tanned face softening as he grinned down at Bilbo. "So this is where you're hiding, Master Burglar."

The King stepped into the room, and on releasing the doors, he tilted alarmingly. Bilbo snapped out of his trance and hurried forwards, the insane thought that he might be able to support a being twice his weight crossing his mind. Still, he slipped himself under Thorin's huge arm and pushed upwards with all of his might, hoping that at least he could provide some sort of ballast as he guided his burden towards the bed.

"Might we help you, Master Baggins?" Bilbo looked over Thorin's thick forearm as best he could, and caught sight of a young, confused-looking Dwarrow guard looking uncertainly between himself and the King. The man - just a lad, really - was hovering on the threshold of the room, and part of Bilbo's mind wondered at his presence. Surely the guard had not been posted to protect him? More likely, Balin had sent him to ensure that Bilbo did not try to leave his rooms against instruction. The thought made a small spark of resentment flash through him, and he forced out his most winning smile.

"No need, my boy," he called cheerfully, the effect only slightly marred by how breathless he sounded as he hauled the King Under the Mountain further into the room. "I shall make the King comfortable, and then I will be fetching the Physician and his Majesty's adviser. Perhaps while I'm gone, you might ensure that the King remains undisturbed, yes?"

"Of course, sir." The young Dwarf snapped a sharp salute, then turned and closed the door behind him. Bilbo's smile instantly turned to a grimace as he continued to drag what felt like the majority of Thorin's weight towards the bed.

"Yavanna save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves," he growled, panting for breath between his gritted teeth as Thorin's foot slipped on the smooth marble floor, causing him to lean a little too heavily on Bilbo. "You're supposed ... To be ... Resting!" Thorin's knees suddenly gave out entirely, and Bilbo allowed gravity to help him as he tipped the King onto the mattress. Thorin groaned as he bounced, one hand flying up to press over his wound, and Bilbo instantly leaned over the Dwarf's form, his fingers dancing uselessly in the air above him as he murmured, "Thorin? Tell me what I can do, what do you need?"

"I have everything I need," the King slurred, his features easing out of their pained frown as his eyes found Bilbo's once more. His massive paw of a hand raised from his stomach and reached up to cradle the side of Bilbo's face, and the Hobbit's breath caught in his throat as Thorin's face softened impossibly further and he whispered, "Bunnel ..."

Then his arm went limp, his eyes slid closed, and he fell either unconscious or deeply asleep. Bilbo hovered and paced for a few moments, caught between the pull to stay by Thorin's side and the need to seek help, before finally turning and running from his chambers in search of Oin.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, he really hadn't. He'd pulled one of the comfortable chairs around from beside the fireplace and positioned it next to the bed with the exact idea that if he sat up facing Thorin, then he'd have to stay awake, to watch over his charge. So he was supremely disappointed and irritated with himself when his eyes blinked open, and the light in the room had shifted as the pale morning glow was reflected from high above, along the mountain's ingenious mirror system and into his chamber, signifying that much time had passed since Oin and Balin had exited the rooms.

Bilbo stretched slowly, groaning at the ache in his neck from having slept in such a difficult position, and froze when a slight huff of laughter sounded from the direction of the bed. He let his eyes raise slowly, and almost started when he found that Thorin was already awake, sitting propped up on the pillows and staring at him with an odd mixture of wonder and amusement on his handsome face. Bilbo instantly sat bolt upright, clearing his throat and smoothing his wrinkled nightgown with shaking fingers.

"Why so tense, Master Baggins?" Thorin's voice was rich and smooth, just as Bilbo had often heard it on nights around the fire, when the King would honour them all by telling stories. The sound sent thrills right through his body, from the brown curls on the top of his head to the brown curls on the tops of his feet, and he was dismayed to feel a blush creeping into his cheeks. Wonderful. Even after all they'd been through, the Dwarf still had an effect on him, then.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Bilbo croaked, then paused to clear his throat before going on, "I hadn't meant to fall asleep. Oin had told me that you seemed well enough, but ..."

"You wanted to be sure?" Thorin guessed, and Bilbo nodded sheepishly. The Dwarf's short black beard twitched as the corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile, and Bilbo could hear it in his words as the King went on, "That is very noble of you, Master Burglar. But I can assure you, I am quite well. All the better for seeing that you are also in a most fit state." Bilbo couldn't stop the smile that spread over his own face at those words. But his heart quickly sank when the King looked around them and, clearly disoriented, asked, "Where are we, anyway?"

"My chambers," Bilbo answered automatically, then hastened to add, "I mean, these are some guest chambers that have been graciously lent to me by the Company, as a resting place while other accommodations are arranged. I am sure that someone mentioned that you have your own rooms here, and I wouldn't be surprised if locations have been secured for others that you hold dear. It would be understandable for you to have accidentally entered the wrong chambers, what with you only recently having begun to recover from your injury. B-but please know that I take no offence, to your presence, I -"

"What do you mean?" Thorin effectively interrupted Bilbo's ramblings, his head tilting to one side as he surveyed Bilbo, black locks streaked with strands of silver falling over his bare shoulders in a most distracting way. The look was too sharp, like Thorin might see right into his deepest, darkest secrets if Bilbo looked back for too long, and so instead he looked down at the fingers that he was twisting together in his lap.

"I believe you found my rooms by mistake, you see," he murmured, and tried for a casual laugh that only sounded brittle and hollow in the sparsely furnished room. "I believe that you were on your way to another place, and happened upon me before you could make it to your destination. I realise that it must be a disappointment, to not wake up where you had expected to be. But if you would just ... Tell me who you had intended to find, I can have you moved to their chambers instead, and -"

"You will do no such thing," Thorin rumbled, hissing only slightly as he slid one hand under his own head, effectively stretching his broad body and leaving very little to Bilbo's imagination. In all of their time on the road, he had never seen so much of the King exposed outside of the rare, brief flashes he caught glimpses of when they had all washed in a convenient river. Now, it seemed that Thorin was very much enjoying being half-naked, and his current position did nothing for Bilbo's flustered state. Thorin appeared to relish in the flush painting the Hobbit's cheeks as he purred, "I am exactly where I wish to be."

Bilbo instantly stiffened at that, at the suspicion that he was being made fun of, and he could hear a cold edge to his own words as he asserted, "That can't be so."

"And why not?" The King demanded, frowning deeply at the sudden shift in the halfling's manner. "You would question my words?"

"I would when I have prior evidence against them," Bilbo muttered, averting his gaze again so that he wouldn't have to suffer the moment that Thorin realised, the moment that the Dwarf fully understood his grave error. It would be easier for both of them, this way. "You said something before you fainted, something that I've been told you would only say to the one you hold most dear. I understand that you are not well, and I do not hold it against you, but -"

Bilbo's words died on his tongue when large, rough fingers covered his own, stilling their increasingly frantic movements. Gradually, he raised his eyes, surprised to find that Thorin had sat up while he'd been busy dancing around the edge of his self-pity, and was looking right at him again, his sapphire eyes sharp and clear.

"Bunnel," Thorin murmured, and Bilbo's stomach lurched, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. The knowing smile that ticked the corners of the King's mouth upwards was bordering on wicked as he said, "Always so inquisitive, my burglar. What did you learn today, hmm? Who was it that told you what I'd called you?"

Bilbo made a few unintelligible noises before he managed to splutter, "I asked Oin. W-while he was attending to you."

Thorin's smile turned a little sad as he lifted his hand and, oh so carefully, respectfully, tucked a curl behind Bilbo's pointed ear. The knowledge of how sacred this action was to the Dwarrow had Bilbo's mind reeling, long before Thorin had even asked, "And when you learned that I'd called you my treasure of all treasures, your automatic assumption was that I'd mistaken you for another?"

Bilbo could only gape, because his mind had entirely ceased to function properly. He could see the pieces of the puzzle that Thorin was presenting to him, but no matter how he turned them, how he pushed or wiggled or bent them, he just could not get them to fit together to show him their final picture. And he had a feeling that the picture might hold something glorious, something longed for and dreamed of, but there was enough of his natural Hobbitish pessimism left for him to push that notion aside firmly. Because surely, Thorin could not be saying what Bilbo desperately hoped he might be?

"Perhaps I had not made my affections as clear as I had hoped," Thorin mused, his eyes dropping to watch his own hand skate down Bilbo's flushing throat. His brow furrowed slightly as he stared at how his hand looked against the pale skin, and Bilbo prepared himself to remind the Dwarf that he had been forgiven all actions performed while he'd been in the throws of his Dragon Sickness. But Thorin merely sucked in a sharp breath and, with apparent effort, trailed his hand lower, over Bilbo's collarbone before letting it rest directly over the Hobbit's racing heart. The King's gaze was heavy with emotion as he met Bilbo's once more, and breathed, "But I heard yours."

Bilbo went cold all over, his whole body rigid as he was taken right back to that awful moment, when he'd been brought to Thorin's bedside. Shame and embarrassment boiled up within him as he remembered that, when he'd believed that Thorin's life force was rapidly slipping away, he'd begun to talk, careless of anyone around them who might be listening. He recalled clasping the Dwarf's big, rough hand between both of his, and pouring his soul out between them. He swallowed hard as he remembered telling Thorin just how he felt for the King.

Because over the course of their long, fraught, arduous journey together, Bilbo had started to harbour an affection for the King. Through the stories and acts of care and demonstrations of protectiveness, Bilbo had been shown the hardships that Thorin had endured throughout his life, had seen the depths of the fear and love and responsibility for his kin that those experiences had built within the Dwarf. And as that care and attention had gradually been extended to include Bilbo, that affection had turned to admiration, and admiration had turned to infatuation, and infatuation had turned to oh, so much more.

And on what he had honestly believed to be Thorin's deathbed, and for the days following that he held vigil by the King's side, Bilbo had taken great cares to detail just how deeply he felt for the Dwarf, just how much he cared for him. He had forbidden Thorin to die, over and over again, and in his most desperate moments, he had promised that if Thorin would just return to him, then Bilbo would tell him himself just how deep that ... That love went. 

Of course, now that he was actually faced with the King, faced with the prospect of having to say these things to him directly, Bilbo found that the words were inaccessible, that they were stuck somewhere in his too-dry throat. And for a moment, he allowed panic to wash through him at the knowledge that Thorin, in whatever subconscious state he'd been in during his stasis, had heard it all anyway.

But the panic paused in its tracks when Bilbo ran the Dwarf's words back through his mind. Perhaps I had not made my affections as clear as I had hoped ...

Immediately, Bilbo was bombarded by flashes of moments throughout their journey, pulled helplessly through the memories while Thorin sat in front of him and watched the myriad of emotions that were surely flickering across his face. What the King was implying forced Bilbo to step back from what he knew, or thought he knew, and to see what had initially seemed to be such innocent moments between them in a whole new light.

He remembered Thorin walking up beside him as they had crossed the plains and, casual as you please, handing Bilbo a small bunch of wildflowers. Bilbo, assuming that the Dwarrow could not possibly understand what it meant to hand a Hobbit flowers that had been picked specifically for them - much less the meanings behind some of the blooms selected within this particular bunch - had merely thanked the King and hurried away to hide his giddiness. But he now remembered that Thorin had been a little stiff, a little reserved as he'd handed the flowers over, and Bilbo's new perspective showed him that Thorin had been nervous. 

The King had also increasingly taken the time to walk with Bilbo, and made significant efforts at small talk. At first, Thorin had become easily frustrated, had only been able to stand Bilbo's company and incessant chatter for a few minutes at a time, though this had gradually improved, until towards the end they'd been able to walk together for hours, simply discussing the birds and the flora and fauna around them. But looking back, perhaps Thorin's frustration had not been entirely directed at Bilbo. Dwarves are not a race that naturally engage in small talk, after all. But Thorin had made a conscious effort, and had learned how to do so. For him.

And then there had been the food. Food was always scarce along the road, especially when they opted to pass around villages rather than through them for safety. Bilbo had tried not to complain overly much - despite a Hobbit's large appetite, he'd understood that they were all hungry, all going without. But somewhere along the journey, Thorin had started turning up with crab apples that he claimed to have happened across, or he'd call Bilbo over to examine a patch of mushrooms to determine if they were edible.

And in Dale, when the Dwarves had returned from scouting, Bilbo had found a small package of boiled sweets on his pillow. He had guessed that one of Bard's children had left it for him, but now ...

"Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo breathed as the final pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in his mind suddenly righted themselves and neatly completed the picture. "Are you trying to tell me that you've been courting me?"

And Bilbo Baggins would never forget this day for as long as he lived. Because in that moment, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, born of the line of Durin and named as King Under the Mountain, blushed in the face of Bilbo's question. It was an unfairly attractive look on the Dwarf, to see his tanned cheeks flush with a ruddy hue, but then he was tilting his bearded chin defiantly, holding Bilbo's gaze again, and his standard regal air settled over him easily as he said levelly, "And doing a very poor job of it, by all accounts."

"Oh, no!" Bilbo exclaimed, clambering up onto the bed and patting at Thorin's shoulder frantically in an attempt to soothe the situation. "Not at all, not at all! In fact, it would appear that you have done a wonderfully accurate job at emulating a typical Hobbit courting, indeed! It is I who holds the blame for being too dense and pig-headed to recognise it for what it was! I have never been courted, you see, and it has been so long since I attempted to do any courting of my own that I had quite forgotten what it entails. How entitled and rude I must have seemed, to accept your gifts with so little response! You must forgive me, Thorin."

Thorin only blinked at Bilbo, and for a moment the Hobbit worried that his apology would be rejected, that he'd missed his chance to accept Thorin's offer of courtship through sheer ignorance. But then the King tipped his head back and released such a loud roar of laughter that Bilbo almost toppled over backwards. The only reason he didn't was that Thorin had already reached out for him, and Bilbo found himself swept into an embrace, pressed against the King's mostly bare chest. He smiled when he felt the laughter rumbling from the Dwarf's ribcage into his own.

"Well, Master Baggins," Thorin chuckled as his laughter slowly died, but his eyes continued to twinkle as he gazed down at the Hobbit, still cradled against him. "I never thought to see the day when you would admit yourself to having been in the wrong."

"And yet, here we are," Bilbo chirped, his cheeks starting to ache from how broadly he was grinning. He felt so content, warm and cared for in Thorin's arms, and he had the strange urge to pinch himself, to make sure that he wasn't dreaming all of this.

"Here we are," Thorin agreed, his voice going low and syrupy as the smile on his face turned into something softer, something that made a warm weight settle pleasantly in Bilbo's stomach. But then his expression shifted, became a little sharper, and Bilbo felt anticipation rise in him as Thorin dipped his head closer. "So, acknowledging that we have passed many stages of courtship already, would it be acceptable if I were to kiss you?"

"I believe so," Bilbo said, somewhat breathlessly, and his chest tightened further when Thorin leaned in closer still, his large arms pulling Bilbo's small body flush against his own broader, stronger form. In a last moment of panic, Bilbo blurted, "Oh, but I've not offered you anything in return -"

His concerns were quickly silenced when Thorin leaned in and pressed their lips together. The kiss was soft, careful, and yet the feeling that coursed through Bilbo's body at just that simple act was unlike anything that he had ever experienced before. Sure, he had fooled around a little in his youth. And yes, a person does have certain needs that must be attended to from time to time.

But the sheer joy, the sheer elation, the sheer rightness of having Thorin's lips against his own made his head spin. Goosebumps rose all across his body, and he gasped when bright colours burst behind his closed eyelids. If he'd been in his usual, overfull mind, he might have started to wonder what it would feel like to be fully taken by Thorin, if he experienced this level of pleasure at the mere act of kissing. But his usual mind appeared to have taken a holiday at that very moment, so Bilbo allowed himself to sink into the kiss, enjoying the sensations, the smells, the tastes, until the King finally pulled back to allow them both space to breathe.

"To have you accept my courtship would be enough of a return," Thorin murmured into his mouth. It took a moment for Bilbo to realise that the Dwarf was referring to his concerns about not having followed correct courting protocol, and as oxygen slowly returned to his brain, with a new-found confidence building alongside it, he found that he could not resist this opportunity for a little mischief.

"That will not be sufficient, I'm afraid," Bilbo hummed, rubbing his lower lip over Thorin's and delighting in the feel of the Dwarf's strong arms flexing around him at the smooth glide of their skin. Thorin tried to lean into the kiss once more, but Bilbo pulled away slightly, affecting a distracted tone as he mused, "I will need to put some serious consideration into how I might reciprocate with my own courting favours. It's only fair, after all."

"Bilbo, I swear upon Mahal -" Thorin's frustration was lost immediately when Bilbo sealed their lips together, and the King groaned as the Hobbit pushed up onto his knees to change the angle. The Dwarf's large hands dropped to his hips, and Bilbo crawled forward, all the while teasing at Thorin's tongue with his own, nipping at his lower lip with sharp teeth, grinning at the sounds he was wringing from the larger being. But then Bilbo surged forward, pressing Thorin back, and Thorin winced.

"Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry!" Bilbo instantly retreated, removing his hands from Thorin's shoulders and trying to slip out of the larger hands that continued to grasp at him. "I keep forgetting that - oh, that you're i-injured, and - Thorin, please, we shouldn't be doing this while you're - ah, Thorin -"

"I've waited a long time to have you in my bed, Master Burglar," Thorin growled, causing Bilbo to still his attempts at escape. He leaned back to look into Thorin's eyes, and swallowed hard when he found that the Dwarf's pupils had blown wide with apparent need, further darkening the thin ring of the blue iris that remained. Thorin's hands continued to move hungrily over his body as he went on, "Night after night, I debated inviting you into my bedroll. But though it pained me, I refrained. I waited, because I wanted the first time that I gave you pleasure to be amongst the luxury that you so deserve."

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, the word hitching slightly when Thorin's strong fingers dug into the comparatively reduced plumpness of his behind. It took significant effort to stop his head from falling back, to just give in to Thorin's heated tone and clever hands, but he held firm, made himself hold the King's gaze as he said, "Then we will wait. We will wait, until you are healed, and then we -"

"No." There was authority behind the word, and it made Bilbo's head snap back, but Thorin's expression turned repentant, and he released Bilbo's rear to cup his face instead as he rambled, "If you would allow me, I would give you pleasure tonight. I don't need anything from you in return, Bilbo, and I agree that it would likely be wise for me to wait until I am healed, so that I might enjoy you all the more. But, if you'd be willing, I would like nothing more than to make you feel good."

Bilbo hesitated. Over the course of their journey, he had daydreamed - far more times than he'd liked to admit - about Thorin saying words of this exact effect to him, and of where it might lead. His past self would surely chastise him for even considering turning this opportunity down. But he had to take Thorin's well-being into consideration, as well. He'd just about made up his mind, had just about formulated how he might reject the King in his own best interests, when his eyes found Thorin's face once more. The abject devotion that shone from those chiselled features effectively wiped away the last of Bilbo's resolve.

"Alright," he finally conceded, and the excitement that mingled with the Dwarf's besotted expression made him chuckle. But then Bilbo turned serious again, cupping the King's jaw in his hand to keep his attention as he insisted, "But only on the condition that the moment it becomes too much, the moment you feel any sort of ache or pain, you must stop. And I'll have none of this Dwarven saving of face nonsense. I want you to be honest, and I shall be exceedingly cross if you are not. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Thorin rumbled eagerly, his hands already travelling over Bilbo's body. It was incredibly inconvenient, as the touches placed against his arms, his knees, his abdomen, were rapidly drawing his focus away, drawing his own attention to the tightness in his lower abdomen, the rapid swelling of the member between his legs. He made one last concerted effort to fix Thorin with a meaningful stare, hoping to convey the sincerity behind his threats, but at that moment the King's thick fingers brushed over his peaking nipple, and he had to catch his own lower lip between his teeth to stifle an eager cry as electricity jolted through his chest, down past his navel, and rooted in his groin.

"Oh, do that again," he begged, and Thorin grinned wickedly as he grazed his fingers back over the Hobbit's chest. Bilbo gasped, his hands coming up to grip Thorin's shoulders as his body was wracked again with that lightning, and he ground up against nothing, seeking friction. Thorin's grin slipped from his face to be replaced with something close to hunger, and suddenly his hands were on Bilbo's hips, pulling him forward. Bilbo resisted, the memory of Thorin flinching under his weight still vivid, but the King's touch became insistent.

"You won't hurt me, Bilbo," the King coaxed, and there was something desperate in his voice, in his hold, as he urged, "Please, Amrâlimê, I need to feel you close."

Perhaps it was the easiness with which Thorin used the Khuzdul, his peoples' sacred language, in Bilbo's presence. Perhaps it was that this was the first time he'd ever heard the King use the word please. Whatever the cause, it had white-hot need shooting through Bilbo, and he instantly scrambled into the Dwarf's lap, straddling his thick thighs. He blushed and fidgeted when his night-shirt rode up, letting cool air play around his sensitive skin, but then Thorin outright moaned, a deep, sensual sound that rolled through his chest, as his slid his callused fingers up the soft flesh of Bilbo's thighs.

"Mahal, you're perfect," the Dwarf sighed, and he captured Bilbo's lips in a heated kiss. Bilbo would later deny that he had whimpered pathetically at the feeling, but the sound only seemed to spur Thorin on, as his hands tightened around Bilbo's thighs so that he might pull him in closer. Bilbo's breath hitched when the King's hands kept climbing, and soon the hem of the night-shirt had been pushed all the way up to his hips and back, revealing his hard and leaking length to the room. Hobbit propriety made him want to cover himself, but then Thorin swore, soft and rumbling, as he gazed down at Bilbo's lap. "So perfect."

Bilbo keened, his back arching, as the King's huge fist closed around his aching shaft. He couldn't catch his breath, his whole body seemed to be thrumming, his pulse so concentrated that he could feel himself throbbing in Thorin's grip. The King let out a slightly strangled sound of his own, then he was leaning forwards, his beard tickling Bilbo's skin as he ran his surprisingly soft lips up the exposed skin of the Hobbit's throat. Bilbo had just started to regulate his breathing when Thorin moved, slowly dragging his rough palm up Bilbo's length, and all at once his body was not his own.

"Breathe," Thorin whispered against his neck, his hot exhale tickling the damp flesh, and Bilbo obediently sucked in air. Thorin kept moving, his strokes long and languid, and he seemed to be waiting for something, waiting for ... Bilbo looked down as Thorin pulled away, and he found the King staring up at him, his blue eyes hazy but dancing over Bilbo's face, as though searching for something. Bilbo made himself breathe evenly, let a satisfied smile tug at his lips, and Thorin seemed to relax, his movements becoming more sure as he murmured, "Let me make you feel good."

Bilbo nodded, and immediately the Dwarf tightened the arm he had braced around Bilbo's back, pulling him closer into his lap. Bilbo sank into the King's grasp, rolling his hips gently in time with the movements of Thorin's hand, and he had the sudden thought that if he died right here, in this moment, held so close by the King Under the Mountain as the monarch gazed up at him with such love and desire in his eyes, then he would die a very happy Hobbit indeed. But his end was racing towards him, and he didn't want it to come too soon, he didn't want this to be over. But -

"Kun, Amrâlimê," Thorin grunted, the Khuzdul words rasping over his tongue in a way that made Bilbo want to taste how they sounded in the King's mouth. Thorin increased his pace again, his fist moving faster over Bilbo's length as he urged, "Kasamhili, Bilbo, please, I need to see you -"

Bilbo didn't hear any more. His vision and hearing failed him as his release washed over him, his back arching against Thorin's solid forearm, hips rocking upwards and chasing the pleasure that Thorin had promised him. And by the Gods, did he feel good. He'd never known that it could be this good, and he never wanted it to end. But it did, gradually, as Thorin eventually stilled his movements, and Bilbo's body went lax. He allowed Thorin to lower him to the mattress, his body tingling as he sank in on himself, his head falling to the side on the plush pillows so that he could look to where Thorin still sat next to him, perhaps to thank him or praise him for his skill.

The words died on his lips as he watched Thorin lift his sticky fingers to his mouth and slowly, deliberately, lick them clean.

"Thorin!" Bilbo squeaked, his own hands flying up to cover his face, his eyes, hiding him away from the sight. "That's ... That's vulgar!"

Once again, that full belly laugh rocked Thorin's whole body, rippling through them both, and despite his embarrassment, Bilbo couldn't help but smile behind his palms. He felt the mattress shift as Thorin stretched out next to him, and bit back a contented sigh as the King's warmth enveloped him.

"Perhaps to you, Amrâlimê," Thorin huffed, nosing at Bilbo's hands until he dropped them from his bright red face. Thorin's smile was truly beatific, and Bilbo nearly missed it as the King added, "For Dwarves, it is a sign of deep affection, that we do not wish to waste a drop of our lover's sedzel - their most precious essence."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at that, surprised by the relatively flowery words falling from the usually brusque Dwarf, but his mind was entirely side-tracked when Thorin hummed happily, tucking one large arm under his own head and resting his whiskered cheek on his bulging bicep so that he could gaze at Bilbo's face. He looked so entranced, and it wasn't until the Dwarf's (thankfully now clean) finger ran down the length of his nose that he understood why.

"I love it when you do that," the King murmured. Bilbo raised a pointed eyebrow, and Thorin crooned, "Scrunching your nose like that. It's enchanting."

Bilbo scoffed. "Really! I'm 50 years old, Thorin. I hardly think that anything I do at this stage of life could be called enchanting."

"Everything that you do, everything that you are, is enchanting to me, Bilbo Baggins." The sincerity in the words made his heart skip a beat, but he made the conscious effort of rolling his eyes, flapping a hand between them to dismiss the praise.

"Now I know that you must be suffering from your injury," he grumbled, but Thorin only chuckled as his gaze roamed over Bilbo's face.

Bilbo lay for as long as he could, until the weight of the Dwarf's attention simply became too much, and he had to roll over, had to turn his back to the King. The small, disappointed noise that Thorin made tugged at Bilbo's heartstrings, but he made himself follow through on his action and hurried to scoot himself backwards, hoping the King would see his purpose. He was rewarded when Thorin let out another sound, this one of contentment and understanding as he positioned himself at Bilbo's back, folding himself around the Hobbit's slighter frame, his knees tucking effortlessly behind Bilbo's own, one large arm thrown about his waist.

Bilbo peeked over his shoulder to explain, "I don't trust myself not to accidentally hurt you in my sleep. I thought that this might lessen the odds, if you're happy with it?"

"I am more than happy," Thorin assured him, nuzzling through the bronzed curls that covered the back of Bilbo's neck to place a kiss against his nape. And Bilbo smiled to himself, snuggling deeper against the King's radiating warmth, his eyelids already drooping as he settled down for what would turn out to be the most satisfying nights' sleep that Bilbo had had in over 8 months.

Chapter Text

It dawned on Bilbo early on that it would take him a while to get used to his and Thorin's established courtship. After that first night spent together, he had fully expected that the King would just disappear, that he might go about pretending that Bilbo didn't exist until the next night, or worse - that he might claim that the night had been a mistake all along, that his judgements had been clouded by pain draught, or something similar.

So when instead he found that the King's attention remained entirely focused on him throughout the entirety of the following day, even when Oin visited to check his wounds and deliver medications and salves, he was pleasantly surprised. And when the King had refused to be removed from Bilbo's bed chambers, and instead demanded that his belongings be brought into the room as well, Bilbo had been a little more than surprised, to say the very least.

Over the following week, Thorin's condition continued to improve, and by the end of the seven days the King was moving entirely on his own, no longer requiring bandages but still needing to move slowly, to take his time and rest frequently. And, as he continued to insist that Bilbo not leave his side unless it was absolutely unavoidable, it fell to the Hobbit to remind the Dwarf frequently to slow down, to rest, to keep his hands to himself and wait until he was damned-well healed, already.

It was very strange, coming to terms with the long-denied affection between them. He had, at times during their journey, suspected that the King might at least respect him after their run-in with the Goblins. He had, on occasion, even allowed himself to believe that there was something more to Thorin's gaze when he held Bilbo's over the fire, or opted to stay closer to the half-ling while they travelled or bedded down for the night. At the time, he'd dismissed those notions, had chastised himself for foolish daydreaming. It was taking some considerable effort to reconcile what he'd thought then with what he knew now.

By contrast, it seemed to take Thorin no time at all to fall into the standard practices that one might expect to see during a typical courtship. He would drop lingering kisses on any part of Bilbo that he could reach, as if by reflex: his curls; his knuckles; his shoulder; and, much to Bilbo's chagrin, the very sensitive pointed tips of his ears. The King's large hand would often find Bilbo's, with no other intent than to simply hold it, to remind himself that his lover was close by.

On the rare occasion that he left the chambers without Bilbo, to see to some matter that only he could preside over or to make checks on the progress of the rebuilding of the mountain's internal forges, he would often return with a small gift, usually a piece of fruit or a sweet or small cake that he'd managed to snag from somewhere while going about his duties. He would watch Bilbo's face closely as he presented these gifts, a small pleased smile tugging at his mouth when Bilbo made the appropriate fuss about being treated so well.

But despite this behaviour, Bilbo had continued to harbour a small, secret fear for the first few days that their confessions would only be true between them, that the King might still want to keep their mutual affection secret or hidden. It could be argued, after all, that he had insisted on staying with Bilbo merely because he knew that the half-ling would properly care for him while he recovered - based on the attitudes of those who visited Thorin in their chambers, Bilbo suspected that his brethren would likely be too rough with him in their attempts to support him, or might press him to do too much too quickly if they thought he was recovering fast enough.

The notion of Thorin being reluctant to share their news had been soundly quelled when, on the morning of the third day, Bilbo had persuaded the Dwarf that they should eat breakfast with the Company, instead of in his - their - rooms, as had become habit during Thorin's convalescence. He had rationalised that their friends should benefit from seeing him looking so well, and Thorin had easily agreed.

But if he was to be honest with himself, Bilbo had known that he'd also done it to test his own theory, to see how the King would act around him in the presence of others. He had told himself, again and again as they'd made their way to the central dining hall between the Company's current chambers, that it wouldn't matter either way, that it would be a good exercise for him to understand how Thorin wished him to act, too.

But the moment he had entered the room, Thorin close on his heels like the clinging shadow he'd quickly become, the Company had fallen silent and looked up at them expectantly. And when Thorin, in that casually confident way of his, had slung his arm around Bilbo's waist with a look of defiant challenge on his handsome features, a rousing cheer had rippled throughout the room immediately.

"Finally!" Fili had bellowed, toasting Bilbo and Thorin with his mug. Bifur had raised one bushy eyebrow and tapped the face of his pocket-watch at them impatiently, and though Bilbo could not understand Inglishmek, he had understood the silent Dwarf's message very clearly. About time. The gesture that Thorin had made in return was much less polite, and though Bilbo's ears had flushed to see it, the grating laugh that escaped Bifur had made him smile nonetheless.

And so the last of his worries about Thorin's commitment to their courting had been dismissed. Soon, however, Bilbo understood that even if he might have wanted to hide their courting from the Company - which he most certainly had not - Thorin had likely had no such reservations even from the start. Because whether they were alone in their chambers, feasting with the company, or attending the increasing meetings of the heads of the Dwarrow clans, Thorin was apparently going out of his way to ensure that everyone knows about his and Bilbo's status.

The King's large hand continued to seek Bilbo's frequently, whether they were sat side-by-side at breakfast, or cuddled up to read in front of the fire in their chambers, or hosting diplomatic talks about the rebuilding of Erebor. The open affection had initially caused some disruption in that particular setting, but once the council members had been advised of Bilbo's part in the venture to reclaim the mountain, alongside the King's own impromptu public declaration of their courtship, he had slowly but surely been introduced as a permanent member at their table, at the right hand of the King.

The hand holding was mostly manageable. The rest of Thorin's displays were ... Less so.

He was forever pulling Bilbo against him: to stand tucked tight along his side as someone stopped them during their explorations of the passages of the mountain to talk; to lean back against him while they surveyed the never-ending building works from a high balcony set into the inner wall of Erebor; even turning the Hobbit mid-stride to be crushed against his broad chest, with no other apparent motive than to just embrace him.

He had taken to tugging Bilbo down into his lap, as well, especially on the evenings that the Company convened by the light of the fire to drink and talk and celebrate the fact that they were all present and inside their mountain once more. Every time he landed on the King's thighs, Bilbo would flush and protest profusely, chastising him for such improper behaviour. And Thorin would hum appeasingly, nodding seriously like he was hearing all of the Hobbits concerns and taking them on board.

But all the while, his fingers would be walking their way slowly up the half-ling's spine, and his clever thumbs would find all of the knots and aches along Bilbo's neck and shoulders. The Hobbit's protests would gradually slur, his eyelids would droop, and in no time he would be curled up like a cat against Thorin's chest, practically purring as the King effortlessly eased the tension from his body while trading barbs and affectionate insults with his Dwarves over Bilbo's head, pausing occasionally to press gentle kisses against his lover's bronzed curls.

So. A very new way of living, all in all, for a Hobbit who had spent the last 6 years entirely on his own and very much enjoying his own company. And it seemed that Thorin knew this. Every so often, he would fall silent, would make significant effort to sit still on his end of the sofa in their rooms and not reach out for the Hobbit. The first time it had happened, Bilbo had feared that the King was already tiring of him.

But after the third time, when his worry had gotten the better of him and he'd nervously expressed this concern, Thorin had looked so thoroughly heartbroken that Bilbo had been sure that he'd somehow committed a grave mistake of Dwarven etiquette. This fear, too, was quickly squashed.

"I could never tire of you, Bunnel," Thorin had breathed, offering his hand to Bilbo and waiting patiently until the Hobbit had taken a seat beside him. His free hand had cupped Bilbo's cheek so tenderly as he'd explained, "I know what it's like, to find peace within yourself. And no matter how it might irk me to not be near you, I would understand if sometimes it all becomes a bit ... Too much."

Bilbo had melted at the King's vulnerable words, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the Dwarf's lips before asserting, "I'm very grateful for your consideration, but I'm quite alright. I rather enjoy your company, and I find that I don't mind the least being touched if it's you doing it."

He'd meant for his words to be nothing more than reassurance, but Thorin's eyes had darkened immediately, his mouth turning up in that grin that Bilbo had quickly learned to be wary of, and his deep, smooth voice had definitely been on the edge of sultry as he'd asked, "Do you want me to touch you, Master Baggins?"

"Often," Bilbo had confessed, his cheeks heating as he'd held Thorin's gaze. But then he'd blinked, pulling himself back only slightly to add, "But perhaps ... Perhaps less so when we're in public? I like the touch an awful lot more when it's just between us."

And while Thorin had done his utmost that night to touch every part of Bilbo that he was able to while still in his recovering state, he had for the most part made conscious efforts to keep his touches innocent while they were in the presence of others. The hand-holding was just hand-holding; the manipulation of the muscles in Bilbo's shoulders and back was merely to soothe; the embraces were effortless yet chaste. As such, Bilbo grew to crave the time that they were alone, the time where he could gather comfort from Thorin's more intimate caresses.

And so it was that the week passed, and as a fresh one began, Bilbo found himself at breakfast with Thorin (of course), Fili and Kili. The remainder of the Company joined them only briefly, stuffing down as much food as possible in a very short space of time. There was a plan to re-open one of the collapsed mines that day, Ori explained to Bilbo as he shovelled eggs into his mouth at an alarming rate. Every able-bodied Dwarf had been called to answer the task, and the Company were keen to get down there as fast as possible, to be among the first to enter and lend assistance.

"Goodness, no!" Ori chuckled when Bilbo asked if he himself would be helping out. "Far too clumsy for that, don't think they'd trust me with a pick. Not after last time ... But I've been really enjoying my writing again, and I thought I might go down to document the process, you know? Maybe catalogue anything interesting that we might find. Mahal knows that we could do with some sort of inventory in this place!"

Bilbo agreed that this did sound very sensible, but when he looked away from Ori, he couldn't help but notice from the corner of his eye how Dwalin appeared to be watching the rather gentle Dwarf eat, an expression of mild approval on his face. Bilbo filed that little tidbit away for later consideration as he bid them all luck, and the hall quickly emptied, leaving behind the few Dwarves in the Company who had been deemed not fit enough to join in the efforts.

As a result, the King was a little irritable, almost sulking, as he sat in his chair and picked over his breakfast. His nephews, though also clearly lamenting that they'd been barred from the activities as they continued to heal from their own injuries, tried to lighten the mood by tossing insults and jibes at each other, occasionally pulling Bilbo in to their discourse as a referee. He was rather good at it, his quick wit and sharp tongue allowing him to manage the lads' rowdy behaviour before either of them said anything that might cause the atmosphere between them to change. He'd just managed to avert another near-fight when Thorin's voice cut through the babble.

"I think I'll return to my chambers," the King huffed, squeezing the half-ling's hand gently before rising from his seat. Bilbo had smiled at him in what he'd hoped was an understanding way, and had glanced back at the boys to find them both watching Thorin, a strange melancholy playing about their features.

"There will be other mines to stabilise, Uncle," Fili murmured, the words careful yet soothing. Bilbo held his breath at that, not entirely sure how the King might react while in this sullen mood. But to his relief, Thorin simply grumbled and waved a dismissive hand at his nephew before turning his attention back to Bilbo.

"Would you join me?" he asked, gazing down at him with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The Hobbit hesitated, in a way that only the proximity of food could make him when presented with such an appealing alternative. But then Thorin's fingers slid along his jaw, the pads of them grazing that soft spot behind Bilbo's ear, and his blue eyes betrayed a flicker of insecurity as he added, "Please, Amrâlimê?"

It was the uncharacteristic uncertainty that did it. Immediately, Bilbo grasped the large hand cupping his cheek and turned to press a kiss to the King's inner wrist before grinning up at him, relieved to see that the apprehension had faded from the Dwarf's features so quickly.

"Of course," he crooned, squeezing the thick fingers in his own before releasing Thorin's hand. "You go on ahead, I just need two minutes to pack something up for us for later. Wouldn't want you going hungry now, would we?"

"Indeed," the King rumbled, one black eyebrow hitching up as he smirked down at the Hobbit. Bilbo flushed at the implication in that look, and quickly shooed Thorin on his way before turning back to the table to start gathering some pastries and rolls into a napkin. He paused in his task when he realised how quiet the room had become, and he looked up from the table to find Fili and Kili gaping comically at him.

"You're making great efforts to catch flies, my lads," Bilbo teased, hurriedly knotting the corners of the napkin together. He'd piled in so much food that the flimsy thing bulged, but he still worried that there might not be enough to see them both through til lunch. When the room remained empty of stinging jibes and light-hearted laughter, he straightened fully, hands on his hips as he pressed, "Cat got your tongue, boys? Come along, now, out with it."

"W-Well, it's just -" Fili stammered.

"He just ... And you -" Kili blurted.

"He said ..." They both tailed off helplessly, and it was only then that Bilbo noticed the mild awe in their gazes. He frowned, entirely confused, and finally Fili managed to right himself enough to face Bilbo properly.

"We've never heard him say that before, is all."

"Oh. Well, I would hope not," Bilbo blustered, his shoulders dropping and tension easing from him as he picked up his parcel. "The King has told me that he's never courted, so I can't imagine that you would have had the chance to hear him address someone with endearments before. At least, I have come to believe it's an endearment. I'm not supposed to be allowed to learn Khuzdul, as you know, but -"

"Not that," Kili grumbled, exasperated, as he waved off Bilbo's ramblings. Disbelief was still woven through his expression as he explained, "He said please to you. I've known that old Dwarf all my life, and I've never heard him say it."

"I've heard him say it once," Fili mused. "When he asked Mum to stop trying to set him up with her forge-mates." Fili levelled Bilbo with an unusually serious look as he went on, "I was 10 at the time."

And the boys looked so impressed by this turn of events that Bilbo couldn't help but laugh, and only when his cheeks ached with it did he relent. "Well, what can I say? It appears that your dear, stubborn uncle is actually quite happy to use his manners when he truly wants something."

The admiration on the young Dwarves' faces soured instantly. Fili looked mildly horrified, and reached up to cover his ears, as though he might un-hear what the Hobbit had just said by doing so. Kili retched into his porridge. And Bilbo, feeling quite proud of himself, gave the pair a jaunty little wave before turning on his heel, package tucked neatly under his arm, and bounced all the way back to his and Thorin's chambers.

There was still quite the spring in his step when he reached the great wooden doors that he'd come to recognise all too well, and he chuckled to himself at the thought of what Thorin might say when he told the King of his little act of mischief. He hoped that it might lighten his lover's mood, to know that his nephews were so thoroughly unimpressed by the idea of their uncle and the company burglar in any form of intimate setting. The thought was wiped clean from his mind when he entered the room, shutting the door behind himself, and was instantly backed up against the heavy, carved slab of wood.

"You took too long," Thorin growled, his teeth already at Bilbo's throat. Bilbo sighed happily, dropping his package onto the floor as gently as possible before nudging it further away with his bare toes, making sure that it was far outside of the range of Thorin's thick, heavy boots. His hands rose to rest on the King's shoulders, and Thorin grunted appreciatively when the position made space for him to press his body flush to the Hobbit's.

"My apologies, Your Majesty, I was -" Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath when Thorin hurriedly tugged his shirt from under the waistband of his trousers and roughly pushed calloused fingers under it to graze against the pale skin of Bilbo's smooth abdomen. His voice trembled as he managed to choke out, "My, but we are in a rush!"

"I need the distraction today," Thorin rumbled, and Bilbo sighed again at the feeling of hot breath against his neck, tipping his head back to allow the King more space to explore. Thorin had become quite efficient with his ministrations of this part of Bilbo's body, and he had quickly learned just where to lick and suck and nip to get the half-ling pliant, like so much molten metal in his hands. But the words opened up another opportunity for mischief, and Bilbo was fast to take it, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before words failed him entirely.

"Is that all I might offer you, O King? A distraction?" He made sure that his voice sounded heavy, almost wounded, but Thorin immediately saw through his ruse, chuckling as he ran the tip of his tongue up the shell of Bilbo's ear. The way that the Hobbit mewled at that feeling, the way he gripped the front of the King's robes and pulled his broad, muscular body against his own slight, soft form, quickly belied his attempt at making believe that he'd taken offence at Thorin's words.

"The most delightful distraction that I might wish for," the King breathed in his ear, and Bilbo blushed as his own words were used so effectively against him. He nearly staggered when Thorin's shoulders disappeared from under his hands, and he blinked through his rapidly building need to find that the King had sunk to his knees in front of him, and was staring up at him with a little apprehension in his stormy blue eyes. Bilbo blinked again before he registered that the Dwarf's hand was hovering above the drawstring of his trousers, that his head was slightly tilted in silent question. Understanding hit Bilbo like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh. Oh, well, goodness, Thorin, I ... Your, um, your i-injuries, I don't know if -"

"Oin says that I am mostly healed," Thorin interjected, his voice low, a little strained. Bilbo watched the King shift, as though he were struggling to get comfortable, and it was very difficult to avoid looking down further, to avoid observing whatever evidence of the King's arousal he might find between his splayed thighs.

"I know," Bilbo croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. "I know, love, I do, but I just worry that you risk undoing all of that good work. You've been resting so well, after all, and I know that it's been killing you to have to wait to be able to re-join the efforts to right your kingdom. Why chance that on something that we'll be getting to eventually anyway?"

"I hear your concerns, Amrâlimê, and I assure you that I will be fine." Thorin's palms lifted to land on his waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles along Bilbo's hip bones. They began creeping closer to their end goal, and Bilbo had to bite into his own tongue rather hard to hold back the sound that attempted to crawl up and out of his throat in response. Thorin's eyes flashed, as though he'd somehow heard it anyway, and the King's voice was almost impossibly deep as he went on, "It doesn't have to be today if you are not ready for this. But you must know that if I don't get to taste you soon, I fear I will go -"

Thorin paused at the word that one might expect to follow, a flash of emotion crossing his features so quickly that if he hadn't been watching the Dwarf so avidly, Bilbo might have missed it. But his own chest tightened at the absence of the word.

Mad. They both had far too much experience of what it actually meant for the King to go mad, crazed by power and gold. The Dragon Sickness. The memory of it still hung over them all, like a weighted balloon that was to be treated with excessive caution from the collective fear that it may burst.

But they had moved on from that time, had pledged to put it in the past and keep themselves heading forwards. And so, with great effort, Bilbo pushed a smile onto his own face and reached out to grasp Thorin's jaw, bringing the King back to the moment, away from those unhealed internal wounds. When he was sure that he had the Dwarf's undivided attention, Bilbo leaned down to kiss him, slow and sweet but with no little amount of heat, and when he finally broke away Thorin was gazing up at him with a mixture of need and gratitude. Bilbo's smile widened, and he murmured, "Can't be having that, now, can we? Best that you take what you need, my King."

The tension bled from Thorin's body instantly, and he stretched up on his knees to capture Bilbo's lips again, licking into the Hobbit's willing mouth as he let the King take comfort from the action. The sigh that escaped the monarch was satisfied, light, free of the heaviness that had threatened to descend over them only moments before, and Bilbo smiled into the kiss at the sound. The kiss became heated, desperate and breathless, and Bilbo soon found his own body responding, returning him to the familiar state of arousal that had banked slightly from being forced so suddenly to reminisce on the Dwarf's pain and guilt.

Then Thorin was gone again, and he gave Bilbo only a second to right himself before he wrapped his fists in the material of the half-ling's trousers and yanked them down sharply. Bilbo yelped, his hand flying up to grip Thorin's shoulder, to steady himself, but the yelp turned into something else entirely when the King pitched forward and engulfed his straining length in one quick motion. Thorin's tongue was thick, a little clumsy perhaps, but the slick heat of it as he lapped broad strokes up Bilbo's shaft had the Hobbit's knees trembling in moments.

His hand travelled up from the Dwarf's broad shoulder and, with some trepidation, he threaded his fingers carefully into the King's silver-streaked locks, ready at a moment's notice to withdraw the digits if he found that he'd crossed a line. But though Thorin stiffened, it was for less than a heartbeat before the Dwarf practically melted, sinking in on himself a little at the touch. Bilbo scratched lightly at his scalp, all the while holding his breath, and Thorin's eyes immediately glazed over as he sat further back on his heels, his lips stretched obscenely around Bilbo's shaft as he blinked up at the Hobbit.

The instant change sent a thrill through Bilbo and, feeling emboldened, he tightened his grip on the King's hair, just enough that Thorin would feel it. The noise that the King released was bordering on filthy, and his thick fingers flexed around Bilbo's hips almost reflexively. The air went taut between them as they stared at each other, and after taking a few more moments to regain his self-control, Bilbo gently tugged, using the strands in his fist to pull Thorin forwards, further onto his length.

The King groaned, his usually stoic face flushing, and the look he gave Bilbo could only be described as one of absolute adoration. Bilbo eased his grip on the King's hair, allowing him space, and instantly Thorin was moving, bobbing his head and sucking lightly along Bilbo's length as he took it deeper and deeper into his mouth, his throat. When his sharp nose brushed the thatch of tightly-curled hair at Bilbo's base, he paused, swallowing purposely, before pulling back to start over again.

If Bilbo had thought that it was torture to have Thorin's hands on him without being allowed to reciprocate through concern about hurting the King, it was nothing at all compared to the absolute agony of knowing that he would be forced to keep his hands to himself once the Dwarf was done with him. As Thorin worked him with a surprisingly skilled mixture of tongue and lips and fingers, Bilbo tried his best to hold off his building release, and reminded himself again and again about exactly why he was not allowed to touch his King, about the thinly-veiled threats that Oin had made about what might happen if the pair were to become too, ah, enthusiastic.

But soon it was too much, his whole body alight with his need, tingling from Thorin's eager work to bring him to the edge. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold off any longer. So he tugged gently at the hair in his hand, trying to signal to Thorin that he should move away, his own tongue too tied by pleasure to articulate himself. His heart skipped a beat when Thorin looked up to meet his gaze once more, his eyes sharp and clear, before slowly, purposefully, sinking back down to swallow Bilbo's whole length. The message was clear - Thorin would not be moved from his task until he had finished what he'd started.

The thought of his fluid in Thorin's mouth should have been repulsive, and if he'd been asked about that a week ago, that would have been his answer. Indeed, he had called Thorin vulgar for licking the Hobbit's spend from his own fingers after their very first triste. But Thorin had, quite literally, taken matters into his own hands after that night, and had made sure that Bilbo finished at least once every time they retired to bed. And each time, whether it was from his own digits, from Bilbo's, or even lapped from the half-ling's abdomen, Thorin had made a point of cleaning up Bilbo's climax with his own tongue.

In this way, the Hobbit had very quickly become desensitised to the idea of the act being disgusting. It was, after all, awfully entrancing to watch Thorin, who had yet been unable to participate in their evening games, enjoying the taste of Bilbo like it was the most delectable sustenance. And the thought of Thorin taking it directly from the source was doing all sorts of pleasant things to Bilbo's insides.

"Ah, Thorin, oh G-Gods, yes, I -" Bilbo gasped, his tongue suddenly loosened by the swell of his lust, and he inadvertently rocked his hips forward as his release swept over him. He felt himself pulse, felt Thorin's lips seal around him as the King began to swallow what he was given. The low moans that had the King's tongue vibrating against the underside of his cock had Bilbo whining from overstimulation, and he only just managed to bear it as Thorin withdrew, flicking careful licks over his wilting member as he collected the last of Bilbo's spend.

Then the King rocked forward once more, this time pressing his sweaty forehead into the crease between Bilbo's hip and his crotch, and Bilbo shakily carded his hands through the monarch's tangled locks as they both gasped for air. As he slowly came down from his haze, he started to gather that something was different, and he eased his hand under the King's jaw, tipping his head back to make him look upwards. The Dwarf's face was flushed, his blue eyes a little unfocused. Bilbo had never seen him look so sated before. He gaped at the King's expression for some time before he blurted, "Thorin, did ... Did you -"

"You're a sight to behold, Master Burglar," Thorin purred, smiling lazily up at Bilbo as he rested his bristled chin on the Hobbit's plush stomach. "When you fall apart like that. I would have to be made of stone not to find it so erotic. In fact, it would have likely been impossible for me to not follow suit after seeing something so truly seductive."

"Really," Bilbo blustered, releasing the Dwarf so that he could flap his hand in a dismissive gesture as his ears burned. The King grinned, and began to straighten, but suddenly he winced, folding in on himself, and Bilbo crouched, concern is his voice as he asked, "Thorin?"

"I'm alright," the Dwarf grunted, but the way his hand had balled into a fist against Bilbo's thigh told the truth. "I'm alright, I just ... Perhaps not as well healed as I had believed ..."

Bilbo was moving instantly, pausing only to drag his trousers up from around his knees before helping the King to ease himself to his feet, supporting him as best he could towards the bed and grumbling, "I knew it was a mistake to let you get carried away like that. If you've caused yourself further damage by being impatient and demanding distraction, Thorin Oakenshield, I'll -"

"You'll what?" the Dwarf huffed, clearly amused despite the tightness in his jaw as he slowly lowered himself to the mattress. "Break our courtship?"

"Oh, no," Bilbo said imperiously as he busied himself with unfastening the drawstring on Thorin's trousers. "Don't think you'd be getting out of things that easily. But you'd definitely be learning a lesson or two about patience and abstinence, Your Highness, make no mistake."

"Pompous Hobbit," Thorin chuckled as he thumbed at the curve of Bilbo's arse.

"Stubborn Dwarf," Bilbo sniffed as he swatted the King's hand away, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he helped saod Dwarf out of his decidedly sticky briefs. He made short work of fetching a damp rag from their adjoined washroom, and he cleaned the King quickly and efficiently before bending over to place a lingering kiss to Thorin's lips.

"Stay with me today," the King murmured, obviously sensing that Bilbo had no intention of joining him in the bed. Bilbo kissed him once more before straightening and fixing his own attire, trying to make it seem as though he had not just been entirely ravished.

"I will," he promised, catching Thorin's eyes as they began to droop closed. "I just need Oin to check you over first, to make sure you've not been too overzealous and done yourself any further lasting damage."

"'M fine," the Dwarf rumbled, but Bilbo could hear that he was truly fighting against the fatigue that still plagued him from time to time, and so he simply pressed a final kiss to the King's brow before he scampered from the room in search of the Company's Physician.

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke to find their bed empty. It was strange, not feeling the King's huge bulk, his seemingly endless heat against him, and he instantly sat up, his nose scrunching in confusion. He blinked blearily around the dim room, the grey edge to the light reflected in by the mountain's mirror system telling him that it was still incredibly early. In the gloom, he tried to pick out whether the Dwarf might have moved to sit on the sofa, as he sometimes did when he woke in the night with problems and demands mulling over in his mind. But it only took a few moments for Bilbo to realise that the room was empty.

Frowning, he scooted himself to the edge of the mattress and slipped on the sheepskin slippers that the representatives of Dale had gifted him as thanks for brokering trade agreements with Erebor. He'd received other things from the men, of course, and plenty of lavish trinkets from the Elves as well. But the slippers were definitely his favourite. He wiggled his toes against the fleece lining, glad of the warmth that protected him from the chill of the marble floors as he rose and crossed the room, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door as he left the chambers in search of the King.

Bilbo checked the shared dining hall, and the throne room. He searched the ruined library, and even passed through the palace kitchens, where a grinning Bombur handed him one of the scones that the team were already preparing for breakfast. He paused at the forges, but decided against entering them. If the King was in there, it meant that he likely didn't want Bilbo to find him, as that was the only place he had expressly forbidden the Hobbit from entering. At least, Thorin had quickly amended at the sharp look Bilbo had given him, until the place was structurally sound enough for a non-Dwarf to walk about free of the risk of harm.

As he searched, there became fewer and fewer places that Thorin might actually be, and it wasn't long before Bilbo found himself in front of a vast set of doors. A set of doors that he happily could have gone without seeing ever again for as long as he lived, thank you very much. His heart was in his mouth when he saw that the doors were ajar, his stomach swooping sickeningly at the possible reasons for which Thorin might be here, of all places. But he could hear movement beyond the door, and he had come all this way to find the King, after all. So, with one last deep breath, Bilbo squeezed through the gap and into the Treasury.

He blinked at the sudden glare that met his eyes, just as he had done all those months ago when he had first set foot in this very room. The piles and piles of gold, silver, gems, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and things that Bilbo could not identify but looked very expensive, were still spread from wall to wall, just as he remembered them being. Some of them looked to have cascaded, but it would be impossible for him to tell whether that had been Smaug's work, or if it was just something that happened over time when so many things are left in a place, forgotten for so many years.

But Bilbo wasn't looking at the horde. His eyes were fixed on the Dwarf that sat hunched over at the top of the long flight of stairs that led down to the Treasury floor. Thorin likely didn't know that he was here just yet, so Bilbo let himself survey his lover, reassuring himself that the King was alright. He had his fur-lined cloak thrown on over the loose underclothes that he wore to bed, and he was staring out into the vast sea of gold before them, but other than that he seemed unharmed. Whole.

He had to know for sure, though. With bated breath, he leaned back against the door, allowing it to make enough noise as it shut to alert Thorin that he was no longer alone. The King's head immediately whipped up and around, and Bilbo was terrified for a moment about what he might see looking back at him. He almost collapsed in relief when he met Thorin's eyes, and they were just that. Thorin's eyes. Not the eyes of a mad king, driven to sickness by the lust for gold. Not the eyes of a Dwarf who has been wronged and can't see the way to put it right. It was just Thorin. Just his Thorin.

It gave him the courage to step forward on shaking legs, walking over to where Thorin still sat, looking up at him with a gentle smile. Bilbo tried to keep the weary apprehension out of his own voice as he asked, "What are you doing in here, Your Majesty?"

"I had a bad dream," the Dwarf rumbled, reaching up to take Bilbo's hand in his, his thumb playing over the half-ling's knuckles. The longer that Thorin looked at him, away from the gold, the easier Bilbo found it to breathe. He saw no desire in the Dwarf's eyes to gaze upon the treasure, no greed or melancholy or anything else that might suggest that Thorin was not himself. The King squeezed his hand and went on, as though he'd read Bilbo's thoughts, "It brought up some rather painful questions, and I had to come down here. I needed to be sure that the spectre of my sickness has truly passed over us."

"It must have been bad, if it drove you to that," Bilbo murmured, squeezing back reassuringly. The King's answering smile was brief, quickly replaced by a dark, somewhat haunted expression.

"It was," he admitted, looking away from Bilbo to stare out across the horde again, not really seeing it. "I dreamed that I was still in my sickness, and that I ..." Thorin swallowed thickly, and passed his free hand over his face, grimacing before he forced out, "That I had thrown you from the ramparts in my madness."

The stone tile lurched under Bilbo's feet, and he staggered back, horror and fear spiking through him. He blinked, and suddenly he was back there, back in that moment. He could feel Thorin's hands around his neck, could feel the whipping winds as the King held him out over the stone wall. He remembered the dizzying feeling of glancing down and seeing nothing but air below him. And he remembered the look on Thorin's face, the look of sheer rage and hatred, as he'd spat those words at him. Thief! You miserable Hobbit, you under-sized burglar ...

"Bilbo!" He blinked again, and Thorin's face was still there in front of him, but he was no longer snarling, no longer menacing. His blue eyes were wide, searching, his brow furrowed with concern, and as the terror left him, he could feel the King's rough hands cupping his face gently. The Dwarf's voice sounded strained, scared, as he pressed, "Amrâlimê, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I ..." Bilbo was panting, and he reached up to grip Thorin's wrists, using the steadiness of the King's arms to ground him as he sucked in air. "I thought I'd lost you. You were so unwell, and you didn't know yourself, you didn't know me, and I thought ... I truly thought ..." Bilbo's words trailed off as he began to cry, tears falling thick and fast as he clung to the Dwarf like a lifeline. And through his tears, he watched as Thorin's face crumpled, the depiction of heartbreak on his handsome features.

"Oh, my love," he croaked, and the Westron translation of what Bilbo had suspected the King had been saying to him for weeks now was the final straw. Bilbo's knees gave, and he crumpled, his chest heaving. The monarch scooped him up before he could even hit the ground, and he cradled Bilbo to his chest as he began walking. "I'm so sorry. Come, let us get away from this place. Let me take you home."

The sob that wracked through Bilbo left him feeling as though his chest had been cracked wide open. Home. Home was a little ways from here, to say the least. Home was a quaint little house set under a hill, not under a mountain. Home was his comfy armchair for one by the fire. Home was his mother's good crockery, and his little green door that he'd just had freshly painted, and his stacks upon stacks of books. Home was Bag End.

But as he started to calm down, he reminded himself that home didn't need to be just one place. As he allowed Thorin to carry him through the mountain's vast halls and corridors - noting along the way that they hardly met anyone, making him suspect that the King had taken him down a route less travelled - he started to remember that home was also here. Home was Erebor, with its steadily growing population. Home was the Dwarves, the Company, his friends. Home was this broad, stubborn, handsome, loving Dwarf King, who carried him all the way to their chambers without a single complaint.

Perhaps home could be both, after all.

He'd finished crying by the time they reached their rooms, but he was exhausted from it, the suspicion of a headache already starting behind his eyes. So he let Thorin place him in their bed, and he was already drifting when the King tucked the blankets up around him and whispered, "Peace, Bilbo Baggins. Mahal knows that you've earned it."

It was a week later when Thorin approached him in the library. Bilbo had taken it upon himself to help Ori with it's restoration, and though he wasn't of much use for the actual building parts, he was very adept at collecting the books from when they'd fallen so many years ago, giving them a good thorough clean, and stacking them in piles of what he thought might be some sort of system. Ori had dedicated a corner of the library to his work, and Bilbo was quite happy strolling back and forth through the room, listening to the Dwarves banter between themselves as they fixed and hoisted and mended.

He had been unsurprised to see Dwalin amongst the number of builders, and Bilbo liked to watch the gruff Dwarf dancing around Ori in such an uncharacteristically uncertain way that at times it would completely distract him from his own job. In fact, he was so taken by his work, so pleasantly distracted, that he didn't see Thorin enter the library, didn't see the caution with which the King approached him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the Dwarf spoke, his deep voice low and lilting as it washed over him.

"I have something for you," Thorin rumbled, smiling slightly when Bilbo squeaked and spun on the spot, breaking into a brilliant grin when he saw who had spoken.

"Oh! Thorin, hello. Was just gathering some books. Did you know that this library contains four different Atlases of Middle Earth? Of course you did, silly me, it's your library, after all -"

"Bilbo." The King's voice shook slightly, and Bilbo finally looked up to find the Dwarf watching him while playing with his own scarred fingers. An odd little habit, that he seemed to have picked up from Bilbo. Though Bilbo only did it when he was nervous ... Oh.

"Thorin?" Bilbo hurriedly approached the King, reaching to cover those large hands with his own smaller ones, stilling Thorin's fidgeting. He ducked slightly to look up into Thorin's eyes and asked, "Are you well?"

"Quite well," the Dwarf assured him, smiling at Bilbo properly this time. It eased some of the apprehension inside the Hobbit, and he straightened, waiting. The King blew out a slow breath before adding, "But I have something I wish to show you, and it would please me if you were to come and see it."

"Now?" Bilbo asked, his hazel eyes flicking back to his stacks of books only momentarily. But Thorin was nodding, squeezing Bilbo's fingers in his, and though he felt pulled to continue his task, Bilbo nodded back. "Right. Now. Let me just tell Ori, so he doesn't think I've been squashed under anything, yes?"

Thorin waited patiently by the door of the library while Bilbo bid the Dwarves goodbye, while the Hobbit shared an excitable moment with Ori as he hurriedly itemised the tomes that he'd come across. But then Bilbo returned to his side, and the King led them out of the room and ... Up. They climbed a few sets of stairs to start with, but before Bilbo could even start to worry about just how many stairs there would be, Thorin was stopping in front of a gilt cage of sorts. It was braced by a track system attached to the mountain wall, with long thick chains stretching from its roof all the way up into the darkness above them.

Bilbo gaped at the scope of it, and while he was gaping, Thorin stepped up to the wall of the mountain and turned a hand crank beside the cage's track system. He turned it until it clicked and would move no further, then he slid open the doors and stepped back to allow Bilbo to pass him. He had expected the cage to rattle, or shift under his weight, but it remained still, even as Thorin stepped in after him.

"Where are we going?" the Hobbit couldn't help but asking, and the King's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You'll see. Patience, Master Burglar." Thorin dragged the doors of the cage shut and locked them with a huge deadbolt. To stop them from opening as the cage moved, Bilbo assumed. The Dwarf then turned to face Bilbo and murmured, "Hold into something."

His hands found cool, smooth metal rails along the inside of the cage, and Thorin reached over and casually pressed what looked to be a button set into a panel at the side. There was a loud, echoing clank as something was released, and the cage lurched slightly. For a moment, Bilbo expected them to be catapulted into the air, pulled upwards at speed by that enormous chain. But they rose slowly, smoothly, and Thorin smirked as Bilbo frowned at the mechanism by his hand.

The Hobbit approached it, ensuring that he kept his hand on the railing as he made his way across the small metal room, and he bent to examine the panel. He couldn't see behind it, but as there were two buttons, he suspected that there would be cogs and all sorts of machinery in there that would allow the chain to be released remotely. The cage was easily wide enough to carry four Dwarves, and not for the first time, Bilbo marvelled at the sheer ingenuity and scope of Dwarven engineering.

"Fascinating," he breathed at last, and looked up to find Thorin gazing at him with such abject fondness that his heart stuttered and his ears heated. He cleared his throat, straightening and smoothing his waistcoat, but before he could say anything further, their ascent was slowing again.

"Here we are," Thorin mumbled, a trifle unnecessarily, and Bilbo tilted his head to the side, searching the King. His face had gone a little impassive, his back entirely straight as he eased the doors open. Oh yes. Definitely nervous. But what could be all the way up here that would make the Dwarf so apprehensive? When Bilbo exited the cage, he found a door waiting for them at the rear of a small stone antechamber, the mantel around it carved directly into the very face of the mountain. But it wasn't the knowledge that they were so high up, or the looming presence of an out-of-sorts Thorin that made his heart skip. It was that the door before him was round.

So much in the Kingdom of Erebor was square. Square doors. Square tables. Square walls. Easier for carving out of stone and marble, Balin had explained to him when Bilbo had enquired about the architecture on their first official tour of the mountain. So to see a purposefully round door in Erebor was quite a rare sight indeed. Bilbo approached it cautiously, noting that he recognised that exact shade of green. He paused when he saw something that he didn't recognise, and bent to run a finger over the rune etched into the door at ankle-height.

His breath hitched, and he turned to stare at Thorin, but the King was still very carefully somewhere else as he stepped forward and murmured, "Allow me."

Thorin pushed, and the door swung open, and Bilbo gasped as sunlight - real, Yavanna-blessed sunlight - streamed out of the open circle. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, and almost burst into tears at the sight that awaited him.

He was in the hallway at Bag End. Well, alright, perhaps not the exact hallway. The rug was different, not quite the same shade. And the large glass-fronted dresser that stood against the opposite wall was empty where it should have been filled with delicate porcelains. But ... But. The walls were rounded, the doorways between rooms large sweeping rings of carved, stained wood. The floors were made of the same wood, and they followed corridors that bent round and back on each other in a way that Bilbo knew as well as the back of his own hand. And it smelled like pipe-weed and parchment and freshly baked scones. It smelled like home.

"You've built me a Hobbit hole?" he breathed, turning to look at the King, who was hovering by the front door. Whatever Thorin saw on Bilbo's face finally had the tension bleeding out of his body, and he stepped forward to take Bilbo's hand in his.

"I've built us a Hobbit hole," the Dwarf correctly gently, lifting the Hobbit's fingers to press a bristly kiss to his knuckles. When Bilbo didn't speak, the King shifted, his brow furrowed with concern as he went on, "I had planned to move our quarters up here, but only if you say that you like it. I know it's not perfect, but I was going from memory of the one day that I spent in your home, alongside the things you'd mentioned throughout our journey. The lads all helped, of course, but they also swore that they wouldn't mind if you don't like it. And I have a team of Dwarves on standby, waiting to take your instruction before they travel to the Shire to collect whatever you might want them to bring back, and -"

"Breathe, Thorin," Bilbo chuckled, though the sound was wet with his rising emotion. The King deflated, his face still a little wary, right up until Bilbo stretched onto his tiptoes and pressed a deep, lingering kiss to his lips. He sighed contentedly, and Bilbo pulled back only slightly to murmur, "I love it. Thank you, I ... I don't know what to say. My, this is a rare occasion, you have rendered me near entirely speechless. Truly, I don't possess the words or the means to properly thank you for this."

"I can think of some means," Thorin purred against his lips, and Bilbo flushed and pulled away, giving Thorin an exasperated look before turning to gaze around him again. The hallway was so warm and welcoming, and he had so many questions already, like, "How is it so bright in here?"

"Come, I'll show you." And with that, Thorin took Bilbo's hand more firmly in his own and began to lead the Hobbit through the not-Hobbit hole. It was a strange sensation, being shown around what felt like his own home by somebody else. But as they walked, Thorin explained just how they had achieved this, by carving into the wall of the mountain and working almost around the clock for the past week to saw and sand and seal every piece of furniture and furnishings. His heart and mind raced at the thought of his friends, his lover, doing something so intricate that was entirely for him.

But he found himself so soothed, being surrounded by the things he knew, that it didn't take long for him to calm. He followed Thorin as the King proudly showed him the pantry, so like Bilbo's own that it was uncanny. The shelves were already stocked with food and jams and preserves and pickles, with fresh bread and bowls of fruits arranged on the butcher's island in the centre of the room. It smelled heavenly, of the spices and grains that Bilbo had often kept stocked in Bag End, and he wondered what he might have to do to persuade Thorin to allow him to cook for them this evening.

But the thought was whisked away as he was shown the kitchen - small, functional, just how it had always been. The tiles of the floor were made of a high-grade white marble that had definitely not been present in Bag End, but Bilbo would not begrudge the Dwarves this little flourish. Then it was into the parlour, where an assortment of large, squashy sofas had been arranged. Some creative liberty had been taken with the size of this room, and Bilbo chuckled when he hurriedly estimated how many it might hold. As opposed to Bag End's measly seating for twelve, this room would comfortably host twenty at the very least. He had no doubts about what this room would be used for in days to come.

Thorin urged him on, out of the parlour and into his office. The empty bookshelves along the wall made his chest tighten, but when he saw the direction of Bilbo's gaze, Thorin hurriedly explained that the Dwarves who planned to travel to the Shire had already been instructed to bring back anything that looked even remotely like a book with them, which cheered Bilbo greatly. He was ushered into the living room, where he noticed with fondness that a second chair had been positioned next to one that looked very much like his own before the fire.

And finally, Thorin guided him through to the back of the house, to where the bedrooms had always been. Along this hallway, light streamed in from numerous small, round windows that had been cut through the side of the mountain. Those had definitely not been present in Bag End, as the back of the house had been dug into the dirt of the hill itself. But here, they were positioned so that they would capture as much of the daylight as possible, and would allow it to bounce around the Hobbit hole throughout the entirety of the day.

His heart in his mouth, Bilbo strode ahead of Thorin this time, making for the room that had always been his. He released an involuntary noise when he turned the doorhandle and found, on the other side of the door, his bedroom. Nobody from the company had seen it, to his knowledge, and yet he must have talked in such great detail about his comfortable little four-poster bed, his dear matching wardrobe and chest of drawers that had been passed down to him by Grandma Baggins, his treasured quilted throws and woven rugs and pleated bed curtains, that the room was near as dammit identical to the one he'd left behind.

"Thorin," he whispered, staring about him in shock and awe. Finally, he turned back to the doorway, and found the King once again hovering just inside it, watching him. There was an odd tension around the Dwarf, and Bilbo frowned as he tried to puzzle through what it could mean. When he couldn't work it out, he turned to face Thorin fully, opening up his stance in the way he'd seen the Dwarves do to show that they were ready for whatever was coming.

Something shifted behind the King's gaze, and he prowled towards Bilbo, grasping his face and pressing a deep, heated kiss to the Hobbit's lips. Bilbo sighed, still confused, but he was getting swept up in the feel, the smell of Thorin, so out-of-place and yet so entirely fitting in this oddly familiar setting. He hardly noticed that Thorin was herding him backwards until his calves hit the edge of the bed. 

"Did you know," Thorin rumbled as he pressed Bilbo back further, helping the Hobbit up onto the mattress before moving to kneel between his splayed, linen-clad thighs. "That I seriously debated with myself about visiting you in your chambers, that first night at Bag End?"

"You did?" Bilbo squawked, his mouth falling open at the very idea.

"I did," Thorin confirmed, running his large palms up Bilbo's thighs in a way that was most distracting. "I couldn't fathom why, but I was drawn to you from the very start. The up-start little creature who dared look me in the eyes and turn down my offer." Thorin chuckled at the memory, his eyes growing darker as he slid his thumbs across the small sliver of Bilbo's tummy that had managed to peek out from under his shirt. "But now, to think that I can have you here, whenever I please ..." The King met his gaze again, and Bilbo bit back against an embarrassing noise at the need he saw in the Dwarf's eyes as he growled, "It's rather intoxicating."

"Please," Bilbo hissed, not entirely sure what it was that he was asking for. Thankfully, Thorin seemed to know, as he swooped down to capture Bilbo's mouth with his once more. His tongue was against Bilbo's lips immediately, seeking entry, and Bilbo allowed it with a groan, pushing his own tongue against Thorin's, revelling in the slick slide of them. Thorin grunted and rocked forward, and Bilbo gasped sharply, pulling out of the kiss to pant for breath as he felt the evidence on Thorin's arousal grind against his own.

"I want you," Thorin groaned into his ear, the edge of a question to his words, and Bilbo shuddered, reaching up to clasp his arms around the King's neck, holding him close.

"Please," he said again, this time much more sure of what he was asking for. Thorin rumbled something that Bilbo didn't quite understand before pulling away, easing himself back onto his knees. For a moment, the King merely sat, his nearly-black eyes skating over Bilbo's body. Bilbo flushed when he imagined what the King was likely seeing, and he lifted one arm to cover his eyes, unable to watch Thorin staring at him so hungrily. But the Dwarf made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, and Bilbo's arm was pulled gently but firmly away.

"Don't hide from me, Bunnel," the King chided as he smoothed his hands down Bilbo's abdomen, effortlessly flicking open the buttons of his waistcoat as he went. "I've told you before, I love to see you, in all your glory."

It was true. They hadn't yet laid together, but every time they were intimate in some way, Thorin made a point of ensuring that the Hobbit was entirely stripped bare, and would spend long stretches of time worshipping his body: kissing over the plush flesh of his inner thighs; whispering endearments across the slight swell of his stomach; touching and tasting every inch of Bilbo that he could reach, sometimes neglecting the parts that demanded the most attention simply through his apparent need to spread his attention equally across the whole of Bilbo.

Bilbo had, naturally, been a little embarrassed by this display at first. But once he'd been allowed to get his hands on Thorin properly, when Oin had confirmed that the King was fully healed, he'd quickly understood the drive to touch one's lover everywhere. He relished in finding the little spots and dips and divots in Thorin's form that would make the King writhe and buck. He loved to feel the differences in his many textures, from the coarse hair that covered his chest in a thick layer to the smooth skin of the King's multiple scars to the soft velvety feel of his length.

And oh, to have finally gotten Thorin in his hands, in his mouth, had been absolute bliss. It had almost been a fight to get the King to relinquish at the start, as he'd grown used to chasing Bilbo's pleasure and neglecting his own. But Bilbo could still remember the first time he'd managed to pin the King on his back, his raven and silver hair cascading around him as Bilbo had lapped at his thick length. And though it had taken a little time to get used to the action, Bilbo was quite proud of how quickly he could bring his lover to completion, just with his mouth alone.

But today, he didn't want things to be quick. He wanted them to be able to take their time, to fully explore each other and enjoy the simple pleasure of completing one another. With that thought in mind, he managed to detach his lips from Thorin's eager ones to ask, "Are we likely to be interrupted?"

"I have left strict instructions that we are not to be disturbed, with the only exception being if another dragon appears, in which case they should call for you at once." He could feel Thorin's smirk as the King's lips slid down his neck, and Bilbo's breath caught in his throat when sharp teeth scraped against his heating skin. But then the Dwarf pulled back to smile down at him as he went on, "This is my final courting gift to you. By building us a home into the side of the mountain, a home that is meant solely for you, I'm asking you to marry me. And no Dwarf in their right mind would think to approach the home of a newly-betrothed couple. Not for the first couple of days, at least."

"That's also a Hobbit-ish custom, you know," Bilbo burbled, his subconscious taking over his mouth as he tried to process what the King had said. "You build a home for your intended, in fact my father built Bag End for ... I'm sorry, did you just say marry?!"

"Yes, Amrâlimê," Thorin chuckled, leaning down to nose at Bilbo's throat. The Hobbit automatically tipped his head back to give the King space to explore, but after a few kisses to his already bruising flesh, Thorin raised his head again, frowning at the half-ling's suddenly still form below him. "Bilbo?"

"I ... Sorry, it's just ..." Bilbo gripped the soft, silky sheets below him as he tried to hold out against the rising sense of panic in his chest. "Should you ... Should you not be marrying someone of your own kind? To strengthen an alliance, or to produce heirs, or -"

"My alliances go deeper than a matrimonial bond could secure," Thorin said easily, his voice low and soothing as he lowered himself onto the elbows that he planted either side of Bilbo's head. His dark hair fell around them, shielding them inside like a star-streaked curtain of night, and Bilbo attached his focus to Thorin's voice, letting the sound pull him out of his worry as the King continued, "And I have my heirs. Fili and Kili are from the line of Durin, they are already accepted as my successors. But aside from all of that," Thorin murmured, holding Bilbo's gaze as he lifted one hand and carded his fingers carefully through the Hobbit's curls. "I would not want another. Not when I've finally found you."

"Oh," Bilbo whispered, his eyes strangely hot and prickly, and the tender kiss that Thorin gave him nearly sent him right over the edge. But he held himself together, gulping back the emotion as he stared at the canopy above them. His thoughts raced so fast that he couldn't catch hold of them, and a mixture of elation and dread and excitement and trepidation and love was swelling in him so fast that he feared he might burst with it.

"May I have your answer?" Thorin's voice once again brought him back, cutting neatly through the swirling hurricane that he'd effectively set into motion inside Bilbo's head.

"M-my answer?" Bilbo stammered, blinking hard and looking down to find that the King was retreating slowly down his body, his eyes locked on where his fingers were teasingly opening the buttons of Bilbo's shirt.

"Yes, Bilbo," Thorin rumbled, slowly and carefully, as though making sure that the Hobbit would understand, even as he dropped kisses to each newly exposed inch of Bilbo's abdomen. "I have asked you to marry me. May I have your answer?"

"Well, I - I must say, it's very bold of you," Bilbo blustered, feeling wrong-footed by this whole thing. "To be asking a man for his hand in marriage while attempting to preemptively take him to his marital bed. What if I were to say no?"

Thorin froze at that, his gaze darting up to meet Bilbo's. A flash of pain crossed the King's handsome features, his jaw clenching with it, but he managed to get out, "Then I would respect your wishes, and all of this would end. Right here, right now. You could go back to the Shire, or down to Dale, or even through to Rivendell if you so wished. And I would never darken your doorstep again."

"It ... It's a very big decision, is all I meant to say," Bilbo blurted, twining his hands through Thorin's hair in an attempt to soothe the Dwarf. But the King still looked wary, so Bilbo explained, "I just meant, that I wouldn't want it to be something that you asked me just because we're, well ..." He gestured vaguely to his half-open shirt, to where Thorin's ribcage was nestled between Bilbo's thighs, and made himself say, "I wouldn't want you to ask me something in the heat of the moment that you might come to regret later. And if that were the case, then I would have to say no."

"That is not the case," Thorin assured him, his face softening as he returned to his task of unfastening Bilbo's buttons. "I have wanted to ask you for some time, Bunnel. But the moment never seemed right. And then I had that dream, and the fear of losing you was so great that I knew I couldn't risk it. So I built us a house, and yes, I may be getting a little carried away, but I ask you this question with all my heart." He paused at the final button, and looked up at Bilbo once more. "Master Burglar, Mister Baggins of Bag End, Bilbo, my saviour and protector, I would be honoured if you would allow me to call you mine. What say you?"

And really, Bilbo had known from the moment Thorin mentioned marriage what his answer would be. The King's assurances that he was free to marry whomever he pleased went against every worry that the Hobbit had harboured on this subject for months, and he was overjoyed that even with all of that freedom of choice, Thorin still chose him. Him. A nobody half-ling from a quiet, quaint little corner of the world where nothing happened and nobody had adventures. Thorin wanted him. And he wanted Thorin. And so, his mind fully set at ease, he breathed, "I say yes. I will be yours, if you will be mine."

"I have been yours for a very long time now, Amrâlimê," Thorin sighed, his face splitting almost in two with the grin that spread across it. But all at once, the King was frowning, sitting up and turning towards the door, much to Bilbo's horror. "Oh, but I had a ring prepared, I'll just -"

"Oh no, you don't," Bilbo growled, reaching up to wrap his hands in the front of Thorin's navy tunic. He tugged with all his might, and the King fell on top of him, grunting in surprise. Bilbo released his grip to instead grasp the King's shoulders, and Thorin groaned when Bilbo rolled his hips up, reminding him of where they'd left things as he purred into the Dwarf's ear, "You'll finish what you've started, Mister Oakenshield."

"As you wish, Master Baggins," the Dwarf rumbled, and he reached between them to take handfuls of Bilbo's shirt. He pulled, and the last button pinged across the room, detached with the force of the movement. Something about Dwarves always interfering with his buttons was on the tip of Bilbo's tongue, but the snide comment died when Thorin seized his trousers and pulled those down and off. He tossed them off the end of the bed, then reached down to the hem of his own tunic and tugged it off over his head, throwing it behind him to add to the pile. Bilbo watched as the King fumbled over the laces of his own trousers, cursing softly in Khuzdul, but then they were loose, and they too were sent to the floor. 

"Beautiful," Bilbo breathed, gazing at Thorin's naked body. He truly was, and although Bilbo had seen him bare before, the knowledge that the Dwarf was truly to be his, that nobody else would see the King in this way besides himself from this moment on, gave Thorin's body a sort of ethereal beauty that Bilbo couldn't quite explain. He glanced up to find Thorin staring down at him, his face reflecting a lot of what Bilbo was feeling, and it was enough to push Bilbo to say, "Touch me."

The King fell to his task with diligence. His tongue and lips and fingers graced every part of Bilbo that he could reach, and soon Bilbo was hard and aching and panting, writhing on the sheets as Thorin's mouth worked his length expertly. But when it was getting to be on the edge of too much, Thorin suddenly pulled away, and Bilbo mewled at the loss of him, unable to articulate himself as his mind fogged over. Thorin placed slow, loving kisses up Bilbo's stomach, murmuring apologies against his chest, before finally they were face to face once more.

"I want you," the King said again, and Bilbo's heart swelled in his chest at the love he saw shining from the Dwarf's bright eyes.

"Then take me," he breathed, lifting one shaking hand to trail his fingertips lightly over Thorin's lips. "I'm yours."

At those words, Thorin smiled, and he reached over to the bedside table to snatch something before disappearing again. The next while was quite the blur to Bilbo, but he dimly registered that something wet and slick was sliding against his puckered entrance, and at the suspicion that it was Thorin's tongue, he'd tried to wriggle away. But then Thorin had breathed something soothing and guttural, and the feeling had still been there, so Bilbo deduced that it couldn't be his tongue.

He was entered for the first time, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the unfamiliar feeling, at being stretched around such a thick digit. He'd tried this for himself a few times, but one of Thorin's fingers felt like two of his own, and he'd never been able to stand the embarrassment of taking himself that far. But soon discomfort blended into pleasure, and he even rocked his hips down experimentally, moaning when Thorin's finger pushed deeper and the Dwarf crooned words of praise. Then there was more pushing, and more of a stretch, and Bilbo gasped, his thighs trembling as he tried to adjust.

"You're alright," Thorin murmured, running kisses along the insides of the Hobbit's thighs. "You're alright, Bunnel, I've got you."

Bilbo nodded, not having doubted this for even a second, and he tried to focus on making himself relax as Thorin's digits slid in and out of him. It felt good, nearly too good, and when Bilbo tried to chase that feeling, he wound up pressing Thorin deeper still, and his whole body jolted as the pads of the Dwarf's fingers brushed against something inside him.

"Easy," Thorin rasped through gritted teeth, his free hand gripping Bilbo's hip, pinning him to the mattress again. He kept up his rhythm, not slowing despite how Bilbo's body had tightened around him. "You need one more, my love, one more before you're ready. Can you do that for me?"

Bilbo whimpered, unsure for a moment. Thorin was winding him tighter and tighter, sending him higher and higher, and he was struggling to stay in his own body. But then Thorin crooked his fingers, brushing against that thing again, and Bilbo's back arched off the mattress.

"M-more!" he choked out, his body convulsing with the ripples from that shock-wave of pleasure. "Please, Thorin, more, need you, please!"

Thorin snarled, and Bilbo's mouth fell open in a silent scream as the intrusion at his entrance grew, stretching, burning. He gasped and gasped, blinking away tears as Thorin moved, further apologies raining down on him as the King prepared him. Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the digits were withdrawn, but their retraction left Bilbo feeling strangely hollow, empty. It was probably only moments, but it felt like minutes before something blunt was pressing against him again, and his eyes flew open when his entrance swallowed the first inch of the intrusion, and distantly he heard Thorin grunt. His vision gradually focused enough to find the King hovering over him, his eyes rivetted on Bilbo's face, his jaw slightly slack.

Then Thorin shifted, and the object inched further in, and the Dwarf's eyes rolled back in his head, his arms shaking as he rested his weight on them, holding himself above Bilbo's body. But that just would not do. He wanted his lover close, wanted to be full of him and to feel him flush against his own chest. And so, with the daring that he had only just developed in the most recent year of his life, Bilbo hooked his heel over Thorin's lower back, his arms around his shoulders, and pulled. The King cried out as the motion had his length sinking into Bilbo slowly but surely, and he all but collapsed onto the Hobbit as his hips met Bilbo's rear.

Bilbo smiled, revelling in how full he felt, how well his lover filled him, and he stroked Thorin's sweat-damp back while the King shook and panted for air. When it seemed that the Dwarf had recovered himself, he pulled back slightly, only to kiss Bilbo hard as he pulled back, then sank himself in and in and in again, both of them groaning when Thorin reached his base.

They continued like this for some time, Thorin thrusting languidly, Bilbo rocking down to meet him, licking into each other's mouths in sloppy, distracted kisses. But the knot of pleasure was tightening once again in Bilbo's abdomen, and from the way that Thorin was shaking, he suspected that the Dwarf was in no better state. So he ran his hands into Thorin's hair, taking careful hold, and he breathed into the King's mouth, "I'm ready."

Thorin whined, high in his throat, and he tucked his face into the crook of Bilbo's neck before setting a fast, steady pace, thrusting over and over. His hand snaked under Bilbo's hips, tilting them ever so slightly, and the change of angle had the head of his cock spearing that one spot, again and again. And like that, it didn't take long at all for Bilbo to tense, his back bending almost painfully, coloured spots bursting in his vision as he came. With a muffled groan, Thorin quickly followed him over the edge, flooding Bilbo with a soothing, liquid warmth.

The sense of contentment that washed over Bilbo with their shared release was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and he felt tears in his eyes once more as the buzzing high of his climax receded, and he came back to himself to find his lover, his King, draped over his body, his hot breath puffing out over Bilbo's damp skin. Then the Dwarf was moving, kissing up and down his neck and rubbing his nose along the shell of Bilbo's ear, pulling a satisfied sigh from the Hobbit as he tightened his arms around the King's broad shoulders.

"Was that an acceptable use of a pre-marital bed, Amrâlimê?' Thorin rumbled into the side of Bilbo's throat, and Bilbo let out an exhausted chuckle, running his fingers through Thorin's hair to tease out the tangles he'd put there.

"Quite acceptable, my King. Though there's always room for improvement, and I hear that practice makes perfect." Thorin lifted his head to gaze down at Bilbo, and the Hobbit huffed at the willing eagerness on the Dwarf's face. He lazily patted his cheek and murmured, "Perhaps later. For now, we rest."

Thorin sighed, seemingly a little disappointed, but he nodded all the same. There was some wincing and hissing while they extracted themselves from one another, and then the King was settled along the Hobbit's back, his nose nuzzling at the base of Bilbo's skull. And they were both sticky and sweaty, and he knew that they should get up and do something about that. But he was warm, and sated. So he decided that propriety could wait, for a while at least.

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke in a room that was small, secure, and above all, familiar. He smiled at the neatly pleated canopy of bed curtains above his head, his body relaxing into the soft mattress, the heavy quilted duvet over him providing a comforting weight. He smiled wider when he attempted to lift one hand to scrub the sleep from his eyes, and found his arms pinned down by another, much thicker arm that was slung over his stomach. He turned his head to rest the side of his face on his pillow, and quite forgot how to breathe when he caught sight of the other being in the bed.

Thorin lay on his front, still fast asleep, and deeply so if the low, steady rumble he emitted was anything to go by. It wasn't often that Bilbo woke before the King, but whenever he did, he was always taken by just how young the Dwarf looked when the furrows of his proud forehead and the tight lines around his mouth and eyes relaxed fully. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were flushed from the heat of being wrapped around Bilbo under the covers all night, and his handsome face was slightly smushed where it pressed against his pillow.

His silver-streaked black hair was impossibly orderly, fanning out behind him over the pillow and looking barely tangled. But Bilbo knew that this was only because the King arranged it carefully behind him before sleep each night in an attempt to avoid it getting pulled or knotted, and once he was settled the Dwarf hardly moved during his sleep unless he was having a bad dream or either of them woke to sate a sudden bought of burning need.

In his sleep, Bilbo thought that Thorin looked other-worldly, his beauty on par with that of any Elven monarch. The Hobbit would take that thought to the grave with him, but it didn't stop him from thinking it as he gazed at the slumbering face of his lover. He let his gaze trail lower, over the King's exposed bicep and across his bared, broad back. The bed sheet was pulled up high enough to cover Thorin's firm rear, but Bilbo flushed at the sight of the thin red scratches that ran down the King's back and disappeared under that sheet, remembering how Thorin had been buried deep inside him, thoroughly intent on taking him apart, when Bilbo had put them there.

The memory was too vivid, and he felt his body betraying him and stirring with real interest, but he didn't want to wake his King. Not when Thorin looked so peaceful, when Bilbo knew just how hard he had been working as of late. Preparations were being made for the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains to pass through Mirkwood on their way home, and the many meetings about allowances and agreements had been wearing on the King. He blamed it on having to deal with the elves, but Bilbo also suspected that Thorin felt as though this was some final part of his task to return his people to Erebor, leading him to be quite highly strung about the whole affair.

So, with the intention of letting Thorin catch up on some much-needed rest, Bilbo began the arduous task of slipping out of their bed without the Dwarf noticing. Once or twice, Thorin's arm around him would tighten, causing Bilbo to lie still and hold his breath until the King had settled again. But after more than a few minutes he was finally free, and he stole on surprisingly silent feet out of the bedroom and along the hall into the kitchen with the intent of making a good breakfast for his betrothed to wake up to.

Betrothed. Bilbo's face split into a giddy grin at the word as he bustled around the pantry, gathering the ingredients that he knew by heart to put together a batch of his mother's Shire-famous scones. In all of his 50 years, Bilbo had never once considered that he would actually be happy with the idea of being betrothed. It had always seemed a bothersome concept, when he had tried to apply it to any of his previous Hobbit courting options. Too much compromise, too much risk, too much of a commitment to something that he was just never entirely sure of.

But with Thorin? Everything was so unusually easy. Even when they disagreed - Bilbo loved that he felt no need to hold his tongue in their infrequent spats, fully trusting that Thorin would give as good as he got and that they would reach a mutual resolution by the end. The space to drop all of the propriety and fuss and nonsense was so liberating, but it was more so that Thorin held that space for him, that Thorin allowed him to explore that space outside of his own expectations of himself, that made him feel as though a long life attached to Thorin Oakenshield would be no inconvenience at all.

With the comfort and warmth and devotion that Thorin gave to him so freely, he could even be persuaded to put up with the big brute's hen-pecking about ensuring Bilbo's safety while he explored the mountain if it all meant that at the end of the day, it was Thorin who he would climb into bed with; Thorin who he would laugh with and fight with and cry with; Thorin who he would grow old with. The last thought left a slightly bittersweet taste in his mouth as he remembered the discrepancies between Dwarven and Hobbit life expectancy, but Bilbo pushed it aside, too wrapped up in his happiness to let something so trivial be a fly in his batter. And speaking of batter ...

Bilbo looked down to find himself standing at the kitchen table, a wooden bowl full of a thick pale yellow mixture on the surface. What had brought him back from his daydreaming had been his instinctual reach of a familiar jar, only to find that his hand remained empty. He blinked, and frowned at the ingredients spread around the table, then wandered back into the pantry to search the spice shelves. No, he hadn't mistakenly forgotten it, after all. The cinnamon simply wasn't there. Sighing, Bilbo hurriedly loosened his apron and hung it on the peg by the front door, hoping that if he were quick, he could make it back and finish the scones before Thorin rose.

The kitchens of the Royal Quarters were already abuzz with activity, but Bilbo simply nodded at the many Dwarves that he passed on his way deeper into the space in his search of one Dwarf in particular, hoping that his polite but silent greetings would indicate that he would not be stopped this morning. It seemed to be working, as nobody tried to stop him, however he became a little disconcerted when he started to notice that those he passed either gaped at him or turned to whisper to their neighbour. He pushed the concern from his mind when he finally spotted the Dwarf that he was looking for, and called cheerily, "Good morning, Bombur!"

"B-Bilbo?" The red-haired chef dropped the bowl he was holding, and it landed with a loud clang on the granite floor tiles, its contents spraying out and coating the floor and the base of the open-fire oven that the large Dwarf had been working at. Before the Hobbit could even think to stoop and help his friend clean up the mess, Bombur had tight hold of his upper arms, his gaze avidly searching the half-ling's form as he burbled, "Is everything alright? Is the King well? Are you well?"

"Quite well, thank you," Bilbo gasped, surprised by the Dwarf's grip on him. "Aside from the missing cinnamon in my pantry, which is the purpose of my visit this morning. And -" he looked around them and lowered his voice conspiratorially "- the fact that your staff are looking at me as though I've grown another head. I haven't, have I?"

"Not at all, not at all," the larger Dwarf blustered, finally releasing the Hobbit and brushing down the sleeves of his dressing gown, which had become rumpled under his grasp. "It's just that, well ..." Bilbo was surprised to see the Dwarf's already ruddy face turn a deeper shade of red as he hurriedly guided them away from the other Dwarves, into a corner of the kitchen. Bombur looked around to make sure that nobody was close enough to eavesdrop before he murmured to Bilbo, "It's just that it's against Dwarven custom for a newly betrothed couple to leave their home in the first few days of their engagement."

"It is?" Bilbo asked, his head tilting to the side as he surveyed the big Dwarf. He'd never seen his friend look so uncomfortable before. "Why?"

"I'm not really sure," Bombur mumbled, rubbing the back of his thick neck and grimacing. "Never really paid too much attention to lore lessons when I was younger. Ori would be better to tell you. All's I know is, it's something to do with affirming that the bond between the couple is solidified, and that they both wish to proceed with the matrimony. We Dwarrow can get pretty, um, possessive over our chosen ones, so we like to have a period of time to ourselves to make sure that it's what both parties really want for the rest of their lives. You'd be excused not knowing this, of course, not being from our people, but -"

"But Thorin will know this," Bilbo finished with a sigh, then glanced around the kitchen. "Alongside every other Dwarf who has seen me outside of our home this morning, I assume?" Bombur nodded, his grimace worsening, and Bilbo lifted his hand to his own face and rubbed harshly at the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, sighing again. "Botheration, he's going to be in an absolutely foul mood when I get back. Well, Bombur, you'd best give me the cinnamon while I'm here. Might as well make the scones as nice as possible if they're going to be a peace offering instead of breakfast."

The red haired Dwarf made short work of locating the requested spice, pressing the small bottle into Bilbo's waiting hands before making shooing motions at him. As though Bilbo needed any telling. In the brief moments while waiting for Bombur to return with the cinnamon, his stomach had tied itself into so many nervous knots that he didn't even know if he'd be able to enjoy more than three or four of the scones at this rate. The flashes of uncertainty and insecurity that the King sometimes showed him were enough of an indication that Thorin still believed that Bilbo may reject him, and unknowingly, that was exactly how he'd made it seem. Foolish, ignorant Hobbit.

"Thank you, my friend," he called with forced jollity, smiling warmly at Bombur as he made his way back through the too-still throngs of kitchen workers, trying his utmost not to run back to the guilded cage that would return him home. He kept up his cheerful tone as he went on, "Well, I'm back off to my lovely new home. Can't be letting the King go hungry now, can we? Good morning!"

And, hoping that would be sufficient to quell any potential rumours before they could even start, Bilbo left the kitchens and hurried back along the stone corridors and passageways of Erebor. He made it back to the mobile cage in very little time, huffing with impatience as he cranked the mechanism's handle before jogging into the cage and slamming the doors shut. He pressed the button to ascend and stood tapping his large foot, willing the blasted thing to rise faster, before bursting out of the doors at the top of the track, racing across the antechamber and into his little Hobbit hole in the side of the mountain.

He closed the door as quietly as possible and stood in the hallway, straining desperately to hear over the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins. The hole was silent, still, and Bilbo let out a sigh of relief when he took that to mean that the King must have still been sleeping. Muttering quietly to himself about idiocy and traditions, he grabbed his apron from its resting place and slung it around his waist once more as he returned to the kitchen, the bottle of cinnamon slightly insecure in his sweaty palm. He made himself wash his hands again, urging his heart-rate to slow, before adding the spice to the batter and setting about rolling out his dough.

It was around 15 minutes later that he was placing a tray of large, neat, round dough circles onto a flat, floured metal sheet, and he carefully slid them into the oven, making sure to keep them well forward of the small fire he'd lit at the back. By his estimation, they would take around 30 minutes to rise and cook through fully, but he would keep an eye on them and turn them if needed. He sighed, his earlier nerves much soothed by the baking, but they jumped up again when he turned and found his lover leaning in the kitchen doorway, muscled arms folded over his broad chest and watching him intently.

"There you are!" Bilbo trilled, his smile too wide in an attempt to hide his anxiety as wiped his floury hands on his apron before reaching behind him to undo it. He slung it over the back of the nearest chair, keeping himself busy and moving as he prattled, "I thought you might sleep for hours, the way that you were out. I even had time to make some scones for our breakfast, and -"

"You left." Bilbo froze, and he had to take a slow, calming breath as the sheer depth of the King's voice cut through him. When he felt stable enough, he turned again, intending to play innocent, but the look of abject misery on Thorin's face almost broke his heart. It instantly removed any notion he might have had of denying that he'd ever exited the Hobbit hole, and instead he steeled himself to tell the truth.

"I did, and while it's no excuse, I did not understand what it would mean for me to have done so," he breathed, making his way over to where Thorin still hovered in the doorway, one wide shoulder resting against the carved door frame. Bilbo ducked his head to ensure that the King met his gaze as he asserted, "I didn't know, Thorin, and I'm so very sorry. I am still learning your customs, and I've not had much need to read up on what is expected after the courtship period. Had I known, I would never -"

"I know," Thorin rumbled, and though Bilbo could tell that the Dwarf believed his words, it still didn't stop his chest from aching at how deflated his lover appeared. His transgression had been more than just an accidental break from Dwarven tradition, it would seem. Thorin was taking this very personally, and Bilbo was suddenly desperate to do whatever it might take to get that look of awful dejection off the King's face. Thorin's eyes broke away from his to stare at the floor as he added, "I know that you didn't mean for it to happen, but even so, when I woke and couldn't find you, I couldn't help but think that you ... That you had changed your mind."

"Oh, Thorin," Bilbo sighed, reaching up to cup the King's bearded jaw, making him look up at Bilbo once more. "I want this. I want you. And besides, you should know me better than that. My days of running and hiding from my problems are long behind me." The King's mouth twitched slightly in acknowledgement, but he still looked so sad that Bilbo was starting to panic. "I came back though, you see? I went to fetch something that I was missing for the scones, and I came right back to finish fixing them for our breakfast."

"So that's what the mess is about," Thorin rumbled, and Bilbo's shoulders eased slightly at the slight twitch in the corner of the King's mouth. It was a feeble attempt at humour, but it was there nonetheless, and Bilbo seized upon it like an olive branch.

"Got to make a little mess for it to be worth it," he murmured, smiling gently when Thorin's hand absently lifted to pluck something from his curls - likely a bit of dough or something, Bilbo had always been an untidy baker. "They taste much better when they're made this way."

"Is that so?" Thorin hummed, looking fondly down at Bilbo. And that look made something tighten inside Bilbo's ribcage, made him hate himself for ever allowing a moment for this wonderful male to ever doubt how Bilbo felt for him.

"What might I do to make my mistake up to you?" he asked, his hands dropping from Thorin's face to rest on his strong chest. He left slight streaks of flour amongst the black hairs of the King's beard, but it seemed unimportant in that moment. "Please, whatever I need to do to make this right, tell me, and it's yours."

"The scones are a good start," Thorin mused, and Bilbo couldn't entirely tell if the King was joking. But then his lovely eyes softened, showing that vulnerability again, and he covered Bilbo's hands with his own, pressed the Hobbit's palms over his heart, as he went on, "I need ... I need something to remind me that by leaving our home, you weren't rejecting me. And I know," Thorin soothed, holding one hand up to halt Bilbo's protests before they had even begun. "I know that it wasn't your intention, Amrâlimê, it's just ... It is hard to hold that up against the traditions that I have known about all of my life. I am to blame, I should have explained how important this time is to you."

"You have been rather busy, Your Majesty, for thoughts of educating a wayward Hobbit on the customs of your people," Bilbo murmured, lowering his voice and pressing in closer to the King's form. The feel of Thorin's heartbeat under his hands was sending warmth flowing around his body, and though he had only recently proven himself ignorant of the ways of Dwarves, he liked to think that he knew the ways of this particular Dwarf rather well. And Thorin's talk of reminding himself that Bilbo still wanted him had given the clever Hobbit some clever ideas. "Pray tell, how best might I put his Highness' mind at rest on the issue of still being wanted?"

Thorin hummed, this time in satisfaction, and he ran his hands up the lengths of Bilbo's arms, seemingly contented at the moment with simply touching the Hobbit, proving to himself that he really was still here. But when Thorin's fingers reached Bilbo's upper arms, he froze, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the fabric of Bilbo's robe. Bilbo followed his gaze, and noted with some mild annoyance that Bombur had left a streak of food on the material, and that the sleeves still held the crumple from where he'd gripped them. Bilbo turned his attention back to Thorin, and almost staggered to find the King glaring down at him, his eyes ablaze.

"Somebody touched you while you were outside our home." It could have been a question, but Thorin's tone made it clear that it wasn't. The words rasped against Bilbo's skin, abrasive with their harshness, but the heat in the King's eyes, the tight grasp of his hands around Bilbo's arms, was sending thrills of something else entirely shooting up the Hobbit's spine.

"Well, yes," Bilbo squeaked, then cleared his throat and straightened himself, meeting the King's suddenly steely gaze as he firmly drew his arms from Thorin's grip. "Our friend, Bombur, touched my arms. It was only to -"

"Take it off."

"I beg your -"

"Take. It. Off." Thorin was panting, his teeth clenched, his large hands balled into fists at his sides. Bilbo watched, wide-eyed, as the King shook with what seemed to be barely suppressed rage. At first, Bilbo made to step back, wondering if this had been below the surface of Thorin's sorrow the entire time, just waiting to be released. But all at once, Bombur's words about the possessiveness of Dwarves during this initial period following betrothal returned to him, and he suddenly understood. The set to Thorin's jaw, the flare of his nostrils ...

"Peace," Bilbo breathed, the word coming to him reflexively as he raised his hands, empty palms facing the King. Those damned Dwarven adages were coming out of him with more frequency these days, but he was immediately grateful for them when Thorin paused. Bilbo watched as the King made his shoulders lower, and only at that point did Bilbo move to strip himself of the stained garment. He tossed it through the kitchen doorway in an effort to remove it entirely from the room. "There. It's gone."

"Not enough," Thorin snarled, and Bilbo's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. The sight made Thorin squeeze his own eyes shut, his chest rising and falling with a forced breath, and though he was still near vibrating with emotion when he opened his eyes once more, his voice was at least softer when he rumbled, "Forgive me, Bunnel, I ... I am struggling with this. I've never been in this position before."

"You're doing very well, from what I can tell," Bilbo murmured, and it wasn't a lie. The amount of restraint that Thorin appeared to be exercising was very impressive, and despite the oddness of the situation, Bilbo could feel himself stirring in interest once more beneath his long night-shirt. He made himself concentrate on his lover's needs by asking, "I'd like to be able to help you, Thorin, but I think it would be best if you tell me what it is that you need."

"I need ..." Thorin hissed out another slow breath between gritted teeth, his eyes locked with Bilbo's as he frowned in thought. Bilbo kept his expression as open and patient as possible, and it seemed to work, for Thorin managed to get out, "I need to feel as though I've removed every trace of anyone else from your body. I need to show myself, show you, that nobody else will ever be able to touch you as I do."

"That sounds fair," Bilbo mused, and he padded towards the King, careful not to make any fast movements, feeling strangely as though he were approaching a large predator. When he reached Thorin, he tipped his head back to look up at the King and said, "Take me then, Thorin. Take me however you might need to remind yourself that I am yours, and yours alone."

"Be careful what you wish for," the King growled, and suddenly Bilbo was spun to face away from the King, and pressed forwards toward the kitchen table. Thorin's breath was hot against the sensitive tip of his ear as the Dwarf purred into it, "Hands on the table, Master Burglar."

Bilbo hesitated for a split second, torn between the desire to help Thorin through ... Whatever this was, and a slight fear about the uncertainty of ... Whatever this was. But Thorin paused with him, his hands staying firmly in place on Bilbo's hips. He didn't push, didn't force Bilbo to move. He simply waited. And that care, even in this tense moment, was enough for Bilbo. He trusted Thorin, knew intrinsically that Thorin would never hurt him. And Thorin needed this, for whatever reason. So Bilbo leaned forward and placed his palms firmly on the tabletop.

"Good," the King sighed, his hands squeezing Bilbo's hips. Bilbo smiled as the praise set a warm weight in the pit of his stomach, but then he yelped when Thorin hitched his night-shirt up over his hips, exposing Bilbo's naked lower half to the relatively cool air of the kitchen. There was a shuffle of movement behind him, and then Thorin pressed forward, reaching past Bilbo to grab the bottle of oil that Bilbo had used for the scones. As he did so, Bilbo felt the King's bare thighs rub up against his own, and then - There, the evidence of Thorin's need was digging into his plump behind.

Bilbo groaned, his head falling to hang between his outstretched arms as he pushed back, heat flooding his body as he chased that feeling. Thorin grunted, almost dropping the oil as Bilbo created some welcome friction, but then his free hand was at Bilbo's hip, keeping the Hobbit still. Bilbo mewled when, seconds later, a warm thick liquid was dripped onto his skin to run over his entrance, and he distinctly heard Thorin slicking himself before the oil was back, Thorin's empty palm slamming down onto the table as he rubbed the underside of his length over Bilbo's entrance, spreading the oil between them and making Bilbo's cheeks burn and his knees weaken.

"Tell me again," Thorin growled, the hand pressed flat to the table's surface trembling in Bilbo's line of vision. That damned restraint again - Bilbo really should not find it so very attractive. But then Thorin rocked against him once more, his naked length dragging against Bilbo's rear, and the Hobbit keened, trying to grind back against his lover, to meet him. Thorin kept him still with the hand at his hip, and his voice was tight when he pressed, "Tell me again that I can take you however I need to. Tell me again that I have your permission to make you mine and mine alone."

"I'm yours already, my love," Bilbo panted, struggling to form the words but knowing that if he didn't, he would get nothing, and his body screamed at that possibility. So he kept talking. "I was yours from the moment I watched you step out of that burning tree to face your death alone, and I realised that I could not let that happen, not while I still drew breath." He glanced back over his shoulder, smiling slightly when he found that Thorin's eyes had gone wide with wonder. He used the King's surprise to rock back in his grasp, rutting against Thorin's stiff length, bringing the King back to the moment as Bilbo prompted, "Take me however you need, but do it knowing that I have always been yours."

The feral sound that escaped the Dwarf set goosebumps rising across Bilbo's entire body, but he was soon distracted by the press of something thick and slicked at his entrance. He gasped, his eyes already rolling as Thorin entered him without preparation. He was still somewhat loose from the activities that they had engaged in long into the previous night, but there was still a stretch, the edge of a burn, and Bilbo fought to keep still, to keep himself relaxed. It seemed to take such a long time, both of them panting and groaning at the sensation.

And then Thorin was fully seated, and he leaned forward to drape himself along Bilbo's back, a deep rumbling growl tearing from him as his hips pushed against the soft flesh of the Hobbit's rear. Bilbo choked on the noise that tried to escape him. So full, so big ... He wasn't sure if it was the different angle, or the location, or the heady height of Thorin's need swirling around them. But, whether it had been with Thorin or with others, sex had never felt like this. It was almost too much, almost felt like Thorin was splitting him in two. And yet Bilbo craved more.

Almost as though the King had heard him, he started moving immediately, his hips pistoning hard and fast as he kept Bilbo's back tucked firmly against his front with one roaming hand, his other gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned bone-white under the tanned skin. And all Bilbo could do was hold on to the floured wooden surface, his vision going hazy, praying that his feet would hold on the smooth tiled floor as Thorin drove into him over and over and over.

But the position was straining the backs of his calves, his toes already feeling numb from where he was pressing up on them, and when he wobbled, Thorin paused. But only long enough to push Bilbo down, until his chest was pressed to the polished wood of the table. His feet dangled helplessly, unable to reach the floor, but Thorin had already gripped one of his thighs and was hoisting it up onto the table top, pressing it up until his leg was bent alongside his own torso.

It changed the angle of the King's shaft inside him, exposing him, leaving him feeling entirely open to the Dwarf's onslaught. And when Thorin moved again, Bilbo almost screamed at how deeply he could feel Thorin inside of him. He was sure that nothing should be able to enter him so far, and yet he could practically feel the Dwarf's tip bruising his internal organs as he thrust and thrust and thrust. The angle was perfect, brushing against that spot inside him over and over again, and Bilbo could only lie among the flour and bits of discarded scone batter, whimpering and gladly taking what he was given.

The King leaned over him, pressing kisses to his neck as he whispered phrases of worship and praise over Bilbo's heated skin. The tenderness of the act contrasted harshly with how wrecked he felt, impaled repeatedly on the King's impressive member, and Bilbo was soon shaking, his vision whiting out as his release raced towards him. It was Thorin's own climax that eventually brought his own. The King suddenly swore, his words slurring, his hands digging painfully into Bilbo's plush thighs, and Thorin's hips snapped forward twice, three times more, the slap of their skin connecting ringing around the room as he flooded Bilbo with his spend.

But he didn't stop. He kept thrusting, driving his seed deeper until Bilbo, shaking and drooling uncontrollably, came with a wavering cry, painting the table and his abdomen and the left-over ingredients still spread out beneath him. And as his body tensed and clenched, Thorin roared, pitching forward to sink his teeth into the side of Bilbo's throat. The bite was so hard that he felt the skin break, and his eyes rolled back into his head as pleasure and pain blurred, and somehow, he was coming again, his cock kicking feebly and a pathetic dribble of fluid leaking from his tingling tip to drip down his thigh.

It took some time for Bilbo to come down from his peak, and as he did, he noticed that Thorin's teeth remained firmly clamped around his throat, the King panting heavily around the bite. But he found that for some reason, he didn't mind. He didn't mind that Thorin had bitten him so hard that he'd likely bruised, maybe even scarred Bilbo. On the contrary - the Hobbit rather liked the idea of carrying his lover's mark with him wherever he went. So he didn't dismiss the Dwarf. He just lay, basking in the after-effects of a powerful orgasm and enjoying the weight of his lover spread over his back.

"There," Thorin growled when he finally released his bite, licking over the welt on Bilbo's neck. The action was animalistic, primal, and yet it called to something deep within Bilbo, soothed something that he hadn't been aware of until now. His mind was still hazy, but he made himself focus as Thorin kept talking. "Now nobody will have any doubt about who you belong to. And you?" He leaned forward, his length shifting inside Bilbo as he leaned over the half-ling, making him squirm through overstimulation, but Thorin continued as though he hadn't noticed. "You do not leave our home again until our time is done. Do you understand?"

"I'm starting to," Bilbo panted, his voice cracked and hoarse from overuse. Something about it seemed to call to Thorin, and the King's touch suddenly became gentle, his large hands rubbing soothing circles across Bilbo's cramping back.

"If you wish for this to stop, Bilbo, you must say so right now," Thorin murmured, planting careful kisses to the stinging patch of Bilbo's throat in a clear effort to soothe the hurt. "I will, of course, respect your wishes at any time, but I won't deny that I fear that it may kill me if we go any further and you change your mind at a later time. I don't mean to add pressure to your decision; I just honestly have no other way to say it."

Bilbo took a steadying breath as the King's words washed over him. There was a slight trepidation caused by the weight of the admission, but it was only there for a moment, quickly quenched when he looked over his shoulder and found the Dwarf's eyes already looking back at him. Thorin's face, though set and determined, was so expressive that Bilbo's breath caught in his chest.

He'd seen a shadow of this look before, when they had all entered Erabor's Treasury for the very first time. Thorin had looked covetous, almost desperate, and there were echoes of that look in his face now. But here, there were no signs of the madness that had sucked the King in soon after. There was no irrational mistrust, no wildness, nothing unreadable about this look. He was simply looking at Bilbo as though the Hobbit were the only thing he could ever truly need, like Bilbo was the single most precious treasure he might ever wish to own.

Bilbo had never felt so wanted before in his entire life. Not with past lovers, not even Thorin's own love had shown the depth that his beautiful blue eyes did at this moment. And perhaps it was that the shift from courtship to engagement had allowed the King to finally let down that last wall, to let Bilbo see just how much the Dwarf truly felt for him. Whatever the cause, the evidence that Thorin's feelings really did reflect his own was all that Bilbo needed.

"I want more," he croaked, then cleared his throat and said more firmly, "I want all of you."

"Your wish is my command," Thorin rumbled, and he carefully eased out and away from Bilbo, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to the Hobbit's nape as he leaned down once more to hum against Bilbo's heated ear, "Let's get you cleaned up, Amrâlimê. Why don't I run us a bath while you save those delicious smelling scones of yours from burning, hmm?"

On shaking legs, Bilbo hurried to obey, and only minutes later, as he carried a tray laden with tea, hot scones and bowls of butter and jam into the bathroom, he realised that he could very quickly get used to life in this unusual little Hobbit hole with his very unusual choice of life partner. Granted, everything was strange and new, and he was rather reluctant to accept that he still had an awful lot to learn at the ripe age of 50. But seeing Thorin stooped over the tub, his long hair pulled back in a loose bun and his sleeves rolled up to his biceps while he swirled bubbling liquid into the steaming water with his fingers, Bilbo knew that he wouldn't have it any other way.

Chapter Text

No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, there was just no denying that the ache behind Bilbo's eyes was getting worse. It had started at the morning council session, where the Dwarves had rowdily welcomed the newest arrivals from the Iron Hills - Dain's wife and many of his commanders along with them. Bilbo had withstood the noise and clamour - it had been months since they had seen their chief, after all, it was understandable that they would be excited.

He'd smiled his best diplomatic smile every time the contingent had raised rousing cheers in the names of their leader and their rightfully reinstated King Under the Mountain. He'd carefully but subtly overseen the lunch provisions, ensuring that not too much ale was circulated before the afternoon council session could even begin. And he'd made sure to mingle, listening to conversations here and there to ensure that relations remained smooth and warm.

Thankfully there had been no major disagreements to defuse, but Bilbo had found himself slowing down as the afternoon wore on, had found it harder and harder to pay proper attention to the discussions held around the large stone table that Thorin had had erected in the largest meeting room in Erebor. He was just shifting in his seat next to the King, in an attempt to stay awake, when the subject of conversation caused his pointed ears to prick up.

" ... but what might they offer us?" one of Dain's commanders, a Dwarf whose name Bilbo had promptly forgotten upon introductions, was saying. He was leaning across the table, his bearded face creased in a deep, concerned frown as he rumbled, "I understand that the Menfolk helped in the war, but why does Erebor continue to offer them aid?"

"We are not offering them aid, my Lord," Bilbo cut in, raising his voice above the murmurs that had started up among the Iron Hills clan. Every Dwarf in the room turned their eyes to him, and Bilbo brushed over the mild surprise he saw on some faces as he explained patiently, "The town of Dale was always an essential trade route for Erebor in previous times, and it is of shared interest that they are stabilised once more. King Thorin has gone to great lengths to ensure that relations with King Bard remain amicable, to affirm that all will benefit from the rebuilding of the town."

His declaration was followed by a stilted pause, but Bilbo didn't mind. Thorin's large hand had snuck under the table to squeeze his thigh gently, a silent message from the King, thanking Bilbo for his input. It was something he had taken to doing when Bilbo shouldered heavier negotiations, or when he minimised his own role in trade agreements to solidify the King's position in the eyes of the council. Bilbo let a small smile play on his lips, his own acknowledgement of the message that he knew Thorin would see somehow.

The smile slipped a little when the Dwarf who had voiced his dissent of the Menfolk snorted rudely.

"And who, pray tell, are you to speak on behalf of the King?" he scoffed, going so far as to look down his nose at Bilbo. "This is a Dwarven council, meant only for the participation of Dwarves. I, for one, am still unsure as to why this creature is even here!"

Bilbo had hardly processed the insult, had hardly begun to formulate his own biting response, before the room erupted around him. He blinked, and looked about with some surprise to find that every single member of Thorin's Company, and in addition Dain and some of the members of his clan who had been living in Erebor since the war, were all scowling at the speaker, bellowing and snarling at him. Fili and Kili were both on their feet, weapons drawn, their faces identical pictures of cold murder, and Bilbo almost laughed to see that Ori was also standing, his face entirely beet red beneath his beard.

The hubbub lasted only a few seconds before Thorin's fist descended upon the top of the stone table with a mighty crack. Bilbo closed his eyes and swallowed at the sickening noise, and when he opened them again he found that he could not look at his lover's hand, for fear that he might find it mangled and bloodied upon the stone. Instead, he watched as the Company fell silent, as Fili and Kili sheathed their weapons slowly, as Dwalin placed an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Ori's arm and coaxed the scribe to sit.

When the room was quiet again, Thorin spoke, and every eye in the room turned to him as he growled, "Master Dival -" that was it, Bilbo thought, Dival was his name "- although I am sure that he has been formally announced many times today, allow me to re-introduce to you: Bilbo Baggins, gentlehobbit of the Shirelands; esteemed fourteenth member of my Company; Master Burglar; Honoured Ambassador of Erebor; and -" here Thorin paused, and Bilbo felt a thrill run through him at what he knew now came next in his customary list of acclaims. "My betrothed Consort."

"At your service," Bilbo intoned, bowing his head as low as it would go in Dival's direction. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a smirk when he heard Bofur's barely stifled yet still distinct snicker echo around the room. He raised his head to meet Dival's eyes, and was quite pleased to find that the Dwarf had gone pallid under his dirty blonde whiskers.

"Your ... Your Consort ... M-Majesty, forgive me, I -"

"But," Thorin thundered, cutting off the shamed Dwarf with an authority that made heat race up Bilbo's spine. The King leaned forward, and when Bilbo glanced over, he was confused by the sight of the slight smile that was gracing the King's face. "If you need more reason as to why he is here, then let us ask the Council. Is there anyone here who would vouch for Mr Baggins?"

Bilbo had to fight against his own jaw dropping as nearly every hand around the table rose into the air instantly. The Company, Dain's men, Dain himself, all stared levelly at Davil, silent and still as they waited for Thorin to continue his little game. A game it must be, indeed, because Bilbo could almost feel the air of self-satisfaction rolling off of his lover as the King Under the Mountain settled himself against the high back of his chair.

"Master Bofur," Thorin murmured, slipping his thumbs idly under his own belt, his blue eyes twinkling slightly with that rare, ill-concealed mischief that Bilbo had come to love so dearly. "Would you care to begin?"

And so Bilbo sat as, one by one, the Dwarves around the table were called upon. He sat, and he listened as the tales of his deeds and exploits were told. He knew them, of course, having lived through them. But he had never heard his story told through the lens of those whom he cared about, those who had been with him.

Bofur waxed positively lyrical about Bilbo defying all odds and chasing them down outside of Hobbiton, when many had already given up on him.

Bifur, with Bombur's help for translation, told of his quick thinking and smart wits with the Trolls, Bilbo's ability to think on his feet buying them the necessary time to escape.

Dori and Nori told of his fantastic disappearance and re-appearance within the Goblin Caves, Nori focusing perhaps a little too much on how impressively light on his feet the Hobbit had to have been to escape the Goblins' notice.

Dwalin spoke with awe in his rough voice of the sight of a small Hobbit, following their King out of a burning tree when Dwalin himself had been unable to, to stand between the monarch and the fearsome might of Orcs and Wargs.

Fili and Kili, somehow together as always, told the harrowing tale of the Mirkwood, of spiders and webs and sure death, had it not been for Bilbo.

Ori, with no little amount of heat in his tone, spoke of how Bilbo had freed them from Elvish capture as though it were the easiest thing the Hobbit had ever done.

Oin praised Bilbo's willingness to speak on behalf of their King in the face of a town full of hostile Menfolk, while Gloin painted a lively picture of Bilbo's solo endeavour to face down the dragon.

Balin spoke of the bravery of one small creature, who had quickly recognised a deep sickness in his friend and dared to go against orders in his best interest by bargaining with their enemy for relief.

And Dain and his men spoke of Bilbo's endless hospitality, his level head and logical mind when leading trade negotiations and even, one young Dwarf interjected, the rapidly spreading fame of his prized honey-cakes.

The last statement roused a cheer from all, and Bilbo sagged, his eyes stinging as he stared at those gathered, gratitude and humility vying within him. He felt as though he'd been shown a mirror, but inside that mirror was somebody he had never seen before, who was just enough like him to be recognised but still an entirely different person. It was a rather unsettling feeling, really. He was just glad that it was over and -

"I would like to provide the final vouch-safe for Master Baggins' presence by my right hand," Thorin said, and Bilbo's heart began to race. Oh, he'd just barely managed to hear the words of his friends, how was he going to hold himself together if Thorin, his love, his King, spoke on his behalf? Thorin seemed to sense Bilbo's uncertainty, as his hand found the halfling's leg again and held it steadily as he said, "Though my betrothed is more than capable of speaking on his own behalf, it is important that you all understand why he is treasured so highly within this mountain.

"This Hobbit, against all expectations and demands made of him, joined my Company with the noble intention of returning our people to our rightful home. As you have heard, he withstood awful conditions, bore both insult and injury with more grace than should have been given, and was integral in the success of many parts of our quest. What you have not heard, is that this being, who appears but half our size, carries at least double our measures of honour and bravery. He has saved my life twice; once from my enemy, and once from myself. In doing so, he has proved himself worthy of this seat, and won my heart entirely."

Thorin paused, and looked down at Bilbo with such evident pride and affection that Bilbo felt the rays of the expression sizzle against his already heated face. He gazed at Thorin, his mouth slack from wonder, and felt the tears spill from his eyes unbidden. The King lifted his - thankfully intact - hand and reverently cupped Bilbo's jaw, swiping at the falling tears with his thumb.

"Though he has a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, his respect for etiquette and manners may temper how he shares his own achievements, and I hope that through our eyes, you will see that Master Baggins is truly the most noble of beings, and is just as much a part of the very foundations upon which our home has been rebuilt as any one of us. And if there are any further objections to my Consort being present," Thorin added to the room without looking away from Bilbo. "Speak now, and we will ensure that you are well provisioned for your journey home."

The silence that rang around the council chamber was deafening. If Bilbo had been able to draw his gaze from Thorin's, he might have seen the glowers and glares that Davil was receiving, might have revelled in the way that the large Dwarf slunk down in his seat. Instead, he nuzzled gently into Thorin's hand and whispered, "May I be excused?"

"Of course, Amrâlimê," Thorin soothed, his use of Khuzdul in Bilbo's presence one final declaration. Bilbo expected to hear a collective intake of breath, but not a single soul dared breathe at all, apparently, as the King dipped down to press their foreheads together. "I'll be home once we're done."

Bilbo simply nodded, rocking his head against the solid comfort of Thorin's, before he pulled away and rose. He stood at the head of the table and bowed low, his body aimed mostly at the side of the table that housed his friends. When he rose from the action, he found that the entire council were almost sweeping the floor with their beards as they all returned the gesture. Choking on more tears, Bilbo turned and tried his best not to run all the way home.

Bilbo was waiting by the door when Thorin finally returned home some hours later, feeling much more refreshed and settled than when he'd last seen the King. When he'd reached their Hobbit hole earlier that afternoon, he'd eaten a hearty lunch and taken a nap to dispel the throbbing headache that had finally surfaced after a good cry, and he'd even had time to take a long bath and put together a stew for dinner that was slowly cooking in the deep, warm oven in the kitchen. He'd even put on a clean, Durin-blue tunic, and his feet had been scrubbed so thoroughly that they felt almost new.

Thorin, on the other hand, looked severely bedraggled as he pushed the round door shut behind him. He managed to give Bilbo a wan smile as he hung his heavy fur-lined cloak on the racking by the door, his crown also finding a hook there. Bilbo always maintained that it was quite the sight, to see a crown amongst their coats and cloaks, but Thorin insisted that it was not to be worn within their home, so that was where it lived. He could hear the day's toil in the King's voice as the Dwarf bent to tug off his heavy boots and murmured, "Are you feeling better, Bunnel?"

"Much," Bilbo assured, bouncing up in his toes and smiling broadly at Thorin as he straightened. "I took a bath and slept, and I've made us some dinner. It's not quite ready yet, so I thought that you might also like to take a hot bath while it finishes?" Bilbo's chest tightened when Thorin swallowed hard, his blue eyes suddenly filling with tears, and Bilbo hurried towards him, reaching for him and groaning, "Oh no, my love, what did I do this time?"

"Peace, Bilbo," Thorin chuckled, even as a tear rolled down his crinkled cheek. "I am simply not used to others taking the time to meet my needs. It takes me by surprise every time you do it, especially when you have had a trying day yourself. And I must admit, I am very tired this week. I was unprepared for your kindness, and it caught me by surprise. That's all."

"You have been working very hard," Bilbo chided gently, running his hands up Thorin's thick forearms and squeezing them in what he hoped was a reassuring way. It earned him a small smile from Thorin, and the King slipped his arms around Bilbo's waist, pulling the Hobbit closer. Bilbo almost stretched up to steal a kiss, but there was something playing about the King's face, something that made him drop back onto the flats of his large feet and prompt carefully, "Come along, out with it."

"I hope that you did not mind my calling on our friends to speak on your behalf today," Thorin rumbled, his face apprehensive as he scanned Bilbo's, searching for ... Something, Bilbo was unsure what exactly. "I know that you are more than capable of standing up for yourself, and on any other occasion I would have loved to watch you tear strips from Davil with that whip-like tongue of yours. But I honestly think that the Company may have committed some unthinkable acts if I did not allow them a platform. They may still, if they believe there to be any further slights brought against your name."

"I do not mind," Bilbo soothed, running his hands up and down Thorin's biceps and smiling when he felt the King's shoulders begin to droop, the day's tension ebbing from him at Bilbo's touch. "In fact, it was rather flattering to hear their honest opinions of me. It is nice to feel valued."

"You are valued very highly within this mountain, Amrâlimê," Thorin sighed, groaning softly when Bilbo's hands slipped around his neck, under his long black hair, fingers digging into the bunched muscles at the Dwarf's nape. "It is not just I who sees you as something to be treasured."

"I am beginning to understand that," Bilbo chuckled. "Let us just hope that it does not go to my head, hmm?" Thorin grunted with amusement, but his eyelids had fluttered shut as Bilbo continued to pay focused attention to his aching neck, and Bilbo had to stop when the Dwarf swayed alarmingly. He moved his hands to rest on Thorin's shoulders and murmured, "Why don't you go and take that bath, my love? Dinner won't be long."

"Would you ..." The King shuffled, his feet nudging up against Bilbo's as he shifted nervously. Bilbo pressed his hand to Thorin's heart, urging him on, and finally Thorin breathed, "Would you come sit with me? While I take my bath?"

"Of course," Bilbo murmured, stretching up on his toes to rub his nose against Thorin's. The King sighed, dipping lower to press a chaste kiss to Bilbo's lips before allowing the Hobbit to step away and lead him to the bathroom.

Bilbo quickly drew a deep, hot bath for Thorin as the Dwarf stripped away his own clothing, letting out small noises of discomfort as his tired body protested at the movements. When he had sunk into the steaming water, Bilbo sat on the edge of the tub and chattered away to Thorin about everything and nothing as the King relaxed in the soothing water. Bilbo had to leave every so often to stir their dinner, to stop the stew from sticking to the sides of its large pot, but he ensured that he was present to wash Thorin's hair for him before leaving the King to enjoy the last of his bath as he served their food.

He was really quite proud of how the dinner had turned out - he'd used the various odds and ends left in the pantry in preparation for re-stocking it at tomorrow's market, and though he was never disappointed by anything he turned out, he had wanted to ensure that tonight's dinner would be warm and comforting and wholesome, a significant part of his effort to replenish his betrothed's energy and spirits. He was just ladling the last of the stew into the second of two deep bowls when a pair of strong arms wound around him from behind.

Bilbo smiled broadly when Thorin stooped to press a gentle kiss to the thin white scars that had formed from the bite he'd administered during their engagement period. The King had been mortified when he'd realised that he'd marked his Hobbit deep enough to leave a permanent scar, and it had taken almost two full weeks of Bilbo assuring him that he didn't mind, that he'd actually found the whole thing quite erotic, for Thorin to be able to look at his throat without blanching.

"My fearsome warrior," Thorin murmured softly against the slightly raised lines in the shape of his own teeth, and Bilbo scoffed and shooed him towards the table.

"I only have one scar from the only true battle I've seen, and that is very much not it, as you well know. Warrior, indeed."

Thorin huffed in amusement, but kissed the scar again before doing as Bilbo bid, picking up the full bowls from the counter and heading to sit at the kitchen table. Bilbo watched him go, entranced by how the King's damp hair lay in waves down his back, how he could see his pert rear very clearly through the thin material of his trousers. When Thorin reached his seat, he turned, and cocked one eyebrow at the Hobbit, as though he had felt his attention the entire time. 

Bilbo cleared his throat and focused on slicing some fresh bread, ignoring the heat creeping up his ears and the back of his neck as he finished his preparations. He carried the bread to the table and lowered himself into his own seat, then yelped when the chair moved under him, sliding across the polished tile with barely a squeak. He looked down to see that Thorin's bare foot was hooked around the rungs of his chair, and when he looked up again he found that he was now very close to the King, who was grinning at him.

"Finished?" Bilbo grumbled, trying hard to hide his own smile as he turned to his stew.

"For now," Thorin conceded, humour laced through his tone. But he took Bilbo's cue and also dove into his stew. They ate in silence for some moments, and the flavours, in fact the very act of filling his stomach, eased Bilbo's fluster, soothing him as it always did. He didn't even mind when Thorin's free hand began to trace patterns up the inside of his wrist, playing with the fingers that Bilbo had let rest beside his bowl as he ate. It was pleasant enough, and Bilbo was happy to let it continue.

Soon, he reached the bottom of his bowl, and he leaned over to take a piece of bread. He had done well with the gravy, if he did say so himself, and he was quite keen to make the most of it by mopping up what little was left. Thorin, however, was quicker, and he snatched the piece of bread right from under Bilbo's hand. As Bilbo gaped at him for such appalling manners, he tore a sliver from the slice, dunked it into the gravy in his own bowl, then lifted it to Bilbo's lips. The Hobbit gave an exasperated sigh and raised one eyebrow in silent question.

"Indulge me," the King purred, and really, how was Bilbo supposed to deny him when his voice was so lovely and rich and deep like that? Obediently, he opened his mouth, and Thorin placed the morsel on his tongue, the side of his thumb grazing Bilbo's lower lip. A spike of arousal shot up Bilbo's spine, and he was sure that there had been nothing innocent in the gesture, which Thorin confirmed by moving the same thumb to his own mouth and flicking his tongue over it, as though tasting whatever Bilbo might have left behind.

"Stop that," Bilbo hissed, glowering as he reached for his own slice of bread.

"Stop what?" Thorin murmured, his eyes wide, but there was that glimmer of mischief in his gaze once more, and Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the King.

"You know exactly what, Thorin Oakenshield," he grumbled, swiping the bread around his bowl and taking a large bite before brandishing the remaining half-slice at the Dwarf and growling around his mouthful, "You're trying to push me into something. I have my own plans for this evening, you know, which involve me taking care of you as much as possible. I won't have you derailing those plans."

"I was merely enjoying the marvellous dinner that you have prepared for us, my love," Thorin protested, but the twitch of his lips betrayed his forced virtuosity. "I wanted to witness your enjoyment, as well."

"Hmmph," Bilbo huffed, trying to ignore the building heat that pooled low in his abdomen as he hurriedly scooped up the last of his dinner, folding the bread into his mouth. When Thorin's bowl was similarly empty, he hastily collected the dishes and deposited them by the sink. He would usually take the time to clean them, as his nature would demand that a job begun should be finished properly. But despite himself, Thorin's actions had aroused him, and he found that he was much more interested in getting to the next part of the evening than in standing at the sink for the next twenty minutes.

"Where to, Master Burglar?" Thorin rumbled, the edge of laughter clear in his words as Bilbo took his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"The bedroom," Bilbo responded, smirking when Thorin almost staggered at his abruptness. He started to make his way down the hall, pulling the Dwarf along behind him as he went on casually, "As I said, I had already made plans for this evening that involved taking care of you as thoroughly as possible, and I intend to follow through on those plans, even if you are doing your best to disrupt them."

"Please accept my apologies," Thorin breathed, his voice suddenly deep and rolling as he allowed Bilbo to lead him to their bedroom. "I would not wish to interrupt your carefully laid plans."

"I should think not," Bilbo snorted, shaking his head at Thorin's sudden change in attitude as they entered the bedroom. "On the bed with you, Your Highness." Bilbo smirked as Thorin scrambled to do as he'd been told. Once seated, the King turned his attention back to the Hobbit, and Bilbo almost laughed at just how rapt his lover's attention had become. "So obedient, all of a sudden. Honestly, I'm beginning to think that you quite like it when I boss you around."

He'd truly meant it as a joke, but all at once Thorin flushed, his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose taking on an attractive pink hue, and Bilbo's mind quickly connected the pieces. He prowled across the room and clambered up onto the mattress, swinging one leg over Thorin's thighs and sitting down carefully in the King's lap, straddling him. He lifted his hands and began to comb through the still damp raven and silver locks, smirking when Thorin's breath hitched in his chest.

"Is that the case, my King?" Bilbo crooned, tugging gently at the hair in his hands and smiling wider when Thorin's eyelids fluttered. "Do you like it when I'm bossy?"

"Mahal help me, I do," Thorin rasped, his own hands rising to grip Bilbo's hips firmly. He pulled gently, rocking the Hobbit down, and Bilbo's heart picked up speed when he felt the evidence of the King's arousal against his rear. "Everything that you do is almost unbearably exciting to me, but when you take charge? Satthiye mushug."

The rough utterance made something in Bilbo tighten, and he rocked his hips down again, pulling harder at Thorin's hair. The King snarled, his fingers digging into Bilbo's soft flanks, and his head dropped back against the wooden headboard of their bed with a dull thunk. Bilbo nipped at his bearded jaw, smoothing his hands down the King's heaving chest and sighing at the feel of the warm, firm flesh below the thin material of Thorin's tunic.

"Kurdel," Thorin groaned as he tipped his head to the side, giving Bilbo more space to work. His hips rocked lazily, seemingly of their own accord, and as Bilbo laved and nipped at his throat he continued to babble, his words becoming slightly slurred as his need rose in him. "Dulel, Murlarul, Kasamhili -"

Bilbo couldn't take it anymore. Listening to Thorin's deep, rolling voice, hearing the words that were so heavy with feeling that he didn't even need to understand their meaning - it was too much. He surged upwards, crashing his lips against the King's in an effort to cut him off, licking into his mouth when Thorin's lips parted with a groan. They were both panting when Bilbo pulled away again to instruct, "Take your clothes off. Now."

Thorin complied so eagerly that he almost bucked Bilbo right out of his lap in his haste. Bilbo couldn't help but laugh as he was jostled, and Thorin paused only long enough to kiss him apologetically before the Dwarf continued, making short work of his clothes. When he was naked, he turned his attention to Bilbo's, and soon the Hobbit was also bare, seated on his lover's thick thighs and leaning back to take him in.

The sight of Thorin, naked and aroused, never failed to rile him. The King's hair was still a little damp, tousled from Bilbo's grasp but flowing down his back and over his shoulders in glossy waves. His bright blue eyes were slightly glazed but fixed on Bilbo's face, the lids half lowered, and his face still sported that lovely blush. His mouth was slightly open, his jaw slack as he panted for air. His throat held some of the blush alongside deeper red marks that Bilbo had sucked into the skin moments before, and would likely be added to before the night was through.

The Dwarf's broad shoulders and hair-covered chest heaved with his heavy breathing, and Bilbo followed the trail of black hair with eyes and fingers, down between the King's prominent pectorals, over the soft roll of his stomach, below his navel and down, stopping at the nest of curls that surrounded the base of Thorin's thick, leaking cock.

"Beautiful," Bilbo breathed absent-mindedly, and blinked in mild surprise when Thorin's length pulsed, kicking against nothing as lust flooded through him. Bilbo looked up to meet Thorin's eyes again, and the sheer desperation he saw there made him relent. He pushed up onto his knees and leaned to the side, reaching for the bedside table.

He hurriedly fetched the bottle of oil that they stored there, and sat back again, just far enough away to stop Thorin rubbing against him for friction. The King apparently did not notice this, as he was reaching for the bottle of oil, but Bilbo slapped his hand away and gave him a pointed look, until the Dwarf placed his hands beside him on the mattress and went still. Bilbo nodded approvingly, then popped the top off the oil.

He slicked his own fingers quickly, then stoppered the bottle and lifted onto his knees once more. He reached behind himself and sank two digits into his entrance. It was relatively easy, with his and Thorin's almost nightly activities supporting him to relax quickly at the now familiar feeling of the intrusion. Despite this, he still gasped at the slight stretch of his rim, his head falling back as pleasure licked up his spine.

"Mahal," Thorin hissed, his thick fingers flying up to dig hard enough into Bilbo's thighs that the Hobbit made an effort to meet the Dwarf's gaze once more. The King's blue eyes blazed bright, almost burning Bilbo's skin where they landed. Their gazes met once more, and Bilbo's breath caught in his throat when Thorin leaned in to press their lips together in a heated kiss. 

He moaned as Thorin's tongue slipped into his mouth and pressed against his own, and his fingers slid deeper, making him rock forward against the King's stomach. The feeling of Thorin bucking against him, seeking friction, brought him back to his senses, and he leaned back, chuckling breathlessly at the insistent whimper that slipped from his lover. Thorin tried to chase him, but Bilbo placed his free hand against the Dwarf's chest, and though they both knew that the King could overpower him in an instant, Thorin immediately stilled, his face pained as he watched Bilbo stretch himself.

"Almost there, my love," Bilbo groaned when he'd managed to catch his breath once more. "Almost there, I just -" He hissed as he slid a third finger in alongside his others, and he sank back, spreading his fingers apart to help the stretch. He would never be able to fill himself as thoroughly as Thorin's shaft or even two of his thick fingers did, but that didn't matter.

After far too long - or hardly any time at all, it was very hard to tell through the dense haze of lust that had descended on the bedroom - Bilbo felt that he was ready. He lifted onto his knees, sliding his fingers free with a groan, and reached behind him, using the remaining oil in his palm to slick the Dwarf's shaft. Thorin sucked in a sharp breath as Bilbo's hand wrapped around his stiff length, and then he whined high in the back of his throat when Bilbo began to sink down on him.

Bilbo saw his throat bob as the Dwarf swallowed hard, and his lover's voice was hoarse as he begged, "Please, Amrâlimê, I need you, please -"

Thorin choked when Bilbo dropped down, sinking onto him fully. Bilbo sighed contentedly, relishing the feeling of being so full, giving himself only a moment to adjust to the girth inside him before he rose, then dropped down again. The next noise that escaped Thorin was almost frantic, wild, and when Bilbo looked into the King's eyes, he understood. The Dwarf was close already, struggling to hold himself back. And Bilbo would have been a very selfish lover indeed, if he had not given Thorin exactly what he needed.

So he set a fast, hard pace, rising and sinking on his knees, over and over, the delicious slick slide of them pushing his own release closer and closer. Thorin seemed entirely incapable of words, he merely gaped at Bilbo as though he were Heaven sent, as though he were a newly discovered form of precious jewel. Bilbo took pity on him, and leaned forwards, winding his arms around Thorin's neck and tipping his head to press their foreheads together.

The contact seemed to bring Thorin back to himself somewhat, and his strong arms wound around Bilbo's waist, pulling him closer as well as supporting him as he moved. Thorin tilted his head to catch Bilbo's mouth, and they kissed, hot and heavy as Bilbo drove them higher and higher. Thorin released an almost wounded sound when Bilbo broke their kiss, but he didn't go far. He simply wanted to watch the moment that Thorin fell apart. For him, and him alone.

"I love you," he gasped against Thorin's lips, punctuating each utterance with a downward roll of his hips. "I love you, I love you, oh, I love you -"

He cut himself off with a strangled noise as he watched Thorin's eyes roll back into his head, as his King's hips snapped upwards once, twice, three times as he spilled inside of him. Thorin pushed him down, grinding his pulsing cock as deep as it would reach, pressing it so roughly against Bilbo's prostate that the Hobbit came seconds later, his back arching and lights bursting in his vision with the force of it. His release striped Thorin's chest, and became a sticky mess between them when Bilbo collapsed forward, shaking and gasping.

They held on to each other for some time, sucking in air and coming down slowly, and it was a long whole before Bilbo was able to move, sitting up with a groan as an ache settled into his thighs. Below him, Thorin hummed happily, reaching up to twine his hands through Bilbo's curls and pulling him in. The kiss was soft and languid this time, kissing for the sake of closeness and intimacy, kissing just to kiss. It took for the mess drying on their chests to become tacky and irritating for Bilbo to be prompted to move.

He'd been in the bathroom for less than five minutes, cleaning himself as thoroughly as he could on shaking legs, before he returned to the bedroom with a damp cloth for Thorin. He paused in the doorway, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of the King Under the Mountain, sprawled on his back on their bed, entirely naked and fast asleep. He was as gentle as possible as he wiped the Dwarf down, careful not to disturb him, and then he crawled into the bed next to him and pulled the covers over them both.

He couldn't have said whether Thorin woke briefly or not, but before he had even finished moving the blankets, the King rolled over, his huge hand seeking. He found Bilbo, and hauled himself up, resting his face and shoulder on the Hobbit's chest and winding one arm around him, holding him tight. The Hobbit pressed a gentle kiss to the top of the Dwarf's head and settled back against his pillows, falling asleep fast with the weight and warmth of his lover all around him.

Chapter Text

Bilbo smirked to himself as Dis' distinctive laughter boomed around the Council Chamber, drawing the attention and somewhat disapproving looks of some of the other Dwarves in attendance. Both he and Dis ignored them, and Bilbo immediately began digging through his memories, trying to find another strand of rumour or story that he'd caught on his walks around the inside of the mountain with which to entertain his future sister-in-law.

It was hard to imagine that he had initially been terrified when Thorin had told him that the final contingent from the Blue Mountains had set out on their homeward trip to Erebor two weeks ago. Fili and Kili had, of course, been overjoyed about the imminent arrival of their mother, and even Thorin had seemed increasingly upbeat as the proposed date of the party's arrival had drawn closer. But though he'd tried his best to participate in their excitement, Bilbo had nonetheless held some reservations.

But standing here next to Dis and feeding her tidbits of gossip as they eyed the Council members around them, it was nearly impossible for him to recall why he had been so apprehensive about meeting the ferocious Dwarrowdam that he'd heard so much about. He'd heard enough stories about her intimidating attitude, her iron-fist ruling style (both inside and outside of her home), and her complete lack of interest in wasting her time on those that she had no liking for, that he'd been sufficiently concerned about what it would mean if his betrothed's sibling had decided that he was amongst that group.

He knew now that he shouldn't have been worried. Fili and Kili had clearly told their mother enough about Bilbo, through ravens or letters or some other still-unknown-to-him method of Dwarven communication, that when she had finally arrived, she'd merely given her brother a perfunctory peck on the cheek before linking arms with Bilbo and whisking him away into her private rooms for a long dinner and an even longer evening of chatter and bonding.

And bond they had. The seat on the other side of Bilbo's at their dinner table had quickly become Dis'. At every single meeting or official function, she sought Bilbo out and ensured that he was always within whispering distance. They had grown so close so quickly that Thorin had shared, on multiple occasions, that he truly feared what the two might get up to if left alone for any lengthy period of time, and therefore had made it his singular mission to watch the pair like a hawk.

Despite this, Bilbo and Dis always managed to successfully sneak away for at least an hour every day, to drink tea and laugh together until their sides hurt.

Bilbo was thoroughly pleased by this turn of events. Although he would never admit it, Dis' arrival had provided something vital that he hadn't realised he'd actually been missing from the Shire. He loved being here in Erebor: working and living amongst the Dwarves; discussing and managing trade deals and relations with Men, Elves and other Dwarven clans; and, of course, his cherished position at Thorin's side. But Dis' instant, easy companionship was rather similar to his old Hobbit friendships, built on sharp wit and somewhat judgemental observations, and he was rather surprised to find that he had actually been missing that element.

It didn't make him long for his previous life in any way, not at all. The significant difference was that the Hobbits had always been far too petty with their gossip for it to be anything more than vapid chatter. The discussions he had with Dis, by contrast, often held some deeper meaning, helped them to determine which Council members might need to be avoided or held at a distance or, even, might be needing some extra support. In short, though it was still gossip, it held more of a purpose than the empty whispers of the Shire. And as a result, it made life in Erebor feel all the more whole.

"Master Baggins!" Dis gasped, clapping him as lightly as she could on his back as she chortled into her elegantly braided beard at the most recent secret he had revealed to her. Bilbo disguised the involuntary movement that her touch caused by bouncing up on his toes, something he was wont to do when he felt quite pleased with himself. It took Dis a few minutes to be able to contain her mirth, and even then, she still had tears in her sharp blue eyes when she turned to Bilbo and smirked, "Have I told you recently how truly glad I am that my incredibly dense brother was able to pull his own head out of his arse fast enough to stop you from leaving us?"

Before Bilbo could respond, Thorin's voice drifted over his shoulder. "Always so complimentary about me, dear sister."

The Hobbit had to bite into his own lower lip to hold back a giggle as his friend rolled her eyes exaggeratedly before turning to face her brother, her large bejewelled hands planted firmly on her ample hips. "No need to be so sensitive, Thorin. I was merely expressing how lucky Erebor is that Master Baggins elected to stay, that is all."

"Truly, I feel like I am the one with all the luck in this scenario," Bilbo hurried to interject, smiling lightly when the two Dwarves turned to look at him. "I love my life here. I never thought that life would be anything more than landowning and tedious dinner parties. Being Erebor's Ambassador is much more to my liking! Though I must admit, I still find it hard to believe that Thorin won't overcome this strange infatuation some day soon. After all, it can only be a matter of time until he sees me as I am and sends me right back to the Shire!"

Bilbo laughed at his own joke, but the sound dropped strangely between the small group when neither Dis nor Thorin joined in. In fact, when he looked up at his friend, he found that Dis was looking at him with a strange mixture of sadness and confusion on her face. He watched as her eyes flicked up to meet Thorin's, watched as they passed something unspoken between them. He watched Thorin incline his head slightly, and Dis gave Bilbo a small, encouraging smile, just as the King's large fingers wrapped around his wrist. Bilbo opened his mouth to say something more to her, but then he was being pulled away, and he had no choice but to follow.

Thorin strode ahead of him through the over-crowded hall, people parting around him at whatever they saw on the King's face as he made his way through the Council room with Bilbo staggering along behind him. Thorin only slowed when they reached a small antechamber, but he barely paused as he spun Bilbo into the room, then slammed the thick wooden double doors behind them.

"Well, now," Bilbo bristled, straightening his clothing and frowning at the King's back. "That was incredibly rude of you. I will have you know, Thorin Oakenshield, that I do not appreciate being so roughly manhandled in the presence of others! And besides that, I was thoroughly enjoying my conversation with your sis-"

"Why?" Bilbo immediately stopped talking at the softly spoken word, and he froze when Thorin finally turned to face him. The King's handsome face was drawn, pinched, almost pained, but before Bilbo could ask what was wrong, Thorin went on, "Why do you insist on doing that? Why must you always say things like that?"

"Things like what, Love?" Bilbo asked, all fight sapping out of him rapidly to be replaced by confusion, and more than a little concern, at the abrupt turn things had taken. "The gossip? It really is harmless, just part of Court life, or so I've come to understand -"

"Not that," Thorin rumbled, waving a dismissive hand between them. "You may gossip with my sister to your heart's content. I am referring to the way that you consistently put yourself down whenever someone attempts to complement our relationship. If it were just once or twice, or something that had ceased after our official engagement, then I would not be so upset. But it happens every time. You state that I will eventually tire of you, or that you were simply in the right place at the right time, or that you don't always believe that it is really happening."

"I don't -" This time, Bilbo cut himself off as the truth of Thorin's words began to sink in. He didn't have to look very far back to find evidence within his own memories of what Thorin was saying, and as he recalled his own words from those many, many occasions, he started to consider how those words might be perceived from someone outside of his own mind, where these insecurities and fears sat hidden, secreted away. He was brought back to the present when Thorin's rough hand slid against his jaw to cup his cheek tenderly, and he made himself meet the Dwarf's sombre eyes.

"Are you unhappy with me? Do you wish for our relationship to end?" Thorin breathed, and Bilbo's heart felt cold at just the suggestion.

"Gods, no, my love, not at all!" he insisted, lifting his own hand to cover Thorin's and holding his gaze intently, so that the King might see his sincerity. After staring down at him for a few more seconds, Thorin blew out a heavy breath and sagged slightly.

"Then ... Why?"

"I suppose ..." Bilbo bit his own lip as he worked through how best to phrase his response, but he reminded himself firmly that Dwarves valued honesty and straight talking, so he squared his shoulders and took the plunge. "I suppose that I have never felt so deeply for someone as I do for you. And watching you perform your kingly duties day to day, seeing how you are growing and thriving in this environment, it does make me question why you are with me. You're so powerful, Thorin. You're a strong and fair ruler, and I am so very proud of you. But I still can't help but wonder if you would not be better off finding someone to marry who will compliment your status."

"I do not want another," Thorin stated firmly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "We've been through this before, Bunnel. You are everything that I could ever ask for, and more. You are my unmatched parallel. Nobody could ever fit by my side so perfectly as you."

"I know you think that," Bilbo sighed, his mouth twisting at the impending misery that he'd been trying to push from his heart for months. "And I'm trying to believe it, I really am. But I hadn't realised my comments would be upsetting to you, and I will make an effort to hold them back from now on."

"I would rather that you make an effort to tell me that you're feeling this way in private instead," Thorin said quietly, his mouth automatically turning down at the corners as he took in the shift in Bilbo's demeanour. "So that I might take the time to remind you just how deeply I love you, and show you just how much I need you."

"You need me?" Bilbo repeated, trying his hardest not to sniffle. Sweet Yavannah, but he was becoming quite emotional in his older age. Thorin's eyes reflected some of his own sorrow back to him, and he stooped to wrap his arms around the Hobbit, pulling the smaller being tight to his firm chest.

"Always," he whispered, his warm breath tickling Bilbo's pointed ear, ruffling the hair that curled softly down to his shoulders. He shivered when Thorin's voice turned rough as he continued, "By my side. In my arms. In my bed. I need you like I need air, like the plants in your garden need sunlight. I would wither and die without you, Amrâlimê. And I won't have you forgetting that."

Bilbo pulled back slightly so that he might see Thorin's face, and everything inside him went taught when he saw how dark the Dwarf's clear blue eyes had become, how hungrily the King was looking at him. He knew that look, had very quickly come to recognise that expression. So he was entirely unsurprised when Thorin's lips crashed into his own a split second later. He groaned when the contact sent bolts of lighting thrumming through his body, and Thorin released a low growl in response as he herded Bilbo backwards, until the Hobbit hit the solid door behind him.

"Let me show you," Thorin murmured, his lips buzzing against the skin of Bilbo's throat, which he had eagerly bared to his lover's onslaught. "Let me remind you just how much I want you, how much I need you."

"Please," Bilbo gasped, his body already rocking against Thorin's in a subconscious drive for pleasure. He wanted to feel the King's hands on him, wanted to watch the Dwarf worship his body, as Thorin was prone to doing whenever they were intimate. Thorin's lips returned to his, and Bilbo opened to him, sighing happily when their tongues met in a hot, slick slide. His mind was already fuzzy with lust when a sharp rap sounded on the other side of the door.

"Brother, dearest!" Dis trilled, her muffled voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Your presence is required. Kindly give me back my gossiping partner and return to your regal duties, there's a good lad."

Thorin pulled away from Bilbo reluctantly and scowled at the door, as though Dis might actually be able to feel the weight of his gaze through it. But his eyes softened as he looked back down at Bilbo, and he took the time to steal one last, lingering kiss before he murmured, "We will continue this conversation later."

The clever comment about how little they had just been conversing died on Bilbo's tongue when Thorin stepped back, his eyes raking down Bilbo's body avidly as he went. Then Thorin threw open one side of the double doors, and Bilbo was left leaning against the other, flushed and flustered, until Dis reached into the room and dragged him back into the Council chamber.

"You can't be serious," Bilbo huffed, rolling his eyes when Thorin raised one thick black eyebrow in response to his petulance. It was hours since they'd last been together, and though they were both tired from the afternoon's long Council session and subsequent feast, Thorin had insisted on them staying up to finish their earlier business. Which was how Bilbo found himself standing in the living room of their under-mountain Hobbit hole, trying his best to process the Dwarf's absurd instruction.

"What is it about my face that tells you I am not wholly serious?" the King asked evenly, and honestly, Bilbo had to give him that one. Because Thorin, notorious for his straight face, had never looked as serious as he did at that exact moment. So Bilbo sighed, and huffed again, and shuffled his furred feet, but ultimately he did exactly as Thorin had requested, and began stripping off his clothing.

"You're lucky that I love you," the Hobbit grumbled as he stepped out of his trousers, glancing up in time to see a soft, lopsided smile pulling his betrothed's beard up at one side.

"I am indeed," Thorin purred, and the depth of his voice made goosebumps appear on Bilbo's bare flesh instantly. He chewed at his own lower lip when the Dwarf's eyes traversed his body, uncannily similarly to how they had earlier that evening. When the King met his gaze once more, he looked no less hungry than he had hours before, and Bilbo's breath caught in his throat when Thorin sank into his favoured wide armchair next to the fire and murmured, "Come here, Amrâlimê. Let me show you just how much I love you, too."

Bilbo swallowed hard, but he padded obediently across the living room, his toughened soles quiet against the polished wooden floor. He stopped in front of his lover, his cheeks heating when Thorin spread his knees, inviting Bilbo to stand between them. When he was positioned to the King's apparent liking, the Dwarf's hands rose, and Bilbo shivered reflexively at the feel of those large, work-calloused fingers skimming over his skin. Thorin had touched him before, of course. So very many times. But no matter how much the King touched him, it always managed to feel ...

"Breathtaking," Thorin whispered, his eyes locked on Bilbo's. There was nowhere for the Hobbit to hide as he stood naked before his lover, but he still ducked his head, allowing his curls to tumble around his face, hoping they might provide some shelter. He'd been nude before Thorin plenty of times; why did this time feel so different? The King clicked his tongue, and then Bilbo's head was being tilted back, one of Thorin's fingers under his chin, pushing it up. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"I ... I'm nervous," Bilbo choked out, his fists clenching by his sides as he tried to stand still, to quell the tremors attempting to climb him spine. "This ... It feels unusual, to be standing here like this when you're still fully clothed."

"It has to be this way," Thorin rumbled, his voice a little thick. Bilbo recognised the telling sign of the Dwarf's building need, and he tilted his head to the side in silent question. Thorin's hands dropped to wrap around the backs of his thighs, and he squeezed gently, as though he was using the grip to keep himself still. Bilbo's heart rate increased at the touch, but he made himself focus as Thorin explained, "If I were to remove my clothes at this stage, I would struggle to control myself long enough to do what I intend to."

"And what do you intend to do?" Bilbo murmured, lifting one of his own hands almost absent-mindedly to card through Thorin's black and silver locks. The King's eyelids fluttered slightly at the sensation, but Bilbo watched as he clenched his jaw and set his shoulders, apparently forcing himself to concentrate.

"I intend to explain why I adore each and every inch of you," Thorin gritted out, his fingers digging into Bilbo's soft flesh, making the halfling gasp. The King grimaced apologetically, releasing his hold, then straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. "Starting with your head."

"My ... My head?" Bilbo echoed, his mind somewhat fuzzy as lust began to settle, low and warm, behind his navel.

"Your head," Thorin confirmed, his gaze unfaltering as he held Bilbo's. "It holds your clever brain, a brain that has, time and time again, solved my problems, saved my life, and supported the escalation and survival of my people. Besides all of that, the hair on your head is so lovely, so thick and curly ..." The Dwarf's hand lifted, and Bilbo hummed softly when thick fingers twined around one of his curls. The King's voice was rough again as he added, "Perfect for me to run my fingers through."

"Keep going," Bilbo whispered, all at once entirely fascinated by this concept. It had been one thing to hear Thorin and his Company sing his praises to prove a political point. It was entirely another thing to have the Dwarf explain why even the parts of him that Bilbo thought of as mundane were loved. He'd never had someone explain their attraction to him in such detail, and his curiosity was quickly overcoming his humility and embarrassment. And regardless of all that, the way his request made Thorin smile was entirely worth it.

"Your face," Thorin went on, his fingertips now tracing the outline of Bilbo's jaw slowly. "So expressive, so animated. You show your passions and thoughts so clearly, it is really quite captivating to watch it change so rapidly when you're conversing, or eating, or merely just thinking. Your eyes are so clear, such a lovely shade of hazel that turns to rich honey in the sunlight. But my favourite thing about your eyes -" Thorin smirked at whatever was crossing his mind "- is that when you are up to no good, I can see the mischief sparkling in them."

"You can?" Bilbo squeaked, his chest suddenly a little tight. He wondered just how many times his face and his eyes had betrayed his true intentions, and whether he needed to do something about that. But then Thorin chuckled, and the low, rolling sound instantly eased Bilbo's concerns.

"Peace, Bunnel," Thorin murmured, running his thumb down Bilbo's nose, making him aware that he'd scrunched it subconsciously as he hurriedly explored possible ways of keeping his face more neutral. "I appreciate the honesty with which your expressions speak. You know that Dwarves value clarity, but it usually comes through our speech. It seems that Hobbits are more fond of speaking - how did you put it - around the houses? So it is helpful for me to have a window into your mind, to be able to read your true intentions."

"Well," Bilbo mumbled, shuffling his feet and frowning as he thought that through. "I'm not too sure how I feel about -"

The words died on his tongue when the pad of Thorin's thumb pressed against his lips. Bilbo flushed hotter as he fought against the instinct to open his mouth, to take the digit in past his lips, and he whimpered softly when Thorin's gaze dropped to where his thumb rested, his eyes darkening rapidly as though he'd sensed Bilbo's squashed impulse. The thumb pressed gently, slipping ever so slightly into his mouth, and Bilbo had no control over his tongue as the muscle reflexively pressed forward, against the intrusion. Thorin's lips parted in a snarl, and his eyes were sharp and wild when he looked into Bilbo's again.

"Your mouth," the King growled, his teeth clenched as he fought to keep control of himself. "Your smile makes my heart race. Behind these soft, wicked lips is a sharp, wicked tongue that can cut down any man twice your size. But I must admit, as much as I enjoy watching you put others in their place with your words, I much prefer the more sinful things that your mouth does so expertly."

"Thorin," Bilbo whined, the word slightly muffled around the Dwarf's thumb, his body reacting strongly to the intimate act, the salacious words. He could feel the pull in his groin as his shaft began to harden, his skin burning with his need to be touched, to touch his lover. But Thorin swallowed harshly and pulled his hand free, his pupils expanding swiftly when Bilbo's tongue tried to follow the digit. Despite the tension growing tighter between them, Thorin managed to take a slow, steadying breath and re-focus on Bilbo's face.

"Hold on for me, my love," Thorin rumbled. "We're getting there. I do not wish to rush this."

And though Bilbo wanted to argue, he clamped his mouth shut and made himself concentrate. Even with the heady waves of desire flowing through him, he was interested to see what else the King wanted him to know. And he knew that if he waited, his reward would be entirely worth it. In total contradiction of his own words, however, when Thorin began to speak again, his speech was hurried, breathless, his fingers skating swiftly over each mentioned body part, as though he were struggling to exercise the patience he had just asked Bilbo for.

"Your shoulders - they carry so much, with such ease. These arms, which always manage to make me feel safe, no matter what I have had to face that day. I know that they are always there, always solid, always ready to be wrapped around me. Your chest, where your heart rests. I don't tell you often enough how honoured I feel to have been gifted such a precious treasure as your heart."

Tears prickled the corners of Bilbo's eyes at this last statement, but the swell of emotion did nothing to quench the burning fire inside him, a fire that was only stoked into white-hot flames when Thorin's touch became heavier, slowing down again as his hands descended further down the Hobbit's body.

"Your stomach - so soft, so comfortable. You always amaze me with just how much food you can fit into this lovely stomach, and for it to still be so supple under my hands. Your hips make the most perfect hand-holds for me, whether we're holding one another or making love. Your cock -"

Bilbo sucked in a sharp gasp as Thorin's warm palm wrapped around his fully erect shaft, his eyelids fluttering closed when the Dwarf's thumb brushed over his already damp slit. A small, broken whimper escaped his throat, answered by a deep, thundering growl from Thorin's, and the sound made Bilbo open his eyes, made him fight to focus through the haze of his need, until the King's face, rapt and flushed and oh, so handsome, swam back into view. Thorin began to stroke him slowly, which was very unhelpful, but Bilbo anchored his attention to the Dwarf's next words as best he could.

"Your cock fits so well in my hand, in my mouth. It is the perfect size, it feels so good. It makes me feel good to see that I can make you feel good. I love you, all the way down to your furry feet, to the toes that curl so sweetly when you fall apart for me. There is no-one better, Bilbo, no-one else whose body and mind and very being I would be able to worship as I do yours. So please, Amrâlimê, believe me when I say that even if we had eternity, you would be the only one I would ever seek."

"Please," Bilbo panted, his focus slipping as Thorin's movements sped up. His hands lifted shakily to grip the King's shoulders, and he sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, biting into it hard in a last ditch attempt to stave off the inevitable. But then Thorin smiled up at him, and the Dwarf looked so truly besotted that Bilbo already knew he'd lost the battle.

"Let go, Bilbo," the King breathed, twisting his fingers over Bilbo's leaking tip and smiling at the noise it wrung from the halfling. "Cum for me, my love."

There was no use pretending that he might have been able to deny Thorin's request. With one last, shuddering gasp, Bilbo came, his back bowing, his toes curling and digging against the floorboards, his fingers spasming against Thorin's broad shoulders. It was some time before his vision cleared enough for him to be able to see the King again, and aftershocks of pleasure coursed through him as he watched Thorin, satisfied to the point of being smug, licking his fingers clean. It was enough, in fact, to have Bilbo dropping hurriedly to his knees, yanking frantically at the laces on the Dwarf's trousers. He didn't pause when a large hand covered his own.

"Bilbo -"

"Please, Thorin," Bilbo rasped, his eyelids drooping as he gazed up at the King helplessly. "I don't ... I can't think straight enough to tell you what that meant to me. Please, I need ... I need to show you, please -"

"Alright, Bunnel, easy," Thorin soothed, removing his hand and shifting his hips to allow Bilbo to slide his trousers down over his hips. The King's impressive length sprang free seconds later, and just as quickly, Bilbo had engulfed it, his tongue pressing firmly to the underside of the shaft as his hands worked over what he could not take into his mouth. Thorin hissed, his fingers twining through Bilbo's curls, but he must have been extremely close to the edge himself, because only moments later he was spilling down Bilbo's throat, rocking lazily into his grip with his head thrown back against the high headrest of the armchair.

Bilbo swallowed languidly as he blinked blearily up at his lover. Thorin looked truly glorious like this, flushed with his desire, panting for air as he slowly came down from what had been quite an explosive orgasm. It took a while for the King to be able to open his eyes, and they were heavy with love and sated fatigue when he finally looked down at Bilbo, easing his hand from the Hobbit's tangled locks to cup his face, a gentle touch that Bilbo leaned into gratefully. A comfortable silence fell around them, broken only when Bilbo had to move, his knees already beginning to protest under him. And as always, Thorin anticipated his needs and was more than willing to meet them.

Somehow, Thorin found the remaining strength to lift Bilbo's limp body from the floor, to carry him into their bedroom and lay him on the bed before collapsing onto it alongside him. The Dwarf hummed contentedly when Bilbo sleepily opened his arms in invitation, and wasted no time crawling across the mattress to rest his head and shoulders across the halfling's torso. Bilbo wound his arms around the King's neck and pressed gentle kisses into the wavy silver-streaked locks in his face, smiling when Thorin nuzzled tiredly into the touch.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would tell the King just what his words had done, what they'd meant to Bilbo. But for tonight, he supposed that this would have to be enough.