A Cold Bath or Three
Part I of Quite, Quite Scandalous
Thorin rued the moment he'd let the hobbit ride in front of him. Bilbo's short trousers meant his ankles were bared to Thorin in the most delicious, inviting and completely improper manner he'd ever witnessed. And he claimed to be respectable! Thorin had never seen such openly wanton behaviour in all his life.
He also rued the decision to ride. This was making for a very uncomfortable journey.
"Someone get the halfling a change of clothes," Thorin ordered as they settled their packs down after the first day of riding the Mahal-forsaken ponies.
"Really, I'm quite alright," the hobbit insisted, setting himself down on a log. Thorin couldn't help but notice how the trouser legs rode slightly further up his legs, smooth and hairless and...
Thorin had to close his eyes and turn around before he did anything he'd regret later.
"I think you'll appreciate hardier attire after a few nights of sleeping rough," Thorin replied, hoping the others wouldn't notice how husky his voice was. He cleared his throat surreptitiously, and had to swallow hard when Bilbo leaned down and began soothing his ankles, massaging the fair skin at the junction between leg and foot.
"I've done a fair bit of walking and sleeping rough in my youth, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo said; Thorin had to bite his lip when Bilbo let out a little groan as he continued his ministrations on his feet and ankles. "And my clothes have come out fine from it. I assure you that Mr Pearson of Hobbiton's tailoring is made to endure a little rough use."
Thorin's mind supplied him with plenty of images of rough use, all featuring Bilbo with clothes preferably far out of sight.
Oh Mahal. This wasn't going to end well if stubborn Master Baggins didn't just do as he was asked. Especially when Bilbo shot him a smile, cheeks flushed and curls in disarray as he finished with his feet, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Oh dear, sweet Mahal! There was only so much temptation a dwarf could withstand, and today was evidently just not Thorin's day. He turned on his heel, stalking off into the trees and away from the camp and their wanton halfling burglar.
He hoped there was a stream nearby - he needed a cold bath. Or perhaps two, he thought afterwards; Bilbo's pale ankles flitting through his mind again.
Make that three...