Hard As Rock
Part IV of Quite, Quite Scandalous
Thorin had made sure ever since the first day not to let the halfling ride in front of him. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, not him! He smiled in grim satisfaction.
He'd wondered a couple of times if Gandalf had been trying to hint at his lack of persuit after pleasures of the flesh, but he'd never thought the wizard would be so bold as to plant a pint-sized, useless, irritating but admittedly attractive seductor into their midst. One with particularly fine ankles.
Well, Thorin wasn't falling for it. The hobbit could flash his ankles as much as he liked in that lewd manner of his, but Thorin would not fall prey to his wiles! He was of the line of Durin, he was noble, he was strong and unyielding and hard as rock (in fact he really was, and he shifted in the saddle to try and ease the pressure) -
He grit his teeth and turned as the halfling's laughter rang out clear behind him, ready to tell him to quieten down, but found that that was a mistake. Bilbo's head was thrown back in laughter at something his companion had said, exposing a small triangle of creamy skin at his neck, where his shirt buttons weren't done up (why weren't they done up? Was he trying to seduce the whole company in front of his very eyes?)
But what made Thorin's blood pound was the small hand he reached out and touched to his companion's elbow. His elbow.
Thorin narrowed his eyes. Bofur. Of course Bofur would accept the halfling's attentions... had he not told the burglar the significance of that touch? The intimacy of a touch to the elbow?
Thorin remembered being a dwarf just of age, sitting at breakfast one morning with his mother and siblings. His father had entered and had greeted his mother in an entirely respectable manner; one touch to her elbow and the two had started giggling and Thorin hadn't seen them for the rest of the day, which he'd subsequently spent trying to get Thrór to let Dís win at chess (his grandfather had been entirely too competitive).
So to touch Bofur's elbow so casually, and with those fingers, so nimble and quick and Thorin stop there or this saddle may be the end of you-
He took a deep breath, ignoring the way Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow at him.
"Halfling!" Thorin called. The hobbit raised his large doe eyes to Thorin, all dumb innocence. He wasn't going to fall for it, he could see the halfling's scheming ways...
"Keep the noise down," he said gruffly, averting his eyes at the unreadable look on Bilbo's face. "Wargs will hear you."
"Yes, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo said quietly. Thorin most certainly did not look at him one last time for a glimpse of those shapely ankles...
No. He was a Durin. He was unyielding. He was... totally, hopelessly screwed. (But not in the way that he'd like.)
Again, thanks to my awesome friend, still affectionately nicknamed QueenofInnuendo.