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A Road from the Garden

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“Would you be with him?” Thorin asked. Naked and unashamed, he stood in Bilbo’s bedroom. The dear dwarf did not even look at Bilbo while he spoke. Nothing about his manner seemed designed to entice, other than the mere fact of his nudity. Folding his clothes neatly, Thorin acted as though there was nothing at all unusual about the situation.

“Who?” Bilbo was always a good deal less clever when there were nude fellows to stare at. He was also quite a few steps behind in the disrobing department, distracted by the view.

“The Dragonslayer.” Turning to look over his shoulder, Thorin was posed in such a way that Bilbo could see the perfect curve of his spine, the ripple of his beautifully muscled back, and his striking face all at once. It could not be an accident. Yet the dwarf was so very casual about his question.

Bilbo licked his lips. “You said he declined the title.”

Thorin shrugged. “The one from your story, then, not mine. Would you give your heart to him?”

“Ever the romantic,” Bilbo laughed. “And folk accuse me of flowery language! Say what you mean, Thorin. Ask me if I would suck his cock.”

That cut through Thorin’s equanimity easily enough. Indeed, his eyes were ablaze and his own cock was half erect when he turned fully to Bilbo, though it had been placid enough mere moments before.

“I would, you know,” Bilbo said cheekily. “I’ve always been very fond of lads with golden hair.”

Surprisingly, Thorin’s eyes softened and he did not rise to the teasing. “That is not why you gave Kili’s features to the young, kind prince as a child.”

Bilbo blinked. Having Thorin in his bedroom nightly was still new, but in many ways having a such an insightful lover was even more astounding. Reminding himself that Thorin’s attention might be dangerous grew more difficult by the day. Perhaps that was the dwarf’s goal. Bilbo knew he could easily be persuaded to make bad choices by such a handsome fellow.

Crossing the distance between them slowly, Thorin reached down to unbutton Bilbo’s suspenders.

“No longer curious?” Bilbo’s voice was not nearly as playful as he wanted it to be.

“I am.” Rather than moving on to Bilbo’s trousers, Thorin untucked the hobbit’s shirt. Then he slowly unfastened the lowest button. The simple action should not feel so much like a tease. “Tell me he was your first love: the prince who killed the great dragon Smog. Tell me you desired him before all others.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain he was,” Bilbo said, finding his levity at last. “I had many a youthful dream about the Dragonslayer. Mortifyingly so, at times, since Kili and I were sharing a room by that point so I could help with his nightmares.”

“Your loyalty is admirable.” Sliding his hands up so that they just barely grazed over Bilbo’s skin, he unfastened the next button. “Yet we are not speaking of Kili. The prince: you desired him?”

“Well.” Bilbo blushed. “You must understand I had no idea he was a real person.”

In the firelight, Thorin’s smile was shadowed by his beard and the proximity of their bodies. Bilbo didn’t need to see the perfect bow of his mouth to read the amusement in his eyes. “Did you dream of that, then? Marrying the prince and taking to your wedding bed on a mattress of spun sugar?”

Chuckling at the image, Bilbo shook his head. Then his breath caught in his throat as Thorin’s clever fingers continued unbuttoning Bilbo’s shirt, brushing gently over his breastbone. “Even as a child I was not so fanciful as to imagine two lads marrying or living together. No, even then, I understood my nature. My fantasies were not as light as you expect.”

Thorin leaned even closer, the dark curtain of his hair falling across Bilbo’s face as hot breath teased the tip of the hobbit’s ear. Those dexterous fingers unfastened the buttons of Bilbo’s collar. The hobbit marveled absently that such large hands had room enough to work in the scant space between their bodies.

“Tell me,” Thorin murmured, his lips brushing against Bilbo’s earlobe.

Giving up any hope of containing his arousal, Bilbo shuddered. Then he smirked up at Thorin. “I dreamed of him taking me.”

Thorin’s hands paused on Bilbo’s bare shoulders, halfway through the act of ridding him of his shirt entirely. “Taking you?”

“Oh yes,” Bilbo purred. “This was long before I made friends with Dandy. I had no idea how such things could actually be done between two fellows, but that matters little in dreams. I imagined myself his prize, the prince’s object of desire. For that is the point of princes, you know. They can have anything they want, but they choose you. He was not gentle, my prince. He was fierce. Passionate. A dragonslayer laying claim.”

Bilbo’s back hit the bedspread before he registered the strong hands lifting him. Trousers slid up and away, tossed over Thorin’s shoulder without a second glance as the dwarf came to kneel between Bilbo’s legs. Once all clothing was out of the way, Thorin dove forward, capturing Bilbo’s mouth in an unrelenting kiss. In the distance, a drawer slid open. A small clay jar clicked against the top of the nightstand.

“Let me have you, then,” Thorin growled. “As you wanted him.”

The hunger in his eyes made for a delightful change. Even once they had regular access to Bilbo’s beautiful bedroom, Thorin was strangely reluctant to play in this fashion. He was not fastidious about cleanliness or squeamish about the concept. Bilbo tupped him the very first night they shared a bed, and nearly every night since. Most hobbits were happy enough to take turns—or preferred to be the one doing the tupping—but Thorin repeatedly declined Bilbo’s suggestion that he might enjoy it.

Whatever his initial objections had been, it seemed Thorin’s interest was peaked. Bilbo resolved to make the most of the situation. Reaching up, his hand joined Thorin’s on the clay jar. “Shall I get myself ready for you?” he offered. Making his voice sultry did not require an effort. It was as low and eager as a hobbit’s voice could be.

“Would you deny me the pleasure of the work?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo melted so much that he was sure the contents of the jar were quite unnecessary.

“I would deny you nothing,” Bilbo said. Then, guessing at the game piquing Thorin’s interest, he added, “My Prince.”

Visibly shaken, Thorin claimed another kiss. His mouth moved slowly and irresistibly over Bilbo’s, much like the hand which slid down to delve into the valley of Bilbo’s ass. When he lifted his head to gaze steadily down at Bilbo, his fingers were already teasing and stroking across the opening.

“Then call me by the name of a prince.” The steady thread of command in Thorin’s voice was extremely attractive. “Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, Prince of Erebor, Protector of the Western Slopes, High Marshall of Durin’s Army, Guardian of Ravenhill, and Heir Apparent to the Arkenstone.”

Lowering his eyes, Bilbo gazed up at Thorin from beneath his lashes. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” It was a splendid game, though Bilbo did not know how he would manage to work all of those titles into their bedplay.

“Will you kneel for me?” Thorin asked softly. “To turn away can be an invitation.”

Sitting up slowly, Bilbo knew he should take to his hands and knees at once. Thorin had done the same for him many times, after all. “I will do anything my prince commands,” he said. But. If it was to be the only time Thorin gave him this, Bilbo did not want to turn away.

Since he was still Thorin, and not a prince at all, Bilbo’s lover placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Tell me what you desire. That is my command.”

Smiling at Thorin was the easiest thing in the world. Quick as he could, the hobbit propped two pillows beneath his lower back and another under his left knee. “I would like to see your face,” he said plainly. “We shall be comfortable enough this way, unless you have a strong preference.”

Thorin’s eyes were warmer than a summer sky. “And I would look upon my subject, to be sure I rule him well.” Which was a very compelling thought. Instantly, Bilbo was far more invested in the game than simply as a means to cajole a specific act of love from Thorin.

“Then rule me, sire,” he said softly.

Rewarding him with a kiss, Thorin set to work between Bilbo’s legs. He was not gentle. Bilbo knew many hobbits who would feint and tickle for hours before daring to proceed. Not so with Thorin. Yet the dwarf was thorough with the oil. Masterful. Without question he went at his own pace. Took pleasure in Bilbo’s body and reactions with little care for the hobbit’s opinion. Busied himself kissing and biting the hobbit’s face and neck while his hands worked independently.

“You like this,” he said more than once. Whether it was an observation or a command, it was truth.

Bilbo wanted to be good, wanted to serve, but before long he was squeezing his own cock, desperately trying not to spill too soon.

“You may do as you please,” Thorin said carelessly. “If I am a prince, I shall have you for as long as I wish, whether or not you finish with me.” As he punctuated this with a particularly wicked twist of his fingers, Bilbo could do nothing but squirm and whine wordlessly.

Swallowing hard, the hobbit finally managed to pant out, “Please, my prince.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, seemingly unmoved. Then he said, “Oh, very well,” and finally moved to mount Bilbo properly.

Stretching to accommodate him should have been easy after so long a wait. Indeed, Bilbo felt no pain. But he was overwhelmed by the sensation and the intensity of Thorin’s gaze. It was too much, too big, and too soon, though Thorin pressed in slowly, inch by inch. Then Thorin began to withdraw, and Bilbo might have wept for the lack. Unable to speak, he desperately clutched at Thorin’s arms, and received what he sought immediately.

Driving forward once more, Thorin shifted his hands, rearranging Bilbo’s weight once more. The hobbit saw stars. Thorin laughed, a low, friendly chuckle that made Bilbo’s whole body tremble in his grasp.

“Royalty can be magnanimous,” Thorin murmured softly. “When the mood strikes.”

Bilbo could not remember the game at all, nor why the talk of princes was important, but that did not matter. Soon Thorin began to move in earnest, delving deep and striking true with every single thrust. Clinging to him, Bilbo saw blue eyes and fireworks in equal measure, spilling into pleasure with nothing but the pistoning of Thorin’s hips to drive him over the edge. Even more satisfying was the cry Thorin gave shortly thereafter, shaking and slumping over Bilbo, hot, heavy, and sated.

Since he did not have to move at all to do so, Bilbo pressed a kiss to the beard tickling his nose. Then he knew no more.

Waking in the middle of the night, Bilbo found that he was clean, pleasantly sore, and cuddled against a warm, fuzzy chest. A hand stroked his hair absently.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked muzzily.

“Enjoying the moment,” Thorin murmured.

“Want milk?”

The hand in Bilbo’s hair paused.

“Warm milk. For sleep.”

A low chuckle shook Bilbo’s pillow slightly, and the hand resumed its stroking.

“Thank you, no,” Thorin said. “I love that you offer, though. I love your solicitude.”

Which woke Bilbo to fullness, though he was careful not to move.

Thorin did not speak for a while, and Bilbo let himself enjoy the warmth of a body and the closeness of a hand in his hair.

“Bilbo?” The voice was soft. If Bilbo pretended he was yet asleep, it would not speak again.

“Thorin,” he mumbled, hoping the question that he feared would not come. It was too late to hope that the statement he feared even more would go unsaid.

“You prefer to make love as we just did, do you not? That is your favorite manner of bedsport.”

“Mmm.” Relaxing further, Bilbo smiled. “Very much so, yes. In all honesty, you were spectacular. Even better than I could have hoped. I don’t know if it was that prince business which drove you to such excellence or merely your innate perfectionism, but do I beg you to consider having it off that way at least once more before the end of the winter. I know it is a great deal more work for you than the other way around, and I am positively useless afterwards until I’ve had a nap. But I would consider it a great favor.”

Thorin did not answer this speech for a little while. Abashedly, Bilbo realized that he’d given away a great deal more than his wakeful state in making it. Then Thorin said, “My favorite thing is spilling into you. Your mouth. Your body. It makes little difference. I believe that I shall spend the rest of the winter alternating between the two on a daily basis. Though I fully expect there shall be some days when I spill down your throat several times.”

The effect of this speech was instant arousal. As he was curled against Thorin’s thigh, there was no way the dwarf did not know it.

“Will I do so now?” Thorin mused. “Use your mouth for my pleasure?”

The fire was very low in the grate and only a little moonlight shone through the crack in the curtains. Even so, when Bilbo looked at Thorin’s face, he could see the hint of bitterness behind his playful facade.

“Have I been using you?” the hobbit asked quietly, ignoring his body entirely. “My intent has only ever been to please us both. If you are unhappy in any way, pray tell me.”

Breaking, Thorin looked away. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were tired. It was very late at night, and they had not been idle. “We have so little time together,” he said softly. “I did not expect my own feelings to be so intensified by what seemed a simple act.”

Bilbo put a hand on his beard, tracing the outline of Thorin’s face. Then, stretching up, he kissed him. “It does change things, of course it does. Part of me wishes this winter would never end.”

“And I,” Thorin agreed, leaning down for a second chaste kiss.

Dropping his head back to Thorin’s chest, Bilbo looked to the embers of the fire. He did not want to see the dwarf’s face when he asked. “Is there no way you could stay a while longer? Send Fili or Dwalin home to look after your interests, but remain with me through the springtime. If only one of the others remained with you, it would not look so very odd to the neighbors.”

Thorin’s arms tightened around Bilbo and he did not answer. When he did, it was not at all what the hobbit expected. “And if I wanted to stay forever?”

Sitting up abruptly, Bilbo studied Thorin’s face. The smile was soft, the blue eyes were twinkling, and the long hair was so delightfully mussed. Bilbo grinned. As his heart blossomed in his chest, he felt that springtime was come early and all the world was in bloom.

At once, Thorin’s face twisted and he pressed a large hand to his brow, covering his own eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “No, please, do not say it. I have responsibilities. Not least, the care of my sister. Leaving her to my father and Fili is unsustainable and unfair. I could never stay, even if you would have me.”

“Of course you could not stay,” Bilbo said quickly, lowering himself back to the bed. Away from Thorin, he was rather cold, and too close on the mattress to the slightly damp, crusty place which was the inevitable result of vigorous activity. “I was not going to invite you. It would be far too suspicious to have a dwarf in permanent residence at Bag End. There is no respectable explanation for such a thing. At best, folk would think you a lodger and that my finances were depleted to a disreputable degree.”

The hand slid up, away from Thorin’s eyes, tangling itself in Thorin’s hair. He looked sideways at Bilbo from beneath the dark curtain. “You could come to Erebor with me.”

At once, the chilly air of the room froze solid, driving into Bilbo’s lungs like icicles. Stupidly, he made to rise and leave. He would not agree to such an obvious temptation. He refused to betray his brother for simple, bodily pleasure. He could not forgo his promise to his dying mother in exchange for a competent lover. He was weak, but he was not that weak. He was selfish, but he would not be that much of a fool.

A warm hand caught his elbow gently. With a shrug Bilbo could free himself. But he did not want to. Therein lay the trap.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Of course you cannot. I did not think. I was not even thinking of Kili. You will not believe me. Perhaps it is a credit to your wisdom that you do not believe me, but I forgot about him entirely. Only for a moment. I just wish we had more time. That is all.”

Slowly, Bilbo allowed himself to be coaxed back into bed, but it was a long while before he fell asleep.