A/N: I put a lot of research into these foods and any mentioned recipes. The seed cake recipe I use in this chapter can be found at a blog called bonappetit! The entry is called "What Hobbits like to Eat" (and is full of stuff I'd definitely be interested in baking!)
Oh also: I'm going to try to update this story at least once a week, hopefully multiple times a week until classes start back up again :]
Please review and let me know what you think of the story so far? (I'm open to suggestions of where to take it)
CHAPTER WARNING: violence
The two hobbits stood at the counter, Frodo on a chair, as Bilbo flipped through his family's cookbook in order to find the seed-cake recipe that his mother perfected one particularly long winter. The cookbook was littered with her notes on how to make the recipes better in her tight yet elegant script.
Frodo laughed as Bilbo sang a song about a cow jumping over the moon – one Bilbo composed himself. But the little hobbit did not reach for the flour, incessantly ask questions about the recipe, or make the mess his uncle had come to expect from the few times he'd seen Frodo prior to his parents' accident. Instead, he stood on his chair watching Bilbo flip through the cookbook, white-knuckled hands grasping the chair as if he were going to fall off any moment.
"You know, my mother and I used to prepare all of our meals together," Bilbo said as he looked over at his nephew.
Frodo started wringing his hands and looked down, mumbling "So did momma and me."
Bilbo ignored his nephew's grammar and instead placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He paused as he tried to figure out what to say next, torn between trying to shield his nephew from the realities of loss and being honest about his own experiences. Thorin, what should I do? There was silence for a moment more as he thought back to Bofur and Ori pestering him to eat in the days after the Battle.
"Frodo, did your mom ever make you seed-cakes?"
The little hobbit nodded.
"Well, did I ever tell you about the time thirteen dwarves and a wizard came into Bag End and ate every single one of the cakes I had in my pantry?" Bilbo paused, remembering the thirteen dwarves who crowded his kitchen and the sweet compliments from Dori, Ori, and Kíli. He grinned, although it didn't quite reach his eyes, and tousled Frodo's hair. "Just like one little hobbit I know, coming here and eating all of my seed cakes when my back was turned!"
Frodo giggled trying to push his uncle's hand away. "I'm not a dwarf!"
"But you certainly have the appetite of one! Look at my poor pantry since you came to live with me!" He placed a hand on his forehead as if he were going to faint and gave a dramatic sigh. "Eating me out of house and home!"
Frodo stuck his tongue out, but his stomach rumbling cut off any reply before it could leave his lips.
"Ah! Here it is! Frodo my lad, let's get started!" He handed Frodo a small stack of measuring cups and pointed to a large bowl. "I need you to put three and a half cups of flour in there" as he started cracking six eggs into another bowl. As he whisked those together, he looked up to find that Frodo had somehow managed to get more flour all over his clothes and the countertop than actually into the bowl.
"M-most of the mess is from making sure I had the cup exactly filled I promise I know how important it is to make sure all of the measurements are exact when you bake m-momma always told me that-" Bilbo cut the little hobbit off by throwing a pinch of flour at him – and before he knew it a full-fledged flour fight ensued.
After they ran out of flour, Frodo and Bilbo shared a dinner of cold chicken and vegetables.
"Look at us! Such a mess! We need to get you all cleaned up, little dwarf" Bilbo declared as he stood to wipe as much flour off his person as possible.
Bilbo came back to find that Frodo fell asleep at the table. With a small sigh Bilbo picked his nephew up and carried him to his new room, leaving the mess in the kitchen for tomorrow.
As Bilbo opened his eyes he could feel a large, calloused hand stroking his side and a familiar mouth kissing up the side of his neck to a sensitive ear. His breath hitched and the hand slid down to his groin. A firm squeeze quickly turned into slow, firm strokes that quickly brought the hobbit to attention.
"M-more."
The hand stopped stroking him. It moved up to grip his waist and press his back down toward the bed and suddenly there was a waterfall of hair above him.
Bilbo wasn't able to stifle a gasp. The close-cropped beard, the blue eyes, thick brows, the cuff on one ear, the twin braids … "Thorin."
"I-I thought you were killed."
"It was just a bad dream, Bilbo. I'm right here," he smiled and placed one hand on Bilbo's cheek, "I'd never leave you. Wherever you are, azyungal, is the only place I want to be."
One moment the dwarf was smiling down at him and the next his mouth was pressed against his, hungry and demanding more.
Bilbo felt a familiar weight pressing up against one of his thighs and he smiled into the kiss, thrusting his hips and desperate for more friction.
"Anything for you," and then the next thing Bilbo knew that mouth was on his ear, biting and sucking and nibbling. He could hear his own breathing, fast and gasping.
Bilbo moved his hands to the two thick braids and used them to steer his lover's head back for another kiss, this one all teeth and tongue as Thorin continued to stroke the hobbit's erection.
Meanwhile, Bilbo explored the muscled planes of Thorin's chest and back, although the hand stroking him made it hard to concentrate. It's all scar tissue, all of the wounds he received at the Battle of Five Armies, tears began to sting at his eyes, they've all scarred over. Healed. He survived.
Bilbo broke the kiss and locked eyes with Thorin, one hand wrapping around the dwarf's member. "Mine," he stated before moving his mouth to Thorin's neck, sucking on the salty skin there as he started stroking his throbbing erection; the resulting moans were music to his ears.
"Halfling, I need you now," Thorin stated and then flipped Bilbo over onto his stomach. He wasted no time in grabbing the hobbit's ass and spreading it wide, sending shivers down Bilbo's spine as Thorin's tongue found his entrance and pressed past the tight ring of muscle.
He whined when Thorin moved his face away, only to find Thorin's tongue quickly replaced with a well-oiled finger. "Th-Thorin!" he gasped, losing himself in pleasure as Thorin quickly circled his hole before adding a second finger. Bilbo squirmed and panted, crying out every time Thorin hit his prostate. By the time Thorin slipped a third finger in, Bilbo's hips strained as he frantically impaled himself on the fingers of his beloved.
"Please, now, please just take me now!"
A cold hand pushed Bilbo down onto the bed and he quickly rolled over, annoyed. "Thorin, what do yo-" he stopped. Whatever was on the bed with him wasn't Thorin.
Couldn't be Thorin.
Its body was covered in a myriad of cuts, all gaping and rotted – but none of them bled.
Bilbo looked up at the thing's face and screamed, tears falling freely as he tried to get off the bed. Thorin lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, jerking him painfully back.
The smell made Bilbo gag and the cold, dead flesh made him shiver for all the wrong reasons.
No, no, no, no this isn't happening – this can't be happening!
Thorin leaned his head down and whispered "I'm here, Bilbo," chunks of Bilbo didn't want to know what spraying against his ear and jaw. "Don't cry," Bilbo felt his hand pressed up against the wound just above Thorin's heart and he stifled a sob, "you're not the one who died that day, who lost a kingdom and their family that day…"
The cold, clammy hand released his wrist but Bilbo was too scared to move. He shook in that embrace; a mockery of the arms that once protected him.
A rough tug on his hair pulled Bilbo's head back to a painful angle, Thorin's rotting face inches from his own. Bilbo tried to move away, but the grip only tightened and he cried out in pain.
A twisted feral grin appeared on Thorin's face as he moved closer. "…thief."
"Y-you said you understood, Thorin," and his eyes widened with fear "and you f-forgave me."
"And why," his manic smirk only got bigger, "would I forgive a thief?"
Fear settled in his belly like a rock dropped into a lake and suddenly Thorin's hands were around his neck, pushing him back into the bed where he straddled the hobbit's waist. Hair cascaded down Thorin's shoulders and Bilbo tried to push the dwarf off of him.
"No Thorin you lo-"
But the hands tightening around his throat cut him off.
Panicking, Bilbo pushed against the chest of the dwarf that once loved him, fingers slipping into wounds and flesh getting caught under his fingernails. The world started getting fuzzy and Bilbo only fought harder.
The last thing he heard as the world went black was laughter.
"Uncle Bilbo!"
Bilbo shot up, gasping and struggling to breathe.