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Bilbo woke the next morning with a slow, contented stretch. It was a small movement, mostly just a shrug of the shoulders, but it pulled a few pops from his back that had him sighing in relief. He ached low in his back, and his rear had a slight burn and twinge when he moved. The memories of the night before came back in a flash, and he opened his eyes quickly, meeting the blue eyes that stared back at him.
Thorin was still lying next to him, even as the sun rose and the other dwarves moved about the camp.
The hobbit began to smile, happiness slowly bubbling in his chest, but he hesitated as he took in the dwarf’s expression. He looked stricken, his mouth in a thin, grim line and a frown set deep in his brow.
“Um,” the halfling began eloquently, a blush flooding his cheeks. Did he completely misread what happened last night? If so, he was truly in trouble, and not with Thorin. “Good morning.”
Thorin blinked, and his frown softened, but now he just looked sad. This, Bilbo decided, was much worse. “Come, Master Baggins. It is time to break our fast and move on,” he eventually said as he stood up and adjusted his trousers.
And so began the three days of emotional agony for Bilbo.
The entire company knew what the two of them had gotten up to, of course, so the first day Bilbo was made to suffer the teasing and ribbing of the other dwarves. What was worse was Thorin ignored most of the teasing, rebuffed all questions about him continuing with the hobbit, and refused to even look at him when they stopped for meals.
Somehow, Bilbo felt even more miserable than he had at Thorin’s swift departure from their shared bedroll that morning.
The teasing stopped abruptly at dinner when one of the dwarves (Dwalin, Bilbo thinks made a crack about giving hobbits a try. From what Bilbo could see from his vantage point across the fire, Thorin didn’t even react to the joke, negatively or otherwise.
It was like a stab to the gut.
Holding back a wave of humiliating tears, Bilbo sniffed and continued eating his stew. It seems he had made enough noise to garner some attention, and finally the jokes and ribbing stopped.
“Tell me, lad,” Bofur said as he dropped next to Bilbo by the fire. “What have you got on your mind?”
Bilbo flushed red, hoping it was too dark for the dwarf to notice, and shook his head. It wouldn’t do to put words to his thoughts or feelings of heartbreak. He was already feeling raw, despite the brevity of his “relationship” with Thorin. But such was the nature of Hobbits, Bilbo supposed. The was nothing to it; if he wanted to keep it together for the rest of the journey and make it home without an emotional collapse, it was best he kept everything to himself.
The teasing left behind, the next two days were basically the same. Bilbo trudged along at the back of the company, flanked by Bofur and Ori, and watched Thorin lead the group with Gandalf.
On the third day, Kíli had taken interest in the miserable halfling and fell back to walk along with the somber troupe. Unsurprisingly, he was quickly joined by his blond brother.
“Cheer up, Master Baggins,” Kíli said happily, his boisterous voice turning heads in the silence of the woods. “We will be having a proper meal tonight, Gandalf says!”
“And proper beds,” Fíli added with a deep sigh of appreciation.
This, of course, was in reference to Beorn’s home, a shape shifter the wizard knew of that lived somewhere in these woods.
“Oh yes, that is something to smile about,” Bilbo agreed, a smile that did not reach his eyes spreading his lips.
They walked in silence for a couple of hours before breaking for a quick lunch, sitting down to rest tired and sore legs. Ori sat on rock next to Bilbo and nibbled at his tiny ration of food, nervously bouncing his leg.
“Mister Baggins,” he began slowly, hesitantly. “I was wondering, with your customs being so different and such…”
When the scribe trailed off, blushing, Bilbo smiled. “Go on. I will answer any of your questions.”
“Well,” Ori began again. “How do Hobbits fall in love?”
Bilbo choked on his mouthful for a moment, and smiled gratefully at Fíli who had reached over from the stump he was seated on to slap his back.
“Well, uhm, most hobbits just find each other and marry.”
“What if you love more than one hobbit?” Kíli asked, bumping his shoulder against Fíli lightly.
“You wouldn’t find many hobbits able to answer that question,” Bilbo laughed sadly. “We fall in love and stay that way. I have never known a hobbit to do it twice. I’ve never known on to even try or want to.”
‘Until now,’ he thought darkly, his mouth taking a downward twist as tears almost welled up again.
“So hobbits only love once?” Kíli pressed.
“I suppose we could choose to fall out of love, just hobbits don’t,” Bilbo replied, smiling sadly. “Even if their spouse dies. The love is strong enough to soothe the ache, I’ve been told.”
‘Though I don’t think that’s the case with unrequited love.’
Ori chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before asking, “Are there any courting customs in the Shire?”
“Of course, but most forgo them because they require fasting and complete celibacy,” the hobbit laughed. “Now, not many hobbits would willingly starve themselves, and we aren’t much for forced celibacy, even if we aren’t a carnal lot upon reaching adulthood.”
“And why’s that?” Kíli asked with a smirk. “Not indulging in the pleasures of the flesh when you’re adults, I mean?”
Bilbo swallowed, looking around at the dwarves listening to the conversation. So far, it was only his four traveling companions actively listening. Still, though, he looked at the ground as he answered.
“Something that intimate, it’s something we only share with our intended,” he said, then quickly added, “usually! Not always, but most hobbits hold intercourse in high regard.”
“Meaning?” Kíli asked, impatient and annoyed that he was missing the point. His older brother elbowed him in the ribs as understanding dawned on him, and Bilbo just wanted the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole.
“Many hobbits view intimacies of the flesh as a proposal of marriage,” Bilbo explained, pleased at how detached he sounded.
“Oh,” Kíli said thoughtfully before he jumped slightly, eyes wide. “Oh!”
“Now, what happened the other night is different,” the halfling said quickly, embarrassment flooding him. “It hardly means the same thing between two different races, especially not for the race that doesn’t belong to the custom.”
“Yet, it still means as much to you,” Bofur said quietly from his spot on the ground by Bilbo’s feet.
Bilbo was glad for the man, and that he seemed to understand just where Bilbo was hurting. That just because it seemed to not matter to Thorin, it had meant a lot to the hobbit. So much so, it could have very well ruined him forever.
“Well, what about dwarves?” the hobbit asked, but the dwarves around him were kept from answering as the company was called to march on.
“We can tell you at dinner,” Bofur replied, putting his hand on Bilbo’s knees before standing up and following the two brothers back to the rest of the company.
“And could you answer more questions for me? At dinner?” Ori asked kindly, standing up and helping Bilbo to his feet. “I would like to write it all down, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course, Ori,” Bilbo responded, the first real smile in days coming to his lips as he looked up at the young dwarf.
The arrival at Beorn’s home was a flurry of motion and action, and when dinner was finally served, they were all too hungry at first to remember any questions or promises of answers until more than halfway through the feast.
“What is a real proposal for hobbits?” Kíli asked, his mouth full of food still. Fíli sent an exasperated, though fond, look to his brother and elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
Bilbo had recounted everything he had said at lunch to Ori, and they were back to roughly where they had left off.
“Pardon?” Bilbo asked, confused by the question and the suddenness of it.
“Well, if buggering is an unofficial proposal, what is a real one?” Kíli elaborated, grinning as all conversation ceased at the table.
Every head turned to Bilbo, and the halfling wanted to scream at the unfairness, that it took this young dwarf being vulgar for Thorin to finally look at him.
“Making love is a far cry from just buggering, Kíli,” Bilbo said carefully, though he knew some hurt had slipped into his tone. He was mostly proud that he managed to not look at Thorin as he said it.
The young dwarf only rolled his eyes, earning another dig in his ribs from his brother. Kíli made an indignant noise, but kept his attention on Bilbo.
“You’re all most likely going to laugh at this,” Bilbo began quietly. “But we present our intended with flowers, usually ones grown from our own garden. If they accept, we weave the flowers into their hair. Except for one, which is for the one who proposed.
A few dwarves chuckled at that, but Ori gushed. “That sounds so lovely,” he said with a sigh as his quill flew across his scroll.
“So where does the ‘making love’ come in?” Kíli asked, curiosity overflowing.
“When I said that intimacy is viewed as a marriage proposal,” the hobbit sighed, “it is because intercourse either immediately precedes or follows the exchanging of the flowers.”
“And what would a hobbit wedding be like?” Bofur asked quickly, interrupting an undoubtedly crude question the mischievous brunette was about to ask.
“They’re grand parties!” Bilbo said delightedly. “Most parties are in the Shire, but weddings especially. Everyone is invited, there is ale and wine, and wonderful food like you couldn’t imagine. The music is always the best. Many receptions go on for several nights.”
The dwarves laughed, and the hobbit looked around, another real smile coming to his face. Maybe he was wrong about the depth of his feelings for Thorin, and it would be easier for him to get past this heartache. When he realized that the leader of their company was missing from their party, his heart sank back into his stomach and his smile fell from his lips once again.
“Dwarven customs!” Bofur suddenly said, clapping his hands and snapping Bilbo out of his new whirlwind of depressing thoughts. “There was something you wanted to know?”
“Well, I was curious about the same questions you asked me,” the halfling said quietly before sitting up straight and shaking his head. “But it isn’t important, of course.”
“It’s nothing,” Bofur said, thumping his hand on Bilbo’s back. “Honest. Well then, where should we start?”
The hobbit bit the inside of his lip harshly, chewing on a mouthful of food thoughtfully. “How do dwarves approach love?”
“We don’t approach love,” Bofur said seriously, maintaining eye contact with the halfling, a smile lifting the corner of his lips. “For dwarves, it will just come upon us.”
“Pardon?” Bilbo asked, straightening in his chair with a quirked brow.
“One moment, we will realize we have found our one, and that’s it,” the dwarf elaborated, and Bilbo noticed the way almost everyone shifted uncomfortably.
“Your…one?” Bilbo pushed, shoving more food into his mouth.
“Dwarves can only fall in love once,” Ori provided, a light pink coming to his cheeks.
“That’s right, our love is absolute, and lasts into the afterlife, supposedly. That is, if we would act on it,” Bofur added, taking back the conversation from the young dwarf with a light smile.
Before Bilbo could prompt the dwarf again, Fíli took up the unfinished explanation. “What Bofur is saying, is that a lot of dwarves do not claim their ones. We are raised in a culture that loves fiercely, yet it is considered a burden to find our one. It is especially cumbersome on the one we love.”
“But,” Bilbo gasped. “That would mean you would live for the rest of your lives alone!”
Fíli smirked sadly, and nodded. “That is a fate most dwarves would prefer.”
“But when a dwarf does claim his one,” Bofur interjected quickly. “He braids a bead with his family name on it into his one’s hair. If the other accepts the proposal, he will wear the bead in plain sight and the now-betrothed couple will confirm the engagement intimately. The wedding is a very large affair, and the higher status of the dwarves involved, the bigger the wedding.”
“Dwarves exchange their vows, and consummate the union publicly,” Fíli finished, his elbow swiftly finding his brother’s ribs as the dark-haired dwarf almost giggled next to him about that. The blond looked absolutely exasperated, though there was a fondness around his eyes with the edge of something else. Bilbo shook his head as the implications of what the dwarf had said sunk in.
“Oh!” the hobbit gasped, his face flushing a deep red that traveled down his neck. “That—that’s a bit, uhm, well that’s—huh!”
“Do you take issue with our customs?” one of the older dwarves asked, but in Bilbo’s flustered state, Bilbo couldn’t quite say which one it was .
“Not at all!” Bilbo said instantly, shaking his head as he composed himself. “I’m simply shocked that…such an intimate act would be so public.”
“Dwarves aren’t much for privacy, if you hadn’t noticed,” Bofur teased, grinning openly at the uncomfortable hobbit.
“Would it bother you?” Fíli asked, noticing the heavy flush that graced the halfling's cheeks.
“No!” he said quickly, shaking his head and dropping his eyes to the table as his blushed deepened further. “That is to say that—well, it wouldn’t if it—I mean, it’s hardly an issue I would have to think on, seeing as the, uh—uhm, the likelihood of that ever—well, you understand what I’m saying.”
Bofur’s smile wavered and he dropped the subject, much to Bilbo’s relief. He didn’t want to discuss this any further with the group of dwarves, after getting the information he had thought he wanted. Perhaps Thorin had found his ‘one’ and Bilbo was simply a distraction, a means to fulfill a need. Sadness sank into his gut at that, harsh as if someone had punched him. Miserable, the hobbit excused himself from the table and wandered off.
They had been given rooms, most of them sharing with two or three others, but Bilbo had been fortunate enough to get his own. Well, he had been supposed to share with Gandalf, but the old wizard had disappeared and didn’t seem to be coming back soon this night. He was padding silently down the long hall to the large door to his room when Thorin stepped out of the room he shared with his nephew’s. Fíli was with him, and he was in the middle of a sentence when Thorin’s eyes found Bilbo.
“Master Baggins,” the dwarf said shortly, the previously soft expression on his face hardening as he retreated.
Bilbo felt it like a slap in the face, and he blushed and stammered, fighting back the hot tears that threatened to rise. He was being an idiot, love-struck fool. Crying certainly wouldn’t have Thorin coming back to him; if anything that would only create cause for mockery, and the halfling had had quite enough of being laughed at for one lifetime. He was halfway convinced the Company was secretly having a blast with this whole affair and had only feigned interest in his people’s customs to further their amusement.
Anger welled up in the hobbit at that, his mouth setting in a tight, grim line as he straightened his posture. He was a Baggins, and Baggins’ were not the butts of jokes, and he refused to let this nonsense go any further. Turning his attention back to the two dwarves a few paces ahead of him, he nodded.
“Thorin,” he addressed, a hint of is aggravation painting his tone. His voice was steady, though, and that’s all he really cared about at the moment. “I was just going to my room, but it is quite fortuitous that I have run into you, as I would like to speak with you.”
The older dwarf said nothing at first, his face betraying none of his thoughts before he said in a stony voice, “I was hoping to have a word with you as well.”
Bilbo scoffed before looking away briefly and shaking his head. Turning back to the dwarves, he shook his head. “I want you to know, I am accustomed to trysts and being used for one night, and I am fine with that,” he began, inwardly flinching at the way his voice broke. “I am, and I am perfectly fine if that is all that had happened. What I don’t appreciate is being tossed away a-and ignored. With so much of our journey ahead of us, I would very much prefer that we come to terms with what happened and we move on.”
Now the hobbit looked away, unable to take the way Thorin’s face did not change in light of his words. “I understand now that your culture is very different from mine own, and that continuing relations with me could present uncomfortable problems. Being an inconvenience to you is the last thing I would wish to do.”
He was losing his confidence as he continued, and now was just beginning to babble out his thoughts. “I also realize that my being a hobbit, and a simple one at that, would be unsatisfactory to one of such stature as yourself. I am no warrior, and quite useless at any artisan trade, and as you know, quite hairless. I am both useless and ugly to your kind, so I understand completely if you wished to end relations with me.
Bilbo looked up, somewhat satisfied that he had finally ruffled the king’s feathers. What he hadn’t counted on was the look of abject horror to come over Thorin’s expression, and for a moment Bilbo feared he had said something terribly offensive. But at this point, he didn’t much care. He had sat through three days of silence from the dwarf when it would have taken but one conversation to set everything to rights.
“I don’t want your words, Thorin,” Bilbo continued quietly. “They are as useful to me as your silence has been. If…” he trailed off and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steel himself. “If anything I have said isn’t true, you can find me in my bedroom for the rest of the night.”
And with that, he walked past Thorin and his nephew briskly, dodging a hand (whether it belonged to Thorin or Fíli, he wasn’t sure) that reached out to him and slipped into his room. Though his thoughts derailed slightly in the middle, he was quite proud of himself for getting them out steadily, for the most part.
He had only taken a few steps into the cavernous bedroom, eying the intimidatingly large bed warily, when he heard the door slam open and shut. Before the hobbit could even turn, he was grabbed by the shoulders and hauled around, his back hitting the wall. He looked up into fiery blue eyes, cowering slightly under the intensity of Thorin’s glare.
The king seemed to soften, and soon Bilbo found their mouths slotted together, desperate in their need. This wasn’t something they shared that cold night, and the hobbit had been secretly bemoaning that fact. Now, as their tongues and lips moved against each other, he was glad that it was saved for this moment.
After too short a time, Thorin pulled away, gasping and staring down at Bilbo. When he opened his mouth to speak, Bilbo pressed his fingers lightly to the dwarf’s lips.
“I don’t want your words, Thorin,” he repeated, a blush rising to his cheeks at his boldness. He essentially just shushed royalty. Heaven help him if this backfired.
The dwarf didn’t hesitate to reach up and loose one of his braids, taking the bead that had held it together in one hand, and Bilbo’s wrist in the other. Pressing the bead firmly into Bilbo’s palm, he dipped his head to make eye contact with him.
“It is the best I could offer in the circumstances,” he said softly, sighing quietly as Bilbo dumbly closed his fingers around the small metal thing. “If you are agreeable to observing dwarven traditions, of course. As king, certain…things are expected of my conduct—”
Bilbo laughed, though it came out as more of a giggle. “The King Under the Mountain cannot be seen with flowers in his hair?” the hobbit teased, his voice cracking as happy tears flooded his eyes.
“Something to that effect,” Thorin responded with a light chuckle and their lips were once again occupied in a slow, burning kiss. The passion built, their breaths becoming damp, heavy panting as Bilbo wrapped his arms around the dwarves neck and pulled himself flush against his chest.
“Do you accept?” the dwarf asked without breaking the sloppy kiss, his words muffled in Bilbo’s mouth.
“Of course,” the hobbit fairly sobbed, nodding vigorously.
“Then get on the bed,” Thorin groaned and extracted himself from the halfling’s needy grip around his neck. Bilbo hurried across the room, removing his clothing as he went and climbed onto the bed, completely naked with the bead still in his hand.
Thorin stared at him hungrily before he shrugged his coat off of his shoulders and let it pool on the ground around his feet. Bilbo licked his lips, twin blotches of colour rising to his cheeks as he watched the hard body of his lover (fiancé?) bare itself before him. His mouth went dry as he stared, eyes darkening in desire as he took in the naked, weathered flesh of Thorin Oakenshield.
Gods, he had to be a deity in his own right, the sculpted muscles of his abdomen alone hard enough to crush salt. There was a thick carpet of dark curls covering the broad expanse of Thorin’s chest, thinning and tapering to a thin line that cut down the center of his abdomen. Beneath his navel, the dark hair fanned out into his pubes, making a thick nest of dark curls around the base of his cock.
And by the gods, how could that have possibly fit inside him that night on the Carrock? The fact that it had with minimal discomfort, all things considered, alleviated some of his anxiousness, making way for the flood of arousal that filled him.
Dragging his eyes back up to Thorin’s face, and smiled shyly, as if he hadn’t just drooled at the very sight of him.
“I need you,” Bilbo said quietly, lying back and spreading his legs in what he hoped was an enticing manner. It seemed to do the trick regardless, because he soon found himself pinned to the bed by a naked dwarf, his mouth claimed in a brutal kiss. The halfling keened in the back of his throat, reaching a hand up to tangle his fingers into the hair at the base of Thorin’s skull. That raven mane was simply amazing, the way it fell down around them in a curtain, and the streaks of grey blown through the front had Bilbo embarrassingly weak in the knees.
Large calloused hands were all over his body, setting Bilbo’s nerve-endings on fire and making him squirm desperately.
“When I said I needed you, I meant sometime tonight,” the halfling groaned, breaking the kiss, and squeezed the bead hard enough to make an imprint on his palm. “Please, my king.”
Thorin’s head lifted suddenly at that, his eyes blown with sudden arousal, only a sliver of blue around the wide pupils. Keeping his eyes locked with Thorin’s, Bilbo was vaguely aware of the dwarf fumbling with something between them, gasping happily when slick fingers were pressed teasingly against his entrance. One digit slid inside, pulling a gasping scream from the hobbit.
“Yes!” he cried out, flushing at the dark chuckle from above him, but not caring much at all. He groaned as the king began to move inside him, stretching him slowly before inserting a second finger.
Thorin worked his way up to four fingers, slowly unhinging the hobbit until Bilbo was almost screaming with need, his heart thumping loudly in his throat.
“Thorin please, I need you, now!” he begged, spreading his legs wide and reaching for the dwarf’s thick cock. The king kissed him and removed his fingers, grabbing a flask of oil and pouring a generous amount over his cock, most of it landing on the duvet beneath the hobbit.
Without any further delay, Thorin was pressing into Bilbo’s tight entrance, the blunt head of his cock spreading the hobbit’s loose, slick hole wide for him to slip inside. The press and slide against the ring of his anus had Bilbo arching and scrambling for purchase on the bed. It felt so much better like this, his hazel eyes wide as he watched his king’s face go slack with pleasure.
He looked wrecked, his mouth falling open as he bottomed out, eyes half-lidded over blown pupils.
“Mahal, you’re gorgeous,” the dwarf groaned as he began to move, his thrusts shallow and perfect as they nudged deliciously against Bilbo’s prostate. “So perfect.”
Bilbo flushed deep crimson at the compliments as he moved his hips upwards to gain more stimulation. He keened in the back of his throat as the dwarf’s pistoning hips quickened against his arse, the thick length inside of him stabbing deep into his core. It was absolutely perfect.
A large hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him slowly as Thorin began fucking him hard and deep, pulling gasping whines from the hobbit with every stroke in.
“Oh, Gods!” Bilbo shuddered as the dwarf’s cock nailed his prostate with brutal force, a glob of precome oozing out of his slit and dribbling down Thorin’s fingers. It slicked the slide of the dwarf’s hand on his prick even further.
“I need to—” Bilbo began, but another slam of Thorin’s cock into his arse had the hobbit arching off the bed with a shout, toes curling until the turned white, and hand squeezing the bead he was gifted so tightly it hurt.
“Come for me, Bilbo,” Thorin groaned, the hand he was using to stroke the hobbit quickening, his hips stuttering as his own release approached.
Bilbo arced off the bed as his climax rattled through him, Thorin’s name spilling from his lips in a keening cry. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, his hands seeking Thorin’s hair and braids blindly as molten cum splashed across his abdomen and chest.
A guttural sound came from above the reeling halfling, followed quickly by a vicious thrust into his constricting channel, and Thorin was pulsing his release deep inside him, liquid heat pooling in his lower back. Bilbo breathed a fluttery sigh, mouth slack and eyes shut as the dwarf rutted through his orgasm and muttered in his harsh, foreign language.
Bilbo shuddered, letting his hands fall to his sides, and he rolled the bead around in his palm contentedly as Thorin stilled, the dwarf’s heavy breaths chilling the sweat on Bilbo’s face. The king smiled down at him, teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness of the room and the halfling returned the gesture ten-fold. Thorin moved, and they both grunted as his cock slid free with a wet sound.
The dwarf slid off the bed and stepped over to his clothes that were pooled on the floor to search them. Bilbo sighed happily, achy and sated, and admired the broad expanse of his lover’s back. When Thorin returned, his smile still in place, he carried with him a strip of leather and held his hand out expectantly.
Confused, Bilbo sat up slowly and handed the bead over (it being the only thing he was able to give to the dwarf) and watched as Thorin threaded the leather through the hole.
“Until your hair is long enough for a proper braid,” he said by way of explanation as he tied it around Bilbo’s slender wrist. The king paused as he tied it off and met Bilbo’s eyes. “You understand my status demands quite a bit of publicity where my marriage is concerned, yes?”
Bilbo blushed scarlet and nodded vigorously as he said, “I can handle it. I want this, and I love you, and it will be the one time. It will be fine.”
He found his mouth claimed in a heated kiss and pushed back onto the bed, a chuckle leaving his throat as Thorin climbed back on top of him.
“Again, so soon?” Bilbo teased as calloused hands wandered his smooth body, sending delightful shivers singing through his body.
“If only I could,” the dwarf laughed, pulling away to look down at the hobbit. “Alas, I am no youth and will require more rest.”
“Then, it is something to look forward to,” Bilbo said with a beaming smile as he leaned up to steal another kiss from his dwarf.
SERIES TO BE CONTINUED