Damn these two. They've taken over my life. I've had no sleep at all since I first saw The Hobbit (the second, third and fourth viewings didn't help). I spend my days and nights dreaming of impossibly lovely things for them to do to each other. Here are some of them.
Snaps to you if you can spot the line I borrowed (slightly mangled) from The Great Gatsby.
Disclaimer: Dear Mr Tolkien, I'm so so sorry. Truly I am. But you shouldn't have made them so much fun to play with.
As soon as he opens the door he knows something's horribly wrong. There's a sudden rush of fear, a clenching in the pit of his stomach. His mouth dry and his heart hammering, he rushes blindly in. The house is cold and silent. No Kíli to greet him at the door, flinging himself into his brother's arms. Frantically, he rushes straight to their room and there is Kíli, hunched in the bed, curled around himself as if in pain, shivering uncontrollably. Fíli reaches desperately for him, his heart hammering with fear.
"Kíli?" he says and he can hear the fear in his own voice, and he tells himself to be calm, it's probably nothing, it's probably just the flu, but he's never been able to be calm when it comes to Kíli suffering in any way. Gently, he touches Kíli's arm, eliciting a soft moan, then his forehead, which burns like fire. Already Fíli is planning who he will send to get the doctor, who has the fastest horse, who can be trusted to convey the message that will save his brother's life – for he will not leave Kíli's side, he knows that now. He curses himself for ever leaving. He was only gone two days. I'm so sorry, he thinks, if only I'd been here when you got sick…
"Kíli?" he says again desperately, pushing his brother's mess of dark hair back from his face, willing his eyes to open, checking his pulse. But Kíli looks like death, pale and cold. He still hasn't moved. Fíli, panicking now, begins to shake him, calling his name over and over again. He moans, which breaks Fíli's heart but at last, thank Aule, his eyelids flicker.
Slowly, painfully, his eyes focus on Fíli. The message is clear: help me. Fíli burns with guilt for ever leaving his brother's side. Kíli looks wretched. He is sure he is going to die.
Just as he is about to leave to send word for the doctor, Kíli clutches at his arm to draw him closer again, although it is obvious the movement hurts him. Fíli's heart lurches and he kneels back down by the bed.
"It's OK, it's OK, shush," he soothes, then realises his brother is trying to speak.
"Kíli? Kíli, tell me, what is it?"
Kíli's lips are parched and dry and his throat burns. Watching him try to speak is almost unbearable.
"B – b – " he begins and gasps. Fíli leans closer, offers water from the bedside table and cradles his brother's head while he drinks.
"Bofur," he whispers hoarsely and Fíli's forehead crinkles in confusion. What about Bofur?
"Bofur," says Kíli again, struggling not to cough. "Bofur's birthday," he finishes eventually, and exhausted he slumps back down on the pillow and closes his eyes.
It is all the explanation he needs. "For Mahal's sake Kíli, I thought – I thought you were dying or something!" he spits out angrily.
There is a moment of silence, then the voice from the bed says, quite clearly and very pathetically, "I am," and follows it up with a moan just to make his point. "I am," he insists pitifully.
Fíli shoves himself away from the bed in disgust, angry at Kili, but more furious at himself for being so stupid and jumping to conclusions. The older he gets, the more calm and level-headed he strives to become, as befits an heir of the line of Durin. But with Kíli, it is different. His love overrides all sense.
He makes a mental note to berate Bifur, Bofur and Bombur for getting his brother into this state. Again. He can easily picture the scene in The Cow and Calf. No doubt his brother was very amusing.
There is silence from the direction of the bed, then a sad sniffle that Fíli resolutely refuses to acknowledge. He stomps over to his own bed, takes off his boots and his travelling cloak, flings his jacket on the chair with more force than it requires. He hurls his boots across the room where doubtless one of them will trip over them later and curse the other for leaving them there.
"Ohhhh," moans the voice from the bed. "Owwww. Ouch. It huuurts…" it adds, unnecessarily. Fíli ignores it, although a part of him is wincing inside and he swears he can feel his own head pounding in sympathy. There is silence for a minute or two then the moaning starts again, a little louder this time.
"It serves you right," Fíli says crossly, turning his back. I am absolutely not sulking, he tells himself.
"Ohhh…" says Kíli, in the most pathetic tones he can muster. "It huuuuurts…" But still no reaction comes from his brother, so he tries a different tactic. "I looked after you last time," he says morosely.
"Don't remind me," says Fíli, shuddering at the memory. The boys have few rules (that is, rules that they follow as opposed to rules other people try to impose on them, which they gleefully break every chance they get) but one of those rules came into existence that day: If you must go out drinking with Dwalin, never ever try to keep up.
"Fíli, you're being mean," whines Kíli, sounding just like he did when they were dwarflings. Fíli curses under his breath. Damn you and your cuteness, he thinks. You always get away with everything. But not this time.
He stomps to the fireplace and begins to stoke the embers. He adds more coal and wood, gazing moodily into the flames as they rise, trying to occupy his mind entirely with the task; but every time he hears Kíli shift in the bed, his heart tugs him towards his brother. With what he considers to be a heroic effort, he curls himself into the armchair and turns his eyes defiantly towards the fire.
There are a few moments of blessed silence then Kíli sighs dramatically. "I had a fight with beer," he admits. "And I lost…" he adds, sadly.
Fíli doesn't move, but there is a sudden snuffling sound, like someone trying to suppress a snort of laughter, and Kíli knows he's won this round. Fíli's self-control melts away and he allows his heart to draw him towards the bed, to lay down beside Kili, which is where he always wants to be.
"Oh, Kíli," he murmurs softly, reaching his arm around the younger one's waist. Kíli whimpers. It is ridiculously cute. "Come here, stupid," Fíli whispers and Kíli turns over and clings to him like his life depends on it. His hands grip Fíli's shirt and he presses his face into his brother's chest. In perfect harmony, they both sigh with the relief that only comes from being in each other's arms. He strokes Kíli's dark hair, smoothing out the worst of the tangles, kissing the silky locks. Amused, he pulls out a leaf he recognises from the mulberry bush on the path outside the front door. Kíli always maintains that this bush attacks him whenever he comes home drunk. Fíli has seen him fall into it countless times and it always makes him roar with laughter. He strokes Kíli's hair again and pulls out a few wisps of straw. You went to say goodnight to the ponies before you went to bed, he thinks. At least you didn't fall asleep in the stables this time. I love you so much he thinks, but doesn't say it. Instead he says, "You're an idiot."
"Mmmpf," says Kíli noncommittally, his face buried in Fíli's shirt. "Can I get in your bed?" he murmurs sleepily.
"Course you can," says Fíli lovingly, his hand against Kíli's cheek. "Come on then." He half-drags, half-carries sleepy Kíli across the floor to his own bed. Then he realises. "Aaargh, Kíli, you've still got your boots on!" says Fíli with disgust. "You are not getting in my bed with them on! Take them off!"
But Kíli just whines pathetically "don't be mean". Exasperated, Fíli gets him to sit on the side of the bed and tries to tug them off. The boots are filthy (did you get drunk in a swamp? thinks Fíli). There is mud everywhere. And Kíli is very definitely being unhelpful, saying ouch and twisting away as if Fíli's trying to saw his leg off instead of help him. Fíli's patience is starting to wear thin. They tussle briefly and somehow Kíli ends up on the floor. He looks up at Fíli reproachfully. It isn't a bit funny.
Because he is a sucker for Kíli's puppy-dog eyes (who isn't?) Fíli sits on the floor next to him and, more gently this time, coaxes Kíli out of his boots. He pulls him to a standing position then tugs off Kíli's shirt because, sweaty hungover mess though he may be, Fíli always wants to feel Kíli's skin next to his. He sheds his own shirt then, "come here," he says gently and with a grateful sigh, they collapse onto the bed. Kíli turns and takes up his favourite position, his head on his brother's shoulder, one arm reaching over his chest, pressing his face into Fili's neck. He feels Fíli's strong arms wrap protectively around him and for the first time that today, his monstrous headache starts to diminish. He drifts in and out of sleep for a while but is woken by Fíli's voice in his ear.
"You know the best cure for a hangover?" he whispers seductively, one hand caressing Kíli's thigh.
"Mmm? What?" says Kíli.
"By Mahal, you're dense," groans Fíli and begins to kiss his neck, licking sweet, smooth, salty skin.
"Can we do it when I'm not dying?" asks Kíli hopefully.
Fíli relents. "Yeah. You're so pathetic," he teases but his brother doesn't rise to the bait, so Fíli figures he must be feeling really awful. He shuffles around to get comfortable, lying on his back again so Kíli can sleep with his head on his shoulder. Soothingly, he strokes Kíli's back. "Go to sleep," he whispers. "I've got you." Kíli makes a sound that is half sigh, half squeak and a hundred per cent cute, and is asleep in seconds.
...
Fíli wakes with a start, somehow knowing it is hours later. He must have fallen asleep stroking Kíli's hair. His fingers are still tangled in the dark silky locks. Through the haze of sleep that still clings to his mind, Fíli is dimly aware of something delicious happening.
Lovely Kíli, entirely naked it would seem, lying on top of him. His hot tongue curling round the contours of his neck and jaw. His long supple fingers tracing the muscles on Fíli's belly, already sliding down…
Fíli cracks an eye open.
"Feeling better?" he asks, with a smirk.
Kíli's face splits into a wicked grin.
"Yeah."
His voice is still husky but his eyes shine with the familiar Kíli-mischief.
"How about that cure then?"
Well, that was it - my first fan fic ever, so reviews are very welcome.
This story is dedicated to my man, who is distinctly Kili-like when hungover. To him must go all credit for the "I had a fight with beer" line. Just in case you think I'm some kind of hangover genius. (I'm not. He is. But he still lost the fight.)