Chapter Text
Thorin rolls on top of him slowly, mouth never once leaving his own. It’s nice, Bilbo notes absently, to be pressed down by a large, warm weight while soft kisses are planted upon his lips again and again. Thorin’s mouth is wet from their prolonged kissing, and it moves slowly against Bilbo’s; pleasantly, Bilbo thinks, as he winds his fingers into long black hair.
Thorin sighs lightly against his lips and his hands move to cup Bilbo’s face, elbows pressed into the bed beside Bilbo’s shoulders. Calloused dwarven fingers creep steadily along the side of his head, and Bilbo gasps when one brushes gently against the bottom of his ear. Thorin moves back slightly at that, lips parting from Bilbo’s with a soft smack, and he raises a considering eyebrow at the hobbit as his finger creeps steadily further along Bilbo’s ear.
Bilbo melts. It feels so nice, like something familiar and pleasant and exceedingly comfortable has taken root inside his chest and is steadily spreading outwards, warming him from the inside. Bilbo thinks he must make a sound of pleasure, because suddenly Thorin is grinning down smugly at him.
“I think you like that,” he whispers, rubbing his finger against the shell of Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo can only nod mutely.
As his finger continues to toy with Bilbo’s ear, Thorin bends his head forward to press kisses against Bilbo’s neck. His mouth moves slowly and methodically, kisses dragging against Bilbo’s pulse point before moving up and up until teeth catch on the bottom of his other ear. Bilbo gasps out again as a tongue steadily laps against him, and when Thorin’s lips close lightly on the pointed tip of his ear, Bilbo loses the ability to think. Thorin sucks, and suddenly all Bilbo knows is the rough rasp of his own breath and the curl of his toes against Thorin’s calves.
“Bilbo,” Thorin rumbles between kisses, his own breath gone short and stuttering. “You’re amazing like this.”
Bilbo wants to thank him, wants to tell Thorin that he’s amazing too, but he can’t form the words to do it. He can’t say anything and it suddenly strikes Bilbo with a sickening clarity that he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. His chest feels tight, like he can’t draw air into his lungs and every time he tries Thorin’s tongue flicks lightly against the tip of his ear or his finger brushes against the lobe and Bilbo ends up gasping for a breath that he still can’t take. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.
All of a sudden the kisses stop. Bilbo finally manages to suck in a breath and it very nearly startles him, the abruptness of it unexpected and jarring. He’s dizzy, and his chest hurts, and his heart is beating rapidly like drums in the deep. The weight pinning him to the mattress slowly starts to move away and Bilbo wants to protest – desperately wants that warmth to keep him grounded – but he still can’t find his words.
“Bilbo?”
He turns his head at the sound of his name, to where Thorin is now lying beside him rather than on top of him. The dwarf’s eyes are creased in worry and Bilbo suddenly realises that Thorin has been asking if he’s alright.
I’m fine, Bilbo tries to say around his stuttering, unsteady breaths, but the words catch sharply on a cough in his throat, and after that it’s like he can’t stop. Every cough seems to drag painfully against his lungs, and he presses his hands against his chest in a futile effort to make it stop hurting. Stronger hands than his own grasp him by the shoulders and pull him upright, before moving to rub soothing patterns over his back.
Eventually the coughing peters out and Thorin’s hands retreat only to return with a cool glass of water. Bilbo drinks deeply from it, and when he’s done he gives in to his urge for comfort and leans into Thorin’s side, burying his face against Thorin’s neck. After a moment of apparent hesitation, Thorin’s arms wrap around him, and he reverts back to stroking the same calming patterns along Bilbo’s back again. They sit like that for a while before Bilbo tries to speak.
“I’m not sure why I…” Bilbo breaks off, feeling heat rising in his cheeks. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, if he’s honest. It’s embarrassing enough that he reacted so extremely; trying to explain why when he himself doesn’t know the answer is excruciating. He tries once more, all the same.
“I was… It was just…” He falters.
“Too much?” Thorin suggests quietly, after a beat of silence. Perhaps, Bilbo thinks, and nods against his neck.
“I’m sorry,” murmurs Thorin. “I should have noticed sooner.”
“It’s alright. I’m sorry too. For ruining everything when we were having fun.”
The hands on his back still for a moment.
“Don’t say that,” Thorin breathes into his curls. “It’s not going to be fun for me if you’re not enjoying it.”
But I was, thinks Bilbo. He was enjoying it. At least, until he wasn’t. He isn’t sure what that means but there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t have reacted that way. Not to something he’d been enjoying so much only seconds before.
“Bilbo?” Thorin asks again, and that note of worry is back in his tone.
“I’m fine now,” says Bilbo quickly, wanting to reassure him more than anything else.
Thorin pulls back a little and looks at Bilbo intently, brow creased in concern. “Are you sure?”
I don’t know. “Yes. Can we just go to sleep, please?”
Thorin stares at him for a moment longer before he nods, leaning over to blow out the candles on their bedside table. His arms curl around Bilbo again as the two of them lie down, and Bilbo pillows his head upon Thorin’s chest to listen to the steady thudding of his heart.
Bilbo lies awake for a long time until the rhythm of Thorin’s soft snoring eventually lulls him to sleep.