CHAPTER 27
Squished by a Mountain Troll
When Thorin next opened his eyes, they were immediately assaulted by blinding light.
He moaned and brought a hand up to shield his face against the stinging attack; surprise raced through him when pain flashed across his palm and his face and he warily pulled the limb away. He would investigate the reason why it hurt so much later; for now, he needed to find a position that did not put strain on his aching back.
Thorin slowly curled up and rolled onto his right shoulder with a huff and a swimming head. He was lying on a bed, that much was obvious, but while it was comfortable it was sticky and reeked of sweat. The sheets tangled around his feet were equally damp, by the feel of it, and a pain to worm his legs out from. Would that Thorin had a bit more strength in him he would struggle out of the damned linens but it seemed that he was quickly losing that battle.
As well as his patience.
"Ah, he wakes at last."
The familiar voice had Thorin's ear twitching but before he could look for its source, there was the sound of curtains being drawn and even more light filtered through his half-opened eyelids. Unbidden, a deep keening noise clawed its way up his throat, one that he was instantly ashamed of but could not have prevented. Embarrassment and exhaustion had him pinned in place when he should have rolled over so to turn his back on the overwhelming sunshine.
The bed dipped and warm, soft fabric found itself pressed to his stomach, but Thorin did not dare open his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" the same voice asked gently.
'Trampled by a horse' and 'squished by a mountain troll' naturally came to mind, but Thorin doubted his ability to form full sentences at the moment. "Dead," he rumbled, his voice dry and cracked. "And sticky."
Bilbo's chuckles were like the fresh music of a little spring stream.
"Here I was thinking that the dead could not speak. I know a wizard or two who will be sorely surprised."
Thorin grunted into his pillow, burrowing further into it to escape the blinding light. Questing fingers found their way in his mane and the dwarf almost purred when they began scratching at the back of his skull. He may be aching all over but the simple touch did wonders to distract him from his hurts.
"I am glad you have no trouble speaking. Asphodel warned that it might take some time before the swelling went away but it seems to have worn off quickly enough."
Through his haze of comfort Thorin frowned. "Swelling?" he inquired, the word filtering around a mouthful of pillow.
"Yes, the swelling, quite gruesome to be honest. After you fainted at the dinner table," and there Thorin gave a groan as memories flooded back into his sluggish mind, "I had Fíli fetch Asphodel and she checked you all over, but found no trace of infection. Yet you were burning up, Thorin, a fever so fierce that it can't have pounced on you sometime between main course and dessert."
There was no mistaking the accusation in his beloved's voice and Thorin had the decency to look away sheepishly. He had known from the moment he had awoken from that awful nightmare that he was ill, somehow, but he had foolishly not wanted to linger on the matter.
"Apologies," he whispered, clearing his throat a bit when it tickled.
"Yes, well. When I mentioned you were having trouble breathing Asphodel checked your throat and, my, look what she found."
Curiosity beat Thorin's reluctance to subject himself to the light coming from the small window – which did not appear in any way small, not by any stretch of the imagination – and the dwarf peered up with a blinking, bleary eye.
Bilbo was holding something up, a box of some sort, but it was unspeakably difficult to make out the exact form with so much Sun flooding the room. If only he could just… no, it was not a box, it was a small jar, one of those his hobbit liked to store jam in. But what had taken up residence inside had nothing to do with the heavenly treat. It almost looked like…
"A tooth?" Thorin asked slowly, frowning in confusion.
"You have keen eyes, O King." Bilbo held the jar up to inspect it thoughtfully, shaking it a bit to jostle the small, wickedly-curved item inside. "A tooth, indeed. A parting gift from your starved friend. It took Asphodel a lifetime and a half to extract it from your throat, thankfully you were unconscious."
Absently, Thorin reached up and felt around his throat with a drowsy hand. His fingers recoiled in surprise when they glanced across the coarse fabric of medical gauze instead of the usual prickly feel of stubble. His first reaction was to send an alarmed look up to his intended, one that the hobbit understood all too quickly.
"Never fear, she only shaved what was necessary to see the puncture, which was about the surface of your smallest fingernail," Bilbo soothed, his hand rubbing small circles between Thorin's shoulder blades. "I swear, she couldn't have shaved much more with Kíli begging her on his knees to be merciful. You'd think she was going to have your whole beard off, the way that clot wailed. Anyway, after that it was only a matter of cutting the infected wound open, drawing all the pus out and digging for that charming little fellow here and I must say, my digestive process was positively delighted."
Thorin snorted and gave Bilbo's thigh a small nudge with his elbow. "My throat feels better," he noted, nuzzling back into the warmth of his pillow as his eyelids slid shut once more. Surely it was still early and he was allowed to linger a bit more in this bed, damp and smelly as it was.
"That would be expected, yes, considering how long you went without using it."
Thorin frowned. "One night hardly counts as 'long', I would say."
"One night?" A short, amused laugh. "Dearest, you slept for two days."
Two days.
The words echoed and bounced off the back of Thorin's skull to spring forward again, pulling at his eyes and forcing them open. How could he have slept for so long? How was… in which realm was it possible for anyone to stay asleep for such an extended period of time, baring concussions and other head trauma? Oh, yes, he had been feeling tired, exhausted even; but even back when he was roaming the hills of Dunland, working himself to the bone, he had never fallen in so deep a state of exhaustion that he had to sleep for more than a handful of hours.
In the background, Bilbo was rambling, but the words failed to register fully in Thorin's brain.
"-and a good thing, too, that you weren't moving an inch. I think it gave your other wounds some time to heal, more than the poultice did. It's not Asphodel's greatest medicine, I'll give you that, but that tea she made did wonders to get rid of your fever so-"
"Two days?" Thorin asked sloppily, his eyelids dropping low as a clear indication that he probably could sleep through the next few hours just as easily.
Bilbo's voice trailed off and the hobbit looked downward, his expression a mixture of worry and fondness. "Yes, two days. Two and a half, rather, since it's morning now."
"I don't feel like I slept for two days," Thorin said, his speech a bit slurred as he struggled to control his tongue but his head cleared with every tendril of slumber that he felt easing from his mind.
"Trust me on this, your smell tells another story."
For the span of half a second, Thorin was ready to take offence. But then he took an experimental sniff somewhere near his armpit and his nose wrinkled of its own accord. He smelled worse than a wet pony after days on end of solid work, and he had the feeling that he looked even shaggier.
He needed a bath; a bit of grooming and combing would not be amiss, too.
"You're right about that," Bilbo nodded and only then did Thorin realize he had mumbled the words out loud. "If you feel up for it, I'll draw you a bath. You are in dire need of a good scrubbing."
Through the haze of drowsiness that had taken up residence at the forefront of his mind, Thorin found the force to smirk. "One that you are willing to deliver yourself?"
Maybe the words had stumbled out sounding a bit more dirty than Thorin had first intended, but the sharp blush that rose to Bilbo's cheeks was well worth it.
Getting Thorin out of bed had only been the beginning of the problem. Dodging Fíli and Kíli's sloppy hugs while still providing support for a staggering – not to mention obscenely heavy – dwarf had made a large dent in Bilbo's patience. But this… this was taking the cake.
"For the last time, Dwalin, get out of this bathroom!" Bilbo hissed, trying and spectacularly failing to push the tall dwarf out the door.
He only succeeded in reaping a scowl and a grunt.
"Last time he left my sight, he got his rump mauled by a warg," Dwalin rumbled, his enormous frame wholly unimpressed by Bilbo's efforts to manhandle it out of the room. "I'm not takin' any chance."
"Fine! Then guard the door from the outside, that's where wargs usually come from," the hobbit snapped. "Give Thorin a bit of privacy, you silly lump!"
"I've seen his naked bum more times than I care to remember. M'eyes can take one more."
Bilbo huffed. He did not know which annoyed him the most: Dwalin's pig-headedness or his words. While he was aware that years on end spent on the road left little to the imagination in the realm of privacy, the reminder was unnecessary. He most certainly did not need to know how many times eyes other than his had been privy to Thorin's anatomy, he could live with the ignorance.
One glance to the aforementioned King found him sitting precariously on the edge of the bathtub with a wobble in his legs and a stupid, stupid smirk on his face. When he caught Bilbo's searing glare, however, Thorin's look turned serious.
A few guttural words in Khuzdul were thrown at Dwalin, who in turn retaliated with a bark Bilbo was certain had not been chosen for its politeness. The hobbit sighed and ran a hand through his messy mop of hair, expecting the shouting match to last long enough for them to miss elevensies; to his surprise, Thorin's next words caused Dwalin to raise his eyebrows, give a deep chuckle and shuffle out of the bathroom.
"What… I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what did you tell him?" Bilbo asked in bewilderment when the door clicked shut.
"Does it matter? He left, as you wished," Thorin shrugged, dipping a couple of fingers in the – for now – clean water.
Well… the dwarf had a point. Though Bilbo found his mysterious behavior highly suspicious, he decided to shrug it off and go on with his original plan.
Thorin stayed amazingly put as Bilbo unwrapped various lengths of gauze from his upper body. Balanced on the edge of the clawfoot bathtub with his hands braced on either side of his frame, Thorin endured the tiny pulls as fabric was peeled away from his skin in silence. He even allowed Bilbo to tilt his head back, obediently exposing his throat to bare the wound there.
Thanks to a prolonged period of rest and Asphodel's awful-smelling poultice, Thorin's injuries were healing quite nicely. The smallest cuts were almost closed and although the deeper gashes, along his ribs and upper limbs, were still a bit red around the stitches, they were hardly as swollen as before.
"This looks very good," the hobbit commented as he prodded Thorin's torn palm and saw the dwarf's thumb jerk in response. "See now, that's why good rest is very important in any healing process. You dwarves wouldn't spend half as long recovering from your injuries if you just listened to healers and took it easy."
The trademark rebuke that Bilbo expected never came. Instead of grumbling about how Dwarves were a hardy folk and Hobbits the furthest thing from that, Thorin leaned forward and settled his chin on Bilbo's shoulder, gently nuzzling into the crook where neck met collarbone. The only sound that left his lips was a deep, satisfied hum.
All… right? This was certainly odd, but not unpleasant, if Bilbo took a second to think about it. Perhaps Thorin's docile behavior had something to do with the strain the fever had put his whole body and mind through, or the amount of sleep he had been getting lately; whatever was causing the dwarf to yield to his touch, Bilbo decided not to read into it too much and simply accepted the small gift for what it was. He would have hated to fight his suitor without even a proper second breakfast in his belly.
His smiling, very tactile and very stinky suitor.
"In you go, dear," Bilbo said with a gentle pat on the tangled mass of dark hair against his cheek. "Your hair is a right mess, I must have a comb around here somewhere. Here, let me," he added when Thorin's fingers began fumbling with the laces of his breeches.
His words had once more clambered ahead of his thoughts and Bilbo immediately found himself on the receiving end of a surprised yet amused rise of dark eyebrows. Thorin's smirk, if such a thing was even possible, grew even broader.
"Oh hush, I'd like you to be done with bathing before next week, and there's no way we'll accomplish that if I let you do everything on your own," Bilbo huffed, fighting the blush in his cheeks as he willed his fingers to please just stop trembling for a few seconds.
The bindings, already loose from Thorin's clumsy fiddling, came apart rather easily. After this, it was only a matter of tucking his thumbs in the waistband of the dark blue breeches and sliding them down Thorin's thick thighs while pretending he did not care about what lied between them.
Bilbo supposed he ought not to feel so self-conscious about his suitor's nudity. It was not, after all, the first time Thorin came to be drastically under-dressed in his presence; but on those other occurrences, the dwarf had been either sick or injured – or both at once. Even the time they had shared together in that inn in Bree had seen most of Thorin shielded under blankets, so Bilbo could not really be faulted for feeling so awkward.
The hobbit carefully averted his eyes as he helped the bigger male into the water, only releasing his tight hold on a rock-hard bicep when Thorin's back settled against the edge of the bathtub. The new position mercifully hid the King's most distracting attributes from sight and Bilbo's wits journeyed back to him.
That is, until a blissful sigh purred its way out of the blasted dwarf and the dying embers in Bilbo's belly were fanned back into flames.
"This feels wonderful," Thorin muttered, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub. Exposing his upper chest and the stubble running down his throat.
"Err, yes, I guess so," Bilbo drawled, forcing his eyes away from the dark curls spattered across Thorin's pectorals. "I… a comb. I'm fetching a comb," he added under his breath, more to himself than Thorin as he turned away to hide the uncomfortable hint of his sudden arousal.
As he rummaged through his mother's old dressing table – it had been the first item to be returned to him after the auction, foolishly deposited in the kitchen by Dwalin because, well, 'with you Hobbits it's always somethin' to do with food, right?' – Bilbo chose a wooden comb from the small collection Belladonna had acquired in her life. It was a pretty thing, made of soft willow wood and boar hair. The inked carvings on the back had been etched by a clumsy hand, this much was obvious, but all of Bungo's love for Belladonna had been poured into the making of that gift. Maybe it was why the comb had been Bilbo's mother favorite.
While walking back to the bathtub and a lounging dwarf, Bilbo frowned. He had yet to give Thorin a gift. True, he had cooked numerous times in Bag End, but those had been large meals for the whole company and he had received Bombur's help most of the time. None of those could be considered a meal specially made with Thorin in mind. They had never exchanged flowers – though that had been a near thing, if Thorin's story about Beorn's home was true – or danced at a party; by hobbit standards, they were not even courting!
Bilbo sighed and found solace in the thought that at least, with those braids and beads in their hair, they were seen as a bonded pair in the eyes of Dwarves. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
Said courting braids were quickly disposed of and the small pleased noise that escaped Thorin when Bilbo kneeled and scratched his dark hair into place did not go unnoticed.
That dwarf was just an oversized cat, nobody could convince Bilbo otherwise.
Therefore it was without surprise that five minutes' worth of scrubbing soap into Thorin's scalp and getting snarls out of his hair had the King half asleep, his mouth hanging quite comically open as his head swayed left and right to follow Bilbo's hands.
"Still awake in here?" the hobbit chuckled when a scratch along Thorin's temple had the dwarf bumping his cheek on the edge of the bathtub.
"Not sure," Thorin rumbled from deep within his chest, eyes never opening. "I might be dreaming."
"Well, try not to drown. Asphodel won't save your sorry hide one more time, especially if I tell her you drowned in knee-deep water."
Thorin gave a light growl and gently bumped the back of his head against Bilbo's chin. "That would make you a murderer. A King murderer. I believe there is a specific word for the heinous act, but I cannot remember it at the moment."
"A regicide," Bilbo filled in with a fond smile as Thorin allowed him to lather his beard. "And I'm sure many in Erebor would thank me. Starting with your sister; she'll probably make me General or something for giving her the throne of the Lonely Mountain."
Thorin made a soft sound, halfway between a huff and a whine. "Why must you be so mean? I have been nothing but courteous and still you insist on rebuking me."
"I'm not rebuking you, I'm only teasing you, dear. And courteous? Please. In the last three days you caused my heart to fail at least twice, broke two perfectly good glasses in your delirium and almost vomited on me instead of the basin. That does not quite match my definition of 'courteous', you'll excuse me."
Thorin's blue eyes glanced over his shoulder, meeting Bilbo's in a curious gaze. "I apologize, although I do not remember any of those acts. You may as well have forged them."
"I swear on Aunt Mirabella's roasted apple pie recipe that it's the truth. Now, sit up, I need to wash your back."
With a grunt, Thorin did as he was told and braced his arms on either side of the bathtub to raise his upper body halfway out of the water. Stifling an appreciative hum at the sight of tiny droplets running down the hard planes of Thorin's shoulder blades, Bilbo grabbed the bar of soap and set to work.
Diligently, he scrubbed the large expanse of tough skin free of grime and sweat, gentling his hands in the vicinity of bruises and cuts. A sad thing to say, but those would only add to the impressive collection of scars that littered Thorin's back. Acquired more than one century earlier, most had faded to faint lines and could not be told apart from healthy skin by touch only; others, gained in more violent circumstances perhaps, stretched in pale streaks of raised flesh.
As he cleaned his suitor's abused back, Bilbo found himself making up stories for the scars. That slash here had probably been dealt by a sneaky goblin in battle. That burn on the left shoulder blade? A forge accident, born of carelessness certainly. And that crescent-shaped mark at the back of the bicep…
"How did you get that?" Bilbo blurted, thumbs stretching the skin on either side of the scar as though it would give an answer of its own accord. It was clearly a bite mark, but too small to have been dealt by anything bigger than a big cat. And cats most certainly did not possess so many teeth that a bite would leave such a round reminder on someone.
"An arm? Well, I expect I obtained it from my mother. Some would argue that my father-"
"Don't play daft, Thorin. How did you get that?" Bilbo asked once more, squeezing the upper arm.
"Muscles? Ah. I understand this might look strange to you, this is something you must not have come across often. See, when one trains their body and eats no more than three meals a day-"
"Oh, Yavanna's gardens…Who is being mean now?" Bilbo growled, his hand easily finding the back of the uncouth dwarf's head for a light swat – which did nothing to diminish the grin on the bearded features. "I'm speaking about the mark on your arm. It looks like something bit you."
For a moment, Thorin looked puzzled. His attempt to twist his neck to get a look at the scar only brought a flash of pain across his face and Bilbo was quick to retreat.
"It's nothing! I was just curious, no need to make a big deal out of-"
"Oh, that mark," Thorin said suddenly, eyes dropping to the bubbles that had begun to make themselves at home on the surface of the water. If Bilbo didn't know better, he may have thought the dwarf looked… embarrassed? "It is… well, it was acquired long ago, when I was very young."
"You went and tickled a bear cub or something?" Bilbo chuckled, encouraging Thorin to lift his arm and allow access to his armpit. This was where in-depth cleaning had to take place.
Thorin snorted. "You could put it like that. There are still some days Dís gets mistaken for a bear, even now, even by people who have known her for a long while, myself included."
Bilbo had to blink a few times before the words fully registered in his mind. "Your sister… bit you?" he said slowly, stilling his movements to stare at the dwarf whose gaze was still fixed somewhere between floating suds and his bellybutton. "Hard enough to leave a scar?"
"I will have you know milk teeth are incredibly sharp and Dís' temper flares quickly when you steal the last cinnamon roll from under her nose."
Bilbo laughed; he could just about picture it. A growing, tween Thorin snatching the treat his younger sister had been eyeing and getting pounced on for his cheek. Maybe it had taken place at the family table, at the end of dinner; perhaps it had made Frerin laugh and hit the table with his fist hard enough to send his plate flying. Had Thráin and his wife shouted and tried to pull their children apart? Or had they merely looked on with amusement, the siblings' quarrels occurring so often that it had turned into some sort of routine?
So many things Bilbo was eager to know, yet he bit his tongue. Thorin seemed a bit uncomfortable with that story and he had no intention to press the matter while the dwarf was still recovering from serious injuries.
Bilbo invited Thorin to lean back so he could start working on the bigger male's front. This was when his mind started wandering once more. All was safe and well as long as he focused on Thorin's upper chest and stomach; things would take a different turn when he had to drift lower and clean more intimate parts.
Bilbo didn't know quite where they stood with each other. While it was clear that Thorin was not as reluctant to experiment physical interaction as he had been at the start of their courtship, it was still unclear as to where the boundaries stood. The intimate moment they had shared in Bree had been born of exceptional circumstances, ones that Bilbo was not sure applied now. It was possible his touch would be refused, especially after the poor way he had treated the dwarf before the warg attack.
No, he was much safer lathering Thorin's pectorals and ribs. Most of the dwarf's wounds were there anyway, he could always pretend he was paying them extra attention and this would give him a good excuse to linger. No matter how cowardly this whole thing sounded.
"I do not mean to appear rude," Thorin said, breaking the silence that had fallen on the room, "but if you scrub at that shoulder one more time, I fear the skin may fall off."
"Sorry!" Bilbo yelped, wrenching his hand away and oh yes, that was a very red patch of skin underneath. "Sorry. I was… well, I was lost in thoughts."
That was not technically a lie. Now if only Thorin held his curiosity in check and refrained from-
"Indeed. And what were those thoughts about, may I ask?"
Oh, bebother. Quick, find something to say!
"Nothing important, really," Bilbo deflected, doing his best to keep his tone light and casual. "I was just thinking about… well, dwarven bodies and how different they are from Hobbits', that's all."
Bilbo cringed. That was not actually better than the full truth!
Thorin's curious look turned surprised, and one dark eyebrow rose as if in question. "Is that so?" he rumbled from deep within, laying back against the edge of the bathtub and exposing his wet and soapy chest for all to see. "And pray tell, Master Hobbit, how are they different?"
To anyone else, Thorin would be the perfect picture of innocence, stretched out under the water and only wearing a small smile to go with his genuinely interested blue eyes. To Bilbo, he looked just about as innocent as a crumb-covered Dwalin trying to hide an empty cookie jar.
"Well, for starters, there's the size," the hobbit began, completely lost as to what the end of his sentence should be but still he did what he did best: talk. "You lot are at least one head taller than anyone in the Shire. Well, any living hobbit in the Shire, I'm sure my Great Grand Uncle Bandobras could have given even Dwalin a run for his money, so to speak. Did I ever tell you he was the only hobbit known to have ever ridden a horse?"
"I fear not. I do think I would recall such an important fact."
"Well, he was. And he hated goblins probably more than you do, but that's another story." Absently, Bilbo scrubbed Thorin's beard free of sweat as he racked his brain for the next brick of his argument's wall. "There's a thing or two to be said about your stature, I reckon. While both races can grow in width, Dwarves are stout and solid for the most part where Hobbits tend to be soft and plump- what are you doing?"
"Keep talking," Thorin said lowly, casually, as though he most certainly did not have a hand creeping under Bilbo's linen shirt, very wet fingers quickly closing around a hip.
"Err, yes, and…" Proper wording was very hard to find when there was a warm palm running up and down your side, Bilbo could attest. "Anyway, I… I think this comes from your ridiculous routine of only three meals per day, but let us leave it at that. Then…" Bilbo gulped, his voice trailing off in hopes that ideas would simply come flying, but a hearty squeeze at the small of his back had sparks coursing up his spine. "The hair! O-of course, the hair, let's not forget the hair. You have enough fur to be mistaken for a wolf… You unbearable lump, you are doing this on purpose!"
"And if I am?" Thorin purred – purred! The nerve! – from his exposed position, spread out on his back with his furred belly and thighs peeking out from between bubbles. The impossible dwarf had no right, no right at all to bare himself in such an unashamed way and look so handsome doing so. The urge to follow the track of wet hair down the other male's stomach pulsed strong and steady in Bilbo's heart, but he held back, if only to steal satisfaction from Thorin.
"Well, that concludes my lecture on dwarven anatomy then," he said, trying to remember exactly how Lobelia twisted her nose to make it look so disdainful and copying the motion.
It died as soon as Thorin began pawing at Bilbo's inseam with his good hand. "So soon? But there are still grounds to cover," he said softly. "What of our feet, so small and fragile compared to yours? And your cheeks, smooth and rosy where ours are hiding behind rough beards?"
"My cheeks are not rosy."
"They are, right now. Or is it merely the heat of summer?" Thorin asked slyly, a pleased smirk growing steadily on his whiskered features.
"The heat of sum– apple blossoms, Thorin, we're in the bathroom!" Bilbo hissed from between his teeth when broad fingers inched up and between his legs, playfully tickling the fabric there.
"Yes, we are in the bathroom. Alone. After I almost died and we are finally back on speaking terms. This bathtub is large enough to house the two of us. Not to mention that I am not quite dressed enough for this to be a formal occasion." Once innocent, Thorin's grin turned roguish. "Nor will you be, as soon as I get a proper grasp on this unneeded clothing of yours."
Fighting a growing blush, Bilbo found himself struggling with audacious digits keen on finding their way to his skin. "For the love of all that grows, Thorin! You are worse than a grappling… all right, all right! I'm going in with you," Bilbo gave in when blunt nails threatened to tear the laces of his trousers without so much as a by-your-leave. "If you could just hold your ponies while I undress, that would be much appreciated. No need to ruin fine clothes."
Turning away to undress provided no more privacy than if Bilbo had shed his trousers right under Thorin's nose, for the burning at the back of his head could only come from a heated dwarven gaze. Hot as Erebor's forges, strong as dwarrow steel.
It was not as though he was ashamed of his body, Bilbo thought as he glanced down. The trip to Erebor and harsh winter spent living on meager rations under the mountain had chipped at his soft edges and put some firmness into his otherwise plump stomach, but he still very much looked like a hobbit. Smooth chest, chubby thighs, furry oversized feet – with still some stubborn burns lingering on the ankles – and soft skin. The furthest thing from what a dwarf looked like.
Something that didn't seem to bother Thorin a single bit.
"Bilbo, there is only so much patience I can show with you bare in the same room," Thorin growled warningly. "Stop being cruel."
"I'm coming. I swear, you are worse than a child begging for attention," Bilbo sighed as he finally turned around and approached the bathtub without a stitch of clothing on. His annoyance was completely faked, for he was thoroughly enjoying Thorin's attention. So much in fact that he never bothered to hide his private parts from sight, his ego flying far too high to feel self-conscious.
However, the same ego plummeted down Mordor's deepest pits upon sighting Thorin's horrified eyes.
The pure mortification in the blue pools stunned Bilbo into stillness, half a foot away from the bathtub. Suddenly, the hobbit felt as a stranger in his own skin, shuffling his weight from one leg to the other as the blush in his cheeks deepened; not from glee anymore, but from shame. Did Thorin find him so distasteful up close? He knew he was not much to look at, even by hobbits' standards, but he had hoped… he had wished…
Well, it didn't matter what he had hoped for. He clearly did not meet Thorin's expectations.
"I… I'll fetch a towel, if you're done," Bilbo mumbled, his eyes dropping as he was no longer able to withstand the dwarf's disgusted stare. "Just a minute…"
"Come closer," Thorin breathed, twisting his body in the water so that he could reach out with both hands. "Come here."
Bilbo only wanted to bolt out of the bathroom, clothes or no, but Thorin's tone did not leave any room for refusal. As such, shy as a faunt and skittish as a wild cat, Bilbo stepped forth until he felt both calloused palms closing carefully around his hips.
A few seconds trickled by, during which Bilbo obstinately avoided Thorin's gaze and kept his eyes trained on the round door and its unused bolt. Maybe he should have spared a moment to lock it after Dwalin walked out; he did not particularly care about anyone walking in and finding them in this predicament. Granted, it would be worse to be caught sharing a bath naked with his suitor. It was a small relief that it was not going to happen that day.
Or any other day, when it came down to it.
Bilbo was torn from his dark line of thoughts when a soft, whimper-like sound came from Thorin.
"I inflicted this," the King whispered sadly, his thumbs massaging Bilbo's sides as though he was handling an extremely fragile piece of crystal. "I put you through pain while you have been nothing but devoted and faithful. I should be shaved bald for this."
With yet another broken noise that suspiciously sounded like a stifled wail, the dwarf burrowed his nose somewhere above Bilbo's bellybutton, his arms wrapping themselves all the way around the smaller male's waist for a desperate embrace.
One look downward and it all became clear.
It was not so much Bilbo's chubby stomach that appalled Thorin as the blue and black fist-shaped bruises that littered its surface.
Acquired more than two days ago, the dratted things had yet to fade. They still hurt a little, whenever Bilbo bent to pick up something or stretched his arms high above his head, but it was nothing more than an uncomfortable pull. The vicious marks suggested something more painful, however, and Bilbo's heart was soothed when he understood Thorin's concern.
"It's all right, it doesn't hurt much," the shireling whispered, one hand on his dwarf's hair rubbing gently and the other resting on a bulky shoulder. "You did not do it on purpose."
"Fact remains that I did it, intentionally or no," Thorin seethed, his voice a warm gust of air against Bilbo's navel. "I hurt my One with my own fists, I beat into his flesh even as he begged me to stop. I am not worth even the air I breathe."
"Have you ever considered minstrel as a change of occupation? You are very skilled with dramatics, my heart. You know I forgave you… if there's anything to forgive, really."
"You take these things too lightly, I do not deserve to even be called your heart. The offense I dealt upon you-"
"Is mine to handle as I see fit," Bilbo interrupted, grabbing a handful of wet hair to gently pull Thorin's head back and meet his haunted gaze. The shadows there tugged at his heart and gave a soft edge to his voice. "And I choose to forgive you. Now, my love, there is only one thing I need to know: will you leave me some space in this bathtub or do I have to fight you for it?"
There was a pregnant pause as both males shared an intense stare. Relief flooded Bilbo when shame slowly dimmed in Thorin's eyes, to be replaced with something akin to deep adoration. With a mild groan, the dwarf's arms tightened and his head dipped to Bilbo's belly for a series of whiskery kisses that tickled the hobbit as much as they set his blood aflame.
"I do not deserve your forgiving heart," Thorin mouthed, voice muffled against soft skin.
Bilbo rolled his eyes but could not help the fond smile that stretched his lips. "You have it, either way. Now, please?"
It took a bit of manoeuvring but soon enough, Bilbo was settled in the bathtub with Thorin's legs on either side of his body and his back nestled into a very warm chest. The water had gone a bit cold but it was a relief from the unforgiving summer Sun, even though it did little to ease the aches born of stress in his muscles. The strong arms around Bilbo's midsection more than made up for it.
"I have to admit, I was afraid," the hobbit said as he lathered his arms and shoulders, giggling like a tween at the bearded mouth nibbling at his neck. "I thought you found me repulsive. When I turned around, you looked downright disgusted."
The wet lips on his nape stopped their motions and a prickly chin came to rest on his shoulder. "The only disgust I felt was directed at myself," Thorin mumbled, his aggravation not as evident now as it had been before. "I hate seeing you wounded in any way, but I find that I despise seeing you hurt by my hand above all else. It will not happen again, this I swear on my mother's grave."
"Don't make oaths you're not sure you can keep. And please don't mention your mother while we are both naked together, it's… awkward."
Thorin's chuckle reverberated in Bilbo's ribcage. "Agreed."
They split tasks for the next few moments. Bilbo, soap bar in hand, dutifully scrubbed at his body and every part of Thorin's that he could reach – the legs, the feet, sometimes the nail of a straying hand. For his part, Thorin zealously littered quick pecks and longer kisses across Bilbo's shoulders and down his back, taking a break from time to time to nibble on a pointed ear. Unbeknownst to the dwarf – or perhaps the scoundrel knew perfectly well what his actions did to his intended's heart rate, in which case he had something else coming – this kind of attention could be enough to warm the water up again.
To think that Bilbo had thought him repulsed. What a laugh.
"What of dwarven propriety and slow courting rituals?" Bilbo teased when one of Thorin's hands found its way down his belly to caress his right thigh.
"We can get back to them as soon as we walk out of this washroom. Now, I believe I promised you something, in a creaking bed in a moldy inn somewhere." Thorin's teeth found the tip of a pointed ear and Bilbo fought the need to mewl. "Long have I waited for a chance to honor that oath."
"I-I can certainly feel that," Bilbo breathed shakily. In the cradle of his suitor's legs, there was no mistaking the insistent bulge digging into the small of his back.
"Will you allow me?"
Not quite knowing what it was he was agreeing to exactly, Bilbo still gave a little nod at the husky demand, for he would not dream of refusing Thorin Oakenshield anything whenever the dwarf used that low tone.
The hands that had been idly playing with his body now felt like they were moving with a purpose. After a few additional caresses to his chest and stomach, they both journeyed south until they found their prize.
"Ah!" Bilbo gasped when a large palm closed around his length without any warning.
As if pulled by an invisible rope, the hobbit's head slammed back into Thorin's shoulder and remained stuck there. A reaction that brought the King much amusement.
"I did not expect you to be so sensitive, ghivashel," he whispered warmly into Bilbo's ear, his hand starting a slow rhythm underwater.
By all means Bilbo should have thought of a witty comeback, possibly involving a dark place Thorin could shove his dwarven smugness into, but only a throaty groan made it past his lips. He turned his head to bury his nose into Thorin's neck, hands gripping the edges of the bathtub so tightly his knuckles would probably be white, should he care enough to look.
But what could he care, when Thorin's speeding hand was wreaking havoc on his senses?
Bilbo released his death-like grip on the bathtub to reach blindly for the dwarf's head. Clumsily, he rubbed round ears and wet hair alike, moaning as Thorin mouthed Khuzdul words into the soft skin of his collarbone. Dimly, Bilbo spared a grateful thought for the sturdy arm wrapped around his midsection and anchoring him to his suitor's chest; he was not sure he could have prevented a slide to the bottom of the bathtub on his own.
In a matter of minutes, Thorin single-handedly – and Bilbo would muse on the irony later – reduced his intended to a lump of hisses and groans, and even the proper Baggins in him could not care less about his shameless rutting up into the rough palm that was stroking his member in sharp patterns. Gladly would Bilbo have reached back and returned the favor, for Thorin's own arousal was achingly obvious against his bare bottom, but his head could not quite wrap itself around the idea. He felt like he could only lay and withstand the onslaught of sensations as they were thrown at his body.
"Goodness, yes, yes," Bilbo panted in Thorin's ear, his back arching off the bathtub so high he could feel the warm air of the bathroom hit his pelvic with each thrust. He still had one hand welded to one side of the bathtub; the other one, buried in dark strands, tugged and pulled at Thorin's hair whenever the older male gave a particularly enjoyable twist of wrist. "Ohhh right there… right there, love…"
Thorin chuckled and again focused his attention on the crown of Bilbo's cock, drawing yet another involuntary loud mewl from the hobbit's mouth.
If Dwalin had taken it upon himself to guard the door, well, he probably had found something else to do by now.
"This feels… this feels… good gracious, Thorin!" Bilbo hissed when a strong wave of pleasure crashed over his mind. He was close, teetering on the edge maybe. It had been so long, so very long since the last time he had allowed somebody to touch him, and never had it felt so toe-curling pleasurable. "Thorin…"
"I'm here, âzyungel, I have you," the dwarf rumbled softly, rough lips raining kisses on honey curls as his hand steadfastly massaged Bilbo's cock.
"Please, I… I need…"
"I am not going anywhere, my heart."
As if to counteract his last plight, Thorin's arm unwound itself from around Bilbo's midsection, pulling a plaintive moan from the unsupported hobbit who was then forced to struggle not to slide to the other end of the bathtub. The protesting noise turned blissful, however, when Thorin's freed hand slipped between Bilbo's trembling legs alongside its pumping counterpart to caress his drawn-up sack.
The first touch of fingers between his cheeks, yet, had surprise shooting up Bilbo's back.
Feeling his intended's start, Thorin's questing hand stopped moving at once.
"No?" the dwarf inquired softly, his gaze seeking out Bilbo's shadowed one.
In the midst of fierce arousal, the hobbit didn't know what to answer. It had been long, as well, since he had last had this intimate an encounter, but he did not want to hurt Thorin and have him thinking this was not something he wanted.
The decision was torn from his grasp as Thorin, who had certainly mistaken his thoughtful silence for refusal, removed his bold digits and returned them to the soft skin of Bilbo's sack.
The hobbit found it in himself to frown. "But I…"
"Forgive me, I should not have gone so far, it is much too soon. I must not ask for something that is not mine to give away." Thorin dipped his head to nuzzle Bilbo's cheek and nose, his lips finding their match for a warm kiss. "We have time, yet. This will be for another day."
Bilbo could only groan as his waning erection was stroked back to life by a determined dwarven hand and he had to grip the edge of the bathtub with both hands lest he slumped underwater. "A-another day, then," he agreed shakily before he decided to forego words altogether.
He had been close before, but the added pressure of a second hand between his legs playing with the soft skin there proved to be Bilbo's undoing. Within moments, the hobbit was biting down on one fist to stifle his howl as his release barrelled forth and overwhelmed him, his back arching off so much that he literally dropped back down on Thorin's chest with a big splash when his strained muscles turned to mush.
The dwarf wasted no time in gathering his panting hobbit in his arms and pulling him close in the cradle of his furred body. The soft words of praise and endearment were music to Bilbo's ears and he could only purr as he listened to them, waiting for his heart to stop trying to break his ribcage and for his tongue to work again.
A tedious task, when it felt you had just been either trampled by a horse or squished by a mountain troll.
"Durin's beard, that was lovely," Bilbo breathed as soon as he was able to, his cheek resting snugly on a hairy pectoral.
To his surprise, Thorin burst out laughing. "To make you swear like a dwarf, I wager it was."
"Swear like a… oh, good gracious, I did that, didn't I?" Bilbo laughed as well, burrowing deeper into Thorin's embrace when the dwarf tightened his hold. "It's your fault!"
"How can this be my fault?"
"It is, yours and all those other bloody dwarves' as well," Bilbo stated, one wet finger digging at an equally drenched chest. It was like poking a slab of marble. "You are all rubbing off on me, but I will have none of it!"
"If there's any rubbin' to be done, I think our ol' King here's the only one to blame," a gruff voice said from the other side of the door.
The courting pair froze and shared a look.
"Dwalin?" Thorin called tentatively.
"At your service," came the amused reply.
Mortification was quick to chase the peace of post-coital bliss away from Bilbo's thoughts. "You were there all this time?" he asked and dear Yavanna, had that come out as squeaky as it felt?
"Yeh did tell me to guard the door. A good thing I did, too. Now I can tell everyone else that our King's very much alive."
This was all Dwalin could say before great barks of laughter took him and a strong thud indicated that the warrior had collapsed against the door in mirth.
Thorin gave a feral growl. "I'm going to kill that bastard."
"Put some clothes on before you do!" Dwalin laughed back. "There are little ones in the house, don't want their eyes fallin' right out when they see your hairy butt!"
