Bilbo’s never seen such emotion on Thorin’s face as he does when they enter the mountain.
The reverent way he touches the walls, the glimmer of tears in his eyes. He seems much younger then, like a boy who’d been missing home for a little too long. Like a child coming home after a long day. Bilbo’s heart wrenches in a remarkable way as he watches the King Under the Mountain move about the halls. He remembers why he came on this quest.
They decide to take some time to gather themselves, rest, and plot a course of action. They find a small room off the corridor leading to the hidden door, and that is where they hole up. Now that they’ve actually entered the mountain, Thorin wishes to take no chances. They will move with calculated and delicate steps.
Once everyone is settled and food prepared, Thorin comes over and places a heavy hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo looks up at him, a little awestruck. Now that they’re here, he’s reminded ever so much more that Thorin is royalty. He is legendary. He owns this mountain. Bilbo feels slightly inadequate beside him, more so now than he did before. This is the kind of man which books are written about, the kind of books Bilbo would keep on his shelf at Bag End. It all seems like a dream to be living it.
“Master Baggins, I would speak with you privately.” Thorin says, loud enough for the others to hear. Probably no one else notices it, but Bilbo hears an edge of desperation in Thorin’s voice. His eyebrows draw together in concern.
“Oh yes, of course.” he answers, and follows Thorin out of the room.
The king leads them down a side hall, quite a distance from the room in which they’ve all gathered. Bilbo is growing more concerned by the second. Is Thorin upset with him? Does he have some horrible secret to share? Does it concern the dragon? The Arkenstone?
Thorin eventually finds a room he deems suitable for their grave chat, and ushers Bilbo in. The doors creak shut under Thorin’s strong hand, and before Bilbo can even turn to face him, there are arms like tree trunks wrapping around his waist and a hot mouth on his ear. Bilbo squeaks.
“Master Baggins. My debt to you grows ever greater by the day.” Thorin rumbles. His hands are roaming all over Bilbo’s body, touching and squeezing and possessing. Bilbo’s suddenly very hot under the collar.
“H-How do you mean?” he manages to ask. It’s not like Thorin to pounce on him like this. He’s usually quite reserved and polite, tentative with his touches, as if afraid of scaring Bilbo off. Not now.
“Without your clever mind, I would have returned to the Blue Mountains in shame. I would have never again looked upon the halls of my kingdom.” his voice grows hoarse. “ The light of the moon. Bilbo, my gratitude-“
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he spins Bilbo around, grabs his face, and kisses him sloppily. Bilbo isn’t complaining, he’s just surprised at how desperate and riled up Thorin is. He seemed utterly composed just a few minutes earlier. Bilbo kisses him back, of course, winding his hands in Thorin’s thick hair to steady himself. Thorin’s hands find his thighs and before Bilbo can say a word, he’s hoisting him up. Bilbo can feel the hard steel of his cock pushing against his trousers. He’s horny.
Thorin breaks away, gasping. “To think I ever doubted you. My treasure, my heart.”
Bilbo moans a little, grasping at Thorin’s shoulders. He’s being positively swept away in Thorin’s passion. Thorin knocks their foreheads together. His hands squeeze at Bilbo’s rear.
“Would you let me have you, ghivashel ? Here, now?” he pants.
“Yes. Yes, yes, of course!” As if Bilbo would say no to that.
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Thorin is stripping them with frantic hands. Well, mostly he’s stripping Bilbo: pulling off his pants and ripping off his coat until Bilbo’s just in his undershirt. He undoes the fastenings of his own trousers only enough to free his cock, and then he’s picking Bilbo back up. Bilbo wraps his legs around Thorin’s hips without a thought and squeezes, letting Thorin know he’s just as eager. No complaints about a randy Dwarf king, no sir.
Thorin spits into his hand and brings it to Bilbo’s ass. Mm, so he’s going to feel this later. Painfully thick fingers slide inside him, and Bilbo cries out. They had sex only the previous night after retiring from the festivities in Laketown, but no amount of sexual activity will ever acclimate a small Hobbit body to Dwarvish… heft. Thorin fingers him only long enough to make him slick inside, and then Bilbo feels the blunt head of his cock nudging at his entrance. He buries his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck and hangs onto his shoulders for dear life.
Thorin enters him with a harsh thrust and a deep rumble, hands clamped on his thighs firmly, possessively. Bilbo can’t help his groan. Thorin is so thick. The king walks them forward and presses Bilbo into a wall, and then he’s pounding into him, making Bilbo all but scream. Now he understands why Thorin led him so far away from the others.
“Mine, all mine, my clever, fair, beautiful Hobbit. Ghivashel, my heart, my most precious treasure…” Thorin pants it into Bilbo’s hair. His arms are holding Bilbo tight, as if he’s expecting someone to come along and try to snatch him away. Bilbo’s never seen Thorin like this before.
“ Thorin .” he breathes. It comes out bumpy because Thorin is thrusting so hard.
“Are you? Are you mine?” Thorin demands, sucking on Bilbo’s neck and grasping the back of his head. Thorin had warned him a while back that Dwarvish love was usually intense and possessive. Now Bilbo understands.
“Yes, yes, I am, I promise you! Foolish Dwarf, to think there was any danger I was not…” Bilbo gasps. He’s getting close already, molten lava curling between his thighs. Of course he’s Thorin’s. Whether he likes it or not, he’s fallen hopelessly in love. He already knows he’ll never be the same. Never the same Hobbit he once was, always he will have Thorin and his mountain in his heart. Whatever happens now, he shall always return to this. He’s not good at saying things without a tinge of sarcasm or humor, but in his heart, his love for Thorin is of utter seriousness and gravity. He is his. He’s going to face a dragon for him, for goodness sake. How Thorin could ever doubt is beyond him.
Thorin rumbles again and fucks even harder, if that were even possible. He’s showering Bilbo with kisses, all over his throat and cheeks and lips. He’s whispering entirely in Khuzdul now, and Bilbo wishes he knew what he was saying. His moans grow louder and louder, his grip on Thorin’s shoulders tighter and tighter, and then he’s coming with a drawn-out gasp, thighs shaking like leaves in the wind.
Thorin comes a moment later with a groan, rocking into Bilbo, squeezing him tight. They remain like that for some time, swaying gently back and forth, as they both catch their breath.
Thorin’s arms must be tired by now. Bilbo wiggles a bit, and Thorin pulls out and puts him down carefully. He gazes at Bilbo with a soft smile, and reaches out to caress his cheek with his large, weathered sword hand. His ability to be both powerful and gentle has always amazed Bilbo.
“My Bilbo.” he murmurs, utterly fond. Bilbo smiles back at him, beams at him, really, and saunters forward to wind his arms around Thorin’s torso. To think that bookish old Bilbo Baggins would someday be regarded with such affection by the greatest of all Dwarvish kings. If only Lobelia Sackville-Baggins could see him now.
Thorin embraces him in return, stroking his hair. It’s grown quite long.
Bilbo’s feeling especially poetic, given Thorin’s mood. He hums, and traces a pattern on Thorin’s back as he speaks:
“Someday I shall write a grand tale about you, Thorin Oakenshield, so that all who read it may know of you.”
Thorin chuckles. “Shall I make you court historian when we take back this mountain?”
Bilbo is suddenly struck with the possibility of staying with the Dwarves in Erebor after all of this is over. It makes him feel a little funny inside.
“I would be honored.”