Author's Note: this is technically in the same universe as the fic titled "you're a restless dream (to me)", which if you've read that you can pretty much guess when this takes place? IDK, dudes, I was just overwhelmed by this universe and the possibilities like, omfg, can you imagine Thorin with his arm curled around a sixteen year old Tauriel because she's angry at Fili and Bilbo called dibs on dealing with Fili (which isn't fair, but Bilbo hadn't exactly left his husband with a lot of time to argue when he rushed out to follow the furious blond boy) and just- ugh, I've done it again. This modern AU has me by the balls, omfg, this is the worst thing ever, do you know how much WEPO homework I have? Anyway, Bagginshield like whoa (aren't you impressed with me?) and utterly, sickenly adorable. You've been warned, yo.
Disclaimer: I don't own shit. Also the title is based off another Jack's Mannequin song because reasons.
"Wake up, you big brute."
"No," Thorin muttered, burrowing further under the quilt. It was warm and quiet, the absolute definition of peaceful. It was never this quiet or nice and there was no good reason for Thorin to give this up, not for anyone.
"Get out of that bed, you lumpy dolt," the voice insisted. A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him lightly. He moaned and shoved his face under his pillow, trying to ignore the way the hand was rocking him back and forth. He tried to swat at the hand through the quilt, but it drew back, swatting him back.
"Must we do this every morning," his husband asked dryly. Thorin yelped as he was pinched, the hand that had been shaking him sneaking under the quilt to reach his skin. He tried to wiggle away from the pinching hand, but instead the quilt drew back, exposing him to the chilly air.
"Now, now," his husband scolded when he peeked open his eyes to glare up at him. "It's breakfast time, you know."
"I hate breakfast time," Thorin muttered sullenly. Bilbo threw back his head and laughed, the sound warm and smooth, like a good cup of tea. The light was coming in through that damned window Bilbo had insisted needed white curtains instead of the completely sensible black curtains that he had wanted to get, temporarily blinding him. But then Bilbo leaned over him, the sunlight catching in his hair like it was a golden stain glass window, lighting him up like a star. The light threw sharp highlights on the dimple in his husband's grin, the sparkle of his eyes and the freckles across his cheeks.
Thorin's previous thought about not giving up his warm peaceful state for anyone wavered slightly when faced with the sight of his husband, who made for an even warmer and more inviting image. Thorin squinted up at him, trying to pull together the stubbornness he was infamous for, but found himself uncurling more toward his husband by the second. Thorin almost wished for the brash unyielding willpower he had possessed in his youth; almost, but not quite.
"Good morning, love," Bilbo murmured to him. His husband's hand curled around his shoulder, knuckles brushing down his bare skin. His husband was wearing one of his old rugby sweaters, the one with the hole almost worn in the elbow and the limp sleeves that drew over his short fingers. Thorin loved the sight of Bilbo wrapped in that ratty old sweater, though he loved any sight of his husband wrapped inside his clothes, that little cloth thief that Bilbo was.
"If you loved me, you'd let me sleep until noon," Thorin murmured back, completely incapable of letting things go, especially when it came to bantering with Bilbo. Many an argument had been started because he couldn't just drop something, had to drag it behind them until it was beaten dead, but Bilbo just shrugged, lips quirked in one of his grins, the one that had always driven Thorin wild when they were first dating.
"I wake you before noon because I love you," Bilbo answered, drawing back. "And also because I do not want to hear you complain about how your nephews ate all the eggs while you slept." He turned and made to leave the room, shuffling his hands back into the pockets of his ridiculous patchwork robe as he went. Sleepy and grumpy though he was, Thorin was possessed by a sudden rushing need that gripped him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He threw himself out of their warm, sunlit bed, not bothering to pause for a second, not even when his bare feet touched the icy hardwood floor.
Thorin wrapped himself around his shorter husband, burying against Bilbo's warmth and pulling him to a stop just before their bedroom door. It was chillier than he had thought, standing out in the open in only his pajama bottoms, but he tucked his nose against Bilbo's throat, the edges of his husband's blond hair tickling his cheek, and burrowed his hands against the man's sides. Bilbo huffed out a breath, more a breath that was almost in the shape of Thorin's name as his hands came up to card through Thorin's tangled hair. A feather-light kiss was pressed against his temple and for a long moment they just stood there, Thorin's skin peppering with gooseflesh from the cold, Bilbo's chest rising and falling against Thorin's forearms.
"I do love you, you know," Thorin muttered, shy and quiet like a teenager on his first damned date. His chest felt tight, like his lungs were being squeezed until scarcely a breath could remain inside; it was the same feeling that always happened whenever he got up the courage to verbally remind Bilbo he loved him. Though he needn't have worried, because where others might have chuckled at his insecure actions, Bilbo only twisted around so that they were facing each other, pressing a firm kiss to the side of his mouth.
"I know," Bilbo told him quietly, absolutely serious. "I love you too, even if you are a daft, diurnally challenged brute." Bilbo pressed another firm kiss against Thorin's lips before drawing back, giving him a lazy grin as he did so. "Now come out to breakfast, I've got the coffee maker on and turning out that awful sludge you like so much."
"Shouldn't I put on a shirt?" Thorin asked lightly, digging his fingers into his husband's side to keep him close and grinning. Bilbo wrinkled his nose, like the thought of taking the time to put on a shirt offended him personally.
"Whatever for," Bilbo asked, batting his eyes at Thorin and grinning brightly. "I'm enjoying the view." Thorin laughed quietly, wishing for half a second that they could crawl back into bed instead, curling up in the sunlight and trading remarks and kisses all day. It was Saturday after all, but their house was full once more, Fili and Tauriel home from university, and there was holiday decorating to be done, holiday decorating Bilbo had been purposefully putting off so that the two university students could join in. He wanted to be annoyed at their rag-tag group of children, but found that he was too happy at the prospect of having them all under one roof again to muster up the annoyance, which Dwalin would have surely pointed out as a sign that he was going soft in his old age. He included Tauriel in that group as well, of course. After all he had clipped braids in her hair, pressed bandages on her bony scraped knees, and watched her grow just as much as he had Fili and Kili; if anyone had tried to hurt her or keep her from them against her will Throin was going to make them pay for it in blood, that was for sure, just as much as he would for Frodo, Fili, and Kili, soft old age or not.
"I'm going to point the boys in your direction when they start wailing about their poor innocent eyes," Thorin promised. Bilbo laughed again, his whole body shaking with mirth, and Thorin closed his eyes and pressed his nose against his husband's throat once more. They wouldn't have a second of peace once their rag-tag group of children was up, but for one moment there was no one shouting or running about who needed their attention and Thorin was free to curl against his husband and hoard all of Bilbo's affection to himself.