Disclaimer: same one as before, applies here... sadly. :(

A/N: So here is part two of this smutty little thing that I had promised my beloved redroses100! Prepare for skinny dipping Dwarves (and one Hobbit), Thorin being all jelly, wonderful graphic sex by the waterside, and awkward morning after's. :) And yes I will admit to you all, that I can write drunken skinny dipping from experience... I should never be allowed to drink near bodies of water again. *facepalms* I hope you enjoy this second half, even though it was supposed to be one big one shot.

Enjoy!

One Starlit Night

Chapter Two: To love under the stars

The sky was so dark, it resembled the color of pitch. It would have been impossible to see any thing, if not for the crisp, clean and cloudless night only mid-summer had to offer. The moon hung heavy and full, and softly glowed like a welcoming beacon surrounded by a myriad of a million stars, each one twinkling like a precious diamond caught under the light. It was pleasantly warm, with a gentle breeze shifting through the trees and rustling the leaves and branches. Cricket song, and the lonely cries of the night blanketed what would have been silence.

Faintly, in the distance, the light and wonderful sound of a flowing river pervaded the other noises. Water rushing slowly over smooth rocks had always been the most calming sound to Bilbo Baggins; simple Hobbit of the Shire. Now however, he was dreading that melodious sound with each and every passing moment. A strong hand was gripped tightly around the Hobbits frail wrist, and he was being dragged forcefully in whatever direction Thorin wanted as said Dwarf was following his Nephews' lead.

The rest of the Company trailed behind, laughing heartily and acting like drunken idiots. It was hard enough for Bilbo to see and walk straight, with out Thorin jostling him around like a rag doll- since the Hobbit was still quite intoxicated. The abrasive Dwarf Prince seemed to pay little heed to his captive's well-being however, as he studiously ignored the stumbling Halfling in his possession. He tried not to dwell upon the delicate wrist clenched between his strong fingers, that with one decisive twist, he could snap in two. Or the heat radiating from Bilbo's silky smooth skin, the hazy yet beautiful quality in his stormy blue eyes...

Thorin bit back a curse, because Bilbo Baggins– soft, silly little Hobbit of the Shire had no right being so damn attractive! But there was no more denying it, the fact that he found the Halfling's smooth, and delicate features appealing. Some thing about his soft curly hair, big expressive eyes, and flawlessly pale skin made fire burn through Thorin's veins; until his resolve turned to ash. Even the Hobbit's damn ears turned him on, and that was some thing in and of itself, because they were so Elvish it should have made him sick! It was hard to resist their appeal though, especially when the pointed tips turned a soft pink color whenever Bilbo was embarrassed.

The surrounding Fir trees began to slowly thin out, and within moments they were all in a clearing, and standing before a wide river that gently meandered into the distance; possibly all the way to Mirkwood, or even the Lonely Mountain. There were appreciative cheers, and exclamations as the Company, full of rowdy Dwarves as it was, began disrobing in a flurry of shed furs and cloth- without even a shred of modesty, even among the young.

Without even a moments hesitation Bofur, Nori, Fíli and Kíli all jumped into the river; splashing cold water every where. Dwalin all but tackled Ori in, but the rest of the more older and mature Dwarves (i.e. Gloin, Ôin, Bifur, Bombur, Dori, and Balin) all waded in, in a more stately manner. It left only Thorin, who was still tightly holding onto Bilbo, both fully clothed and standing on the banks of the river.

After a few childish attempts at dunking one another below the waters surface, Fíli and Kíli finally took notice of their Uncle and the Halfling dilly-dallying upon the shore. They shot each other glances loaded with irritation at the predictability of their unwilling pawns. With sly grins slightly concealed by their beards and the shadows of the night, the two Durin brothers mutually agreed in silence, what had to be done.

With the sort of stealth not normally associated with Dwarves, Fíli and Kíli waded up onto the banks of the river and crept toward their awkwardly shuffling prey. They waited in the shadows, watched with keen eyes as Bilbo discreetly side eyed their Uncle; a definite appreciation for what he saw glimmering in his wide, glassy blue eyes. That was definitely their cue...

All at once they popped out, and unceremoniously shoved Bilbo and Thorin into the shockingly cold river. Fíli and Kíli roared with laughter as their Uncle's head was dunked under immediately by Dwalin- the rest of the Dwarves guffawing, and cheering on the sport the younger Durin's started. Long, ebony clumps of hair clung to the sides of Thorin's face, clinging to his beard as he glowered up at his meddlesome nephews.

Bilbo on the other hand, drunk as he still was, found it all to be highly entertaining. He was slumped against the river bank for support, as he cackled maniacally; pointing and wheezing at Thorin's look of shocked outrage over being so un-majestically drowned in the water like a sodden rat. "Oh Valar, you should see your face!"

Thorin scowled, not quite enjoying the Hobbit poking fun at him; but, it was all a small price to pay he wagered, for the sight he was so marvelously gifted. Moonlight shone its mithril rays upon the crown of Bilbo's wet curls, his golden hair practically shimmering against the stark contrast of night. His damp skin was pale, and milky like the fine pearls his mother once wore, when they lived in Erebor; his eyes, which gleamed and danced with the bubbliness of his laughter, were far more beautiful than the rarest of sapphires.

Bilbo's clothes now clung to his slight frame, what little clothes he actually wore... that cream, and rather sheer linen shirt now clinging to his torso like a second skin. And Mahal be blessed or damned, Thorin wasn't quite sure which at this point– he could practically see the Hobbits pert nipples, pink and hard from the cold.

It was the hardest thing Thorin had ever done, when he tore his heated gaze away from the Hobbits delectable appearance, now focusing all of his Kingly wrath upon his obnoxious sister-son's. He smirked, most of his expression hidden beneath the wet scruff of his beard as he stated; voice low and steady, but slightly mischievous, "Now now, two can play at that game."

Fíli and Kíli only had a moment to share a look of fear, before their Uncle was launching himself out of the river and at them. They tried to scramble away, but it was in vain– Thorin's strong grip taking hold of the wet masses of their hair, and yanking them both back with him, and into the water. They both sputtered, and tried to wriggle free, but their Uncle was having none of that, as he forcefully dunked them both beneath the surface.

Satisfied with his revenge, Thorin backed away, and actually laughed at his two nephew's appearances when they resurfaced; all braids and bangs covering half of their faces and spitting water out of their mouths.

Bilbo could barely breathe, he was laughing so hard at this point; his luminescent cheeks tainted the softest of pinks, his mouth stretched wide into the most impossibly happy smile Thorin had ever seen. It made some thing ache deep in the pit of his stomach; a primal desire to turn that mirthful expression into one full of blatant desire, and maddening pleasure. And, against his better judgement, it's what made him stalk forward- a playful smirk sculpting his sinfully sexy lips- and grab hold of the Halfling, only to sling him over one of his broad shoulders.

"H-hey," Bilbo squeaked, flailing about weakly as Thorin marched determinedly toward the deeper parts of the River, where most of the Dwarves were splashing about. "Put me down Thorin, don't you dare–" too late, the Hobbit thought when he caught one last flash of Thorin's devilish smile before he was dropped quite suddenly in the water. He panicked then, because he had never told the Dwarves that he didn't really know how to swim, and at the moment his feet had just scraped the river-bottom, and there was a good few feet of water above him.

Above, the Dwarves were all doubled over from laughter as their resident Burglar went spitting and hissing into the river. Thorin, however; realized after a minute that some thing was terribly wrong– Bilbo should have resurfaced by now, with a scowl and vengeance in his stormy blue eyes.

With fear making a painful lump in his throat, Thorin dove into the water; fingers scrambling around blindly for anything that might belong to his Hobbit. With an agonizing slowness that made it feel like an eternity had passed, his fingers finally weaved their way through silk soft curls. He fumbled lower, and grabbed hold of Bilbo's shirt front, before hauling him up, and above the surface of the water.

Bilbo immediately sucked in a great lung full of air, and coughed the water up and out of his lungs; slumping bodily into Thorin's shaking arms. "I'm so sorry Bilbo, I didn't know... please forgive me," the Dwarf Prince pleaded, his voice rough, and trembling in what Bilbo recognized as fear.

He shot Thorin a weak glare, but couldn't help the smile that wavered at the peripheral of his lips. "You're a right bastard, you know that right?"

Thorin laughed breathlessly, utter relief shining in his cobalt eyes. "Aye Master Baggins, I am quite aware of that fact." He tried not to blush, because everything he had ever desired, ever dreamed of having, was shaking in his arms right now.

"Good," Bilbo hiccoughed, his wide eyes still dilated and slightly unfocused, and Thorin knew then that the Hobbit was still rather drunk; even after all the excitement, a testament to how much liquor he had pumped into his tiny body.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Thorin carried the Hobbit back to the shoreline– studiously ignoring the curious, and knowing glances from his Company.

–

The night had grown old, and the novelty of splashing around in the water like little Dwarflings had finally worn off– even for Fíli and Kíli who almost never tired of getting into mischief. One by one, or in pairs Thorin noted with suspicion at Bofur and Nori, and Dwalin and Ori, the Dwarves all left the waters edge; until all that remained was Bilbo and himself.

The Hobbit sat up on the river bank, his large feet swishing around playfully in the water as he stared- head tipped back, and long pale throat exposed- up at the rich, dark sky. His shirt was drier now, but the buttons had all popped open, and nothing much was left to the imagination any more. Bilbo's chest was smooth, with not a single trace of hair to be seen. His belly was no longer as round as it once had been, but a few curves still retained some of the pudginess that Thorin found utterly appealing...

His gaze lowered, and stopped; frozen in its place when he caught sight of the light dusting of curly hair that lead down, and below Bilbo's waistline. A treasure trail indeed, Thorin admired the golden shade that meandered coyly to more, intimate places. Oh Mahal, he pleaded for the strength not to ravish the poor Halfling right then and there, as his loins twitched in interest at the alluring picture Bilbo was unknowingly painting.

And, as if he could read minds, Bilbo turned his attention on Thorin; his sweet face pulled tight with concern when he saw the Dwarf's obvious discomfort. "Thorin, is some thing wrong? You look... pained."

Oh if only you knew, Thorin bemoaned his fate; that out of all the beings on Middle Earth, he had fallen for the most respectable creature of all. He shuddered to think what Bilbo would say, if he knew how hot and heavy Thorin's eyes raked over his body when he wasn't looking. How he had worked himself off to thoughts of the Hobbit, dirty, filthy thoughts– of petal soft lips wrapped around his aching need, and round, plump arse cheeks ripe, and for the taking.

"I'm fine Master Baggins, only a bit chilled." Thorin had to grit that out through clenched teeth, because Bilbo's shirt had slid down one of his shoulders; practically screaming 'come hither' with how damn seductive it made him look.

"If you're cold," Bilbo's brow furrowed in concentration, as if he was trying to unravel the answer to a particularly difficult riddle, "then why don't you come up here, and sit with me?"

Thorin's face burned, shame making his arousal lessen a bit. Here he was, mentally ravaging the poor Hobbit, while Bilbo was innocently unaware. "I... I can't." He groaned, frustrated beyond belief by the situation. Normally his clothes would be bulky and loose enough to conceal his desire, but now that he was only in his tunic and breeches, all wet and stuck uncomfortably close to his body– there was no way Bilbo would not notice the hot, hard line of his cock. The only choice he had at this point was to wait until the throbbing in his nether regions went away, which wouldn't happen any time soon, if the Hobbit continued looking so ridiculously tempting.

"Why not? I won't bite Thorin," Bilbo sounded a little offended, and shot the Dwarf a dirty look.

I want you to bite Bilbo, lick and suck at me in places no lips have ever touched– I want that sweet, sinful mouth wrapped around— Thorin abruptly halted that train of thought, as his aching need pulsed with renewed vigor. "I just, can't..." he supplied lamely, all of his blood rushing south and leaving his brain to flounder around uselessly for excuses.

"Thorin," Bilbo whined breathlessly, and while the Dwarf supposed his Hobbit was trying to sound agitated, it really sounded more along the lines of desperate and needy. That was it then, the last thread of Thorin's resolve snapped because Bilbo Baggins was unintentionally sealing his own fate by being so frustratingly sexy.

Without a word, Thorin stormed out of the water and over to the bewildered Hobbit on the sandy bank of the river. Bilbo looked up, about to say some thing it seemed, before his eyes fixed upon the obvious erection in Thorin's breeches. "There," the disgruntled Dwarf spat out, "does that answer satisfy you?"

The Hobbit was at a loss for words, his blue eyes incredibly round and still uncomfortably ogling Thorin's crotch. Letting out an annoyed huff, Thorin looked away as the bridge of his nose colored nicely with an embarrassed flush. "You can stop staring at it like you've never seen one before, Master Baggins..."

Bilbo audibly gulped, which made Thorin swallow heavily in response; his throat closing around the lump of desire lodged in his esophagus. However, when the Hobbit inched forward and tentatively palmed his hardness through the layer of fabric, his attention snapped so fast to Bilbo it left him a bit dizzy. "What are you–"

He was cut off by big blue eyes, turned up to stare hungrily at his face. "Thorin," Bilbo moaned, his sly little fingers cupping the entire length, and squeezing just enough to lessen some of the ache. Mahal, Thorin thought shakily, as he stared back at the Hobbit in disbelief, he must still be too drunk to realize what he's doing...

"Bilbo, you don't have to–"

"Mm, but I want to Thorin," the Hobbit cut in, panting just the slightest bit. His face was flushed now, his pink lips wet and so inviting. With out a moments hesitation, Thorin gripped Bilbo just under his armpits, and hauled him up into his arms; crashing his lips sloppily over the Hobbit's.

Bilbo instantly melted into the kiss, letting Thorin guide him wherever he saw fit; wether it be through gentle nips and greedy suckles to his bottom lip, or pulse pounding dances of tongues; woven intricately together like the fabric of the finest tapestries in Erebor. His slim legs wrapped around the Dwarf Prince's muscular torso, his large feet barely able to lock behind Thorin because their differences in size. Bilbo's plush bottom was gloriously pressing against the tip of Thorin's hardness, and he rutted upwards a couple of times to get some much needed relief.

After a while they parted, Bilbo's face rubbed a raw pinkish color from Thorin's beard, and it made some thing hot and possessive swell in his chest. "Mine," he rumbled, before gently laying the Hobbit down, and into the cool sand. "Mine..." he echoed with wonder, at the sight laid out before him; a veritable feast for the eyes.

Riotous, golden curls haloed the Hobbit's needy face; those damn ears peeking out like shy little maidens through the curtain of sugar fine, silky hair. Enchanting eyes hooded in desire, gazed up at him so wantonly, a kiss bruised mouth wet with their mingled spit and practically begging to be pillaged again. His alabaster skin glowed in the moonlight, his slim chest heaving erotically, as he tried to breathe.

Bilbo's arms were slung up, and over his head, fingers clenching uselessly in the sand; his shirt all but off him now, pooling in the crooks of his elbows. Thorin could clearly see his delicious little Hobbit was now sporting his own erection, and it made his mouth water. "Bilbo," he breathed, settling above the Hobbit and propped up on his strong arms, "by the Valar, I want you..."

"Then have me, my King," the Hobbit replied, voice low and husky as he gazed salaciously up at Thorin.

A low growl rumbled in Thorin's chest, and for what it was worth– he showed incredible restraint by simply not taking the Hobbit right then and there. "Are you sure?" He whispered, because even if Bilbo had been giving all the right signals, he still was not sure if this paradise really was all for him.

"Of course I'm sure," Bilbo huffed out, seemingly annoyed, " 'bin wanting you to bugger me senseless from the moment you called me a grocer, you haughty princeling you."

"I– that long?" Thorin exclaimed, rather surprised by the fact that Bilbo wanted him in his breeches from the very beginning.

"Yes! Now if you kindly would start getting us off, it'd be much appreciated."

Thorin mumbled apologies, before sweeping in for another heady kiss. This one was slower, filled with a languid passion that hinted at the, some thing more. He registered now, that Bilbo's lips tasted like honey and what the sun felt like on his skin after a cold day. At some point, Thorin could hardly remember when, his hands had cradled Bilbo's face gently, thumbs brushing up and across the Hobbit's delicate, pointed ears.

"Ah-ahhhhhh," Bilbo's breath hitched, his hazy eyes fluttering shut as he mewled his obvious pleasure. Thorin definitely took note of that rather intense reaction, one of his suspicions confirmed about the sensitivity of Hobbit ears.

He leaned in, lips barely ghosting over the shell of Bilbo's flushed ear; his hot, moist breath fanning across heated skin. It made Bilbo shiver, and whimper– hips lifting weakly in a vain attempt at relieving some of the aching arousal he felt. "You like that, don't you my little one? Like hearing my voice, so close..." he paused, licking a fiery stripe from bottom to tip, taking in the point of Bilbo's ear and suckling.

"Yes, Thorin– yes," the Hobbit breathlessly begged, squirming and all but thrashing in his need for more. The Dwarf Prince chuckled, pressing his hips firmly into the cradle of Bilbo's parted thighs; rolling once for good measure, their cocks rubbing together and delivering agonizingly sweet pleasure. "Oh Yavanna..." Bilbo gasped, eyes flying wide open and sightlessly roaming over the stars above their heads.

Thorin rutted himself relentlessly against Bilbo after that, letting the Hobbit cling to him as if he would lose himself to the pleasure if he let go. "Please, stop– I-I don't want it to end like this... want you inside me, Thorin." Bilbo's voice was breathless, a little ragged from practically wailing his approval of Thorin's ministrations to the Valar.

"Oh Mahal," Thorin groaned in wonder, almost sure he was dreaming at this point– because Bilbo Baggins, his darling One, had just offered him the most sacred gift he could ever receive. With shaking fingers, he curled them into Bilbo's gloriously soft curls, and tugged him into another kiss– a kiss with teeth, and tongue. A kiss that would sear away any doubt that this wasn't real, leaving Thorin Oakenshield practically ruined.

Deft, nimble fingers pried at Thorin's belt– undoing it with a frightening speed from one so seemingly innocent; then again, Bilbo proved he was not as pure as he liked to come off, the moment he palmed the Dwarf Prince of Erebor through his breeches...

Thorin watched, rather enjoying the sight and feeling of this incredibly wonderful Hobbit undressing him. It brought to mind nights spent in candle lit chambers, of Dwarven beds hewed from stone and covered in furs– of how, when all was reclaimed, and he was sitting in his rightful place as King Under the Mountain; Bilbo Baggins, his darling one, would be by his side. Maybe he would have peridots woven into his golden hair, a single braid thick, and corded heavily by one of his tapered ears. The finest silk tunic, reaching to the floor and barely covering his little body in its slinky folds– colored in deep russets, like his ruined velveteen jacket.

Those were thoughts for another time though, a time when he could gather the courage to profess his heart to his Halfling. For now though, he had some thing far more interesting to occupy his mind with...

With little effort, he pulled his heavy blue tunic up and over his shoulders once Bilbo had his belt undone; and it was his turn to shiver when those clever fingers carded through the thick, dark hair covering his chest. They trailed down slowly, mapping every scar, every muscled ridge, until they were slipping into Thorin's breeches and lightly grazing his cock.

Thorin hissed, his head lolling back at the soft touch, Bilbo's smooth fingers like a soothing balm against his aching need. "Please Bilbo..." he didn't know what he was asking for, only knew his mouth was hanging open wordlessly and he needed more.

Bilbo didn't need telling twice, eager hands shoving breeches down for Thorin to kick away; and desperate fingers finally curled around the impressive hardness he had craved ever since he laid eyes on it. It was hot, heavy in his palm and gloriously hard; and all for him, the Hobbit smirked. With mischief in his eyes, he descended; warm lips teasing at Thorin's cock.

"Bilbo... there is no need–" a gentle suck silenced the Dwarf, making him grunt instead, eyes rolling back.

The Hobbit pulled away for a moment, fixing his eyes on Thorin, as he purred, "Mmm, tastes just how I imagined– warm, and musky, like herbed meat roasting over an open fire." Thorin sighed appreciatively when Bilbo ran his playful little tongue across the seam of his lips for added effect; a little put off by the comparison, but also flattered– especially when he knew the Hobbit loved food above all else.

"Wearing too much clothes..." he mumbled instead, pawing at Bilbo's trousers. It took little to no time to divest the Hobbit of his breeches; the only bit of clothing left on his small, pale frame was his rumpled shirt hanging off his shoulders, and that did little to abate Thorin's hunger for the little one. "I um, I do not have anything on me to prepare you with, Bilbo." Thorin admitted sheepishly, hesitant to broach such an awkward subject.

" 's fine, I'll manage– just need you, now."

Thorin frowned, but spat onto one of his hands regardless; coating one of his calloused fingers as liberally as he could manage. "This will hurt you know," he said softly, not wanting to cause his One any pain, but his need to be inside him diminished that some what.

Bilbo just nodded, laying back and spreading his legs as wide as they would go. For all his big talk, he blushed heavily when doing so– peeking up at Thorin shyly through his long lashes. With resigned determination, Thorin Oakenshield ran his wet finger over the swell of the Hobbit's arse, whispering a feather light touch between his plump cheeks; before it sunk in, and penetrated Bilbo's tight, delicate insides.

It hurt, there was no denying that, but Bilbo grit his teeth and forced himself to calm down, relaxing his body just enough to make the sensation dully ache, but in a weirdly pleasant sort of way. He shifted his hips a bit, adjusting to the feeling as Thorin began to pump his finger in and out in slow, steady bursts. It didn't take as long as he thought, for the pain to morph into pleasure, and soon he was rocking back against his lover's big, rough hand.

Needy whimpers, and encouraging sighs fell readily from the Hobbit's clever tongue, and Thorin knew he was doing this right. Impatience got the best of both of them in the end though, and soon– possibly too soon, Thorin was coating his cock in more spit, and pressing the purple, weeping head to Bilbo's entrance.

They came together with a cry of pain, and a whispered prayer to Mahal for offering such paradise. Thorin covered the Hobbit's face with gentle, sweet little kisses; loving words mumbled against damp skin, and precious curls. They rocked together in due time, Thorin's body quivering with the subtle strength of his thrusts, and Bilbo holding on for dear life as he thrashed below his powerful Dwarven King.

Sighs blanketed the air, heavy grunts and breathless gasps a natural music to accompany the night. A warm, summer breeze blew against sweat drenched skin, feeling cool since they were already burning. "Thorin... more, please– more!" Bilbo wailed, his thin hips moving with a frenzy that Thorin was unaware lied dormant within the fragile being.

He angled his hips, and set a bruising pace; eliciting the loudest keening sound from the Hobbit that he had ever heard. The sounds of skin, slapping against skin perfectly echoed the waves lapping up onto the shore. Thorin's head lolled, burying his nose in the crook of Bilbo's sweaty neck, and just breathing him in. He smelled like freshly tilled earth, and home.

Bilbo's small, quivering need was trapped between his own soft belly, and Thorin's rippling torso; and with out ever being touched once, he came as the Dwarf murmured, "I love you, my One," against his skin. His back bowed, muscles going rigid and the stars in his eyes mingled with the ones glittering against the darkness. Bilbo went limp after that, eyes glassy and face completely blissed out.

Thorin's end came soon after, the sensation of Bilbo's delicate walls clenching and fluttering around him; the absolute look of wonder in his blue eyes as he reached his own personal nirvana– tipping him over the edge. He felt his seed fill the Hobbit up, overflowing and gushing up and around his softening cock. His muscles trembled, sweat dripping off of his skin while his erratic heart beat tried to relearn its rhythm.

Finally, he pulled out, immediately scooping Bilbo into his arms and carrying him to the waters edge. Thorin cleaned his One, gently and carefully– the poor Hobbit able to do little else than press soft kisses to Thorin's chest, and murmur how happy he was in that moment.

Thorin dressed Bilbo, who was struggling to stay awake, and ended up carrying the sleeping Hobbit back to Beorn's home. He carefully picked his way through the lumps of slumbering, snoring Dwarves to nestle his little Halfling into the warm cocoon of blankets he had set out for himself the night before. He looked so peaceful, so achingly beautiful while he slept.

A pang of sorrow engulfed him then, like a wave breaking against the edge of a cliff. He knew Bilbo was drunk, probably so far gone that he would not remember what had transpired between them in the morning. And he had taken advantage of it... it made Thorin feel nauseous, bile burning the back of his throat.

As he retreated to his own pallet, he swore to himself never to touch the Hobbit again– and if Bilbo really didn't remember the fact that they had made love in the morning, Thorin supposed it would be for the better.

–

Bright, buttery light seeped through the thin veil of Bilbo's eye lids. He groaned, the soft color making his head throb in a way it never had before. He shuffled around beneath his heavy blankets for a bit, as his body and mind slowly dragged themselves out of the numb oblivion known as slumber. With a mouth that felt like it was full of cotton, and an aching skull, Bilbo slowly opened his eyes.

The sleeping pallets around him were all devoid of Dwarves, the house eerily silent except for the few snuffling snores of Beorn's great hounds. However, he did notice a giant mug set by his own pallet, and he inched his fingers toward it gratefully. Sitting up with a little effort, Bilbo lifted the roughly hewn wooden cup up to his lips, and gulped down what appeared to be watered wine; a great cure to soothe a mighty hangover. His cup now empty, Bilbo felt a little better, and chanced standing up.

A dull ache twinged his back side as he stood, and for a moment he was utterly confused as to why he was hurting there of all places; until the memories came flooding back. "Oh sweet Yavanna..." Bilbo breathed, steadying himself because it felt like his legs were about to give out. He had lain with Thorin Oakenshield...

He had pawed at the Dwarven Prince's cock like a starving fauntling, and offered himself up like a needy harlot. Bilbo groaned, closing his eyes against the weight of his utter shame. It didn't matter that Thorin had whispered sweet, loving words to him, calling him his One and treated him like finely spun glass– he had made a complete fool of himself, and made it seem like all he wanted was a nice romp around the riverbed.

Dear Valar, he needed to go set things straight with Thorin– and he needed to tell that maddeningly handsome future King how damn much he loved him. First things first though, Bilbo's growling stomach warned, he needed to find some food...

–

So much for setting things straight, Bilbo scowled down at the ground from atop a pony. All morning he had tried his hardest to get Thorin alone, but the blasted Dwarf was obviously avoiding him. Now they were on their way to Mirkwood, and every one was somber and silent.

He wanted to talk to Thorin, about... last night. About how magnificent, and wonderful it was to make love to him, even if he was rather drunk and they were both too keyed up to make it last. However, when said Dwarf was taking every opportunity to engage conversations with Gandalf whenever Bilbo came near, or made gruff excuses of how he was needed elsewhere when Bilbo actually got close enough to beseech him, it definitely sent the right message to the irritated Hobbit.

If Thorin wanted to pretend that it never happened, Bilbo sniffed, then it was just too bad. He may always get his way with the rest of the Company, but Bilbo Baggins would be damned if he was going to let that colossal idiot walk all over him.

Decision made, he clicked his tongue softly, and nudged his heel into the warm belly of his pony; and the dappled mare set off at a trot towards the front of the line where Gandalf and Thorin always took precedence. He studiously ignored the suspiciously smug smirks on Fíli and Kíli's faces as he rode by, and the encouraging pat on the back he received from Bofur.

With a boldness he barely felt, he pulled his pony in front of Thorin's and cut him off quite suddenly. Bilbo glowered up at the exasperated expression on the Dwarf's face. "What is the meaning of this, Master Baggins?" Thorin grunted, not able to meet the Hobbit's fierce gaze.

"We need to talk– now."

"Whatever you need to say can wait until–"

"No it can't Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo actually shouted, cutting the infuriating Dwarf off. "I'm not going to skirt around this like an embarrassed little fauntling with their first crush– we made love last night, and I'm not going to just act like it never happened."

Bilbo watched with satisfaction how Thorin fidgeted uncomfortably when the Company started murmuring amongst themselves. "You were drunk, Master Baggins and I regretfully took advantage of that... I understand if you—"

Again, the Hobbit cut off the heir to the throne of Erebor. "Wait a minute, have you been avoiding me, because you think you took advantage of me? Thorin, I wasn't that drunk– I knew perfectly well what I was doing."

Thorin looked like the ground had opened up beneath him, and he was falling into the pits of Mount Doom. "You mean..."

Bilbo smiled fondly in response. "Yes, you great git– I love you too."

There had never been a brighter smile in all of Middle Earth, than the one on Thorin Oakenshield's face when he heard Bilbo say those infinitely precious words. He surged forward, with all the joy he could muster, and he kissed that frustrating, clever, insane little Hobbit senseless.

The Company roared with cheers, because their King had finally found his One– and they were all so glad that he had chosen their beloved Burglar.

Still mid snog with the future King Under the Mountain, Bilbo Baggins flipped a very rude finger gesture at his Dwarven companions, and they laughed and cheered all the louder. When they finally pulled apart, Gandalf muttered some thing about the stubbornness of both Dwarves and Hobbits– and all was as it had been before.

Except now, Thorin had Bilbo ride on the same pony as him– and no one else was ever allowed to touch the future Consort Under the Mountain, without raising the Kingly ire of one particularly grumpy Dwarf, ever again.

The End.

E/N: so there you go, finally the ending of this (once small project) is finished. Sorry if the ending felt a little rushed, I was having problems with where I wanted to cut it... plus the document was getting rather large and making my phone tweak out a bit. For now this is the end, but I might add a part three, where Thorin goes to thank his meddlesome nephew's for getting him laid, and it'll be awkward as all hell. If you want that, just drop it in a review and I'll write it up when I have the time.

Whelp, this has been a fun piece to work on even if it's taken me ages to complete. Thank you all for sticking with it and being so nice. And as always a special thanks goes to redroses100, who continually gives me the motivation to keep writing– she's a real doll, and great writer.

Cheers!