Two hours and three pints of ale after they'd entered the pub, Bofur and Havlin tumbled through the door to Bofur's room at the inn, laughing. Bofur was the first to regain his feet and most, if not all, of his composure. "Shh!" he admonished Havlin, and started giggling again. "We'll wake Dwalin."

Havlin knocked a fist against the wall. "Dwarf-cut stone, my friend," he said. "We've all the privacy in the world."

That was Bofur's only warning before Havlin launched himself at Bofur, crowding him back against the door and kissing him within an inch of his life.

Bofur went instantly hard. Mahal, how he had missed this! Havlin knew exactly how to take him apart: mouth on his adam's apple, fingers buried in his hair, a thigh pushed between Bofur's exerting just the right amount of pressure to drive him wild. Any moment now, Havlin would drop to his knees and mouth at Bofur's cock through his trousers –

"Get off." With rather more force than he'd intended, Bofur hurled the other man away from him. They faced each other across the room, both still panting. "I said we could come here to talk. That wasn't secret code for fucking instead."

"Bofur –"

"You have no right!" And thank Mahal for stone walls, because Bofur couldn't have modulated his fury if he'd tried. "You have no right, after the way we parted."

"The way we parted? You're going to blame me for that?" Havlin demanded, and Bofur could remember a time he'd loved this man for his fiery temper. "You're the one who ran away and wouldn't let me apologize!"

"There are things an apology can't fix, Havlin," Bofur said icily. "You dishonored both my family and your own the last time we spoke."

That shut the other dwarf up for a moment at least. It hurt to see the shame on Havlin's face. "Aye, I did," he acknowledged. "You've no idea how much I wish I could take that back."

Bofur had always let Havlin win too easily, and he wasn't going to do it again. Pretty apologies were all very well, but when nothing changed, they were just words. "I don't believe you."

"Why, then?" Havlin asked gently. "Why did you greet me as a friend? Why didn't you strike me, as you should have when I first offered insult?"

The anger disappeared, leaving only tiredness behind. "I don't know," Bofur admitted, lowering himself heavily to the bed. "I suppose I wanted –" He swallowed.

Havlin crouched before him. "What did you want, love?"

Bofur shuddered. It was just that he'd felt that old leap of pleasure when he'd seen Havlin in the square, and Bofur had reacted as if there had not been a quarrel and three years gone between them. And then he'd found himself in a tavern opposite a grinning dwarf, laughing too loudly at his mirth. And he'd told himself the lie that maybe they could still have this much, this pleasure in each other's company. Foolish, aye – just as foolish as the delusion that he and Dwalin could ignore a summer morning's kiss.

"I suppose I wanted to pretend that after twelve years together, I hadn't lost all of you. That we had our friendship still, if nothing else."

"Friendship," Havlin repeated flatly. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, the way he always did when he found Bofur particularly trying. "Can you understand, Bofur, why I took it to mean that you'd forgiven me and wanted more than friendship in return?"

Ah, Bofur, you really ARE a fool, he told himself. Of course it would appear that way. "Aye," he said, head in his hands. "I'm sorry; I didn't think."

Havlin let out a heavy breath and pushed back to sprawl against the wall, his face a picture of disappointment. They watched each other across the small room.

"You should go," Bofur said finally. "Tomorrow Dwalin and I –"

"Is he the reason?" Havlin demanded, gesturing in the direction of Dwalin's room. "Is it Dwalin? Is that why?"

"Yes – no – I don't know!" Bofur stuttered, taken off guard. "No. No! Havlin, if Dwalin weren't here, I still wouldn't say yes."

"Did I really ruin everything with just a few words that night?" Havlin's eyes pleaded with him.

"Yes," Bofur said bluntly. "Some things can't be forgiven, Havlin." How many nights had he lain awake, going over that last conversation in his head, wishing for a different outcome?

"So you ran away with the first dwarf to smile at you, is that it?" Havlin spat.

"Thorin? You were jealous of Thorin?" Bofur laughed, but there was no mirth there. "Thorin might as well have been made of stone, for all the interest he showed in any of us. Nice to look at, but spikier than a hedgehog."

"I'd say the same about Dwalin, except the 'nice to look at' bit," Havlin muttered.

Bofur glared, and forced himself to his feet. "If you're going to insult my friends as well, you can leave."

Havlin stood, too, looking repentent. "Bofur, if I could take back that last night, I would," he said quietly. "I would do it right; I would ask your kin for permission to wed you. You didn't deserve my… stupidity that night."

"I didn't," Bofur agreed, and opened the door in pointed invitation for Havlin to go.

He was completely unsurprised when Havlin reached over and pushed it closed again. Stubborn bastard. Never knew when to give up.

Bofur felt his resolve falter when Havlin gently placed his hands on Bofur's shoulders and stepped in close, bringing their foreheads together. They rested that way, sharing breath, the way they had so often before. Bofur's eyes drifted closed, memories washing over him. He couldn't stop the wanting that burned through him. He wanted so badly to give in, to lose himself in Havlin, to be held and loved and kissed again. Three years was a long time, and he felt his very skin hunger for touch. And he knew it would mean disaster, but a small part of him didn't care.

Later, he would be grateful that Havlin chose that moment to say exactly the wrong thing.

"I made a hash of proposing," Havlin murmured, nuzzling behind Bofur's ear. "I just – I expected you to ask, and you didn't, and I finally got it through my head that you never would. By Durin, Bofur, why didn't you ask and save both of us years of dancing around it?"

Disbelief stole Bofur's breath away. For the second time that evening, he shoved Havlin away. Startled blue eyes flew up to meet his. Bofur seethed.

"You," he breathed, "you – you blind, insufferable, egotistical, self-involved, ignorant prick."

Havlin's eyes widened. "What?"

Bofur was too furious to speak for a few moments. "For Mahal's sake, Havlin!" he shouted when he found his voice. "What world are you living in? I couldn't ask, you miserable bastard. It would have taken me five years to pay off the marriage price, and that's if I let my kin starve."

Havlin looked stricken.

"And your father would never have accepted my suit, not after what happened in the mines the year the crops failed," Bofur added.

"Bofur –"

"No. No. We were together for twelve years, and you knew there were days the only food I had was what you sent me off to the mines with of a morning. How could you be so simple-minded as to believe I was free to propose? How?"

"I – I didn't think…" Havlin said.

"No, you didn't," Bofur said, finally realizing the truth of it. "You never thought."

"Bofur –"

"It's time for you to leave," Bofur said coldly.

Havlin opened his mouth to argue, but something on Bofur's face must have told him that this time, argument wasn't an option.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, and took his leave.