Chapter Text
Bilbo was rifling through his trunk, tossing out jumper after jumper in a haste to find the right one. Primula and Ori were both sat on his four poster bed, dodging the flying clothing and watching in amusement as their friend frantically searched for the perfect first date outfit.
“What about that maroon one that brings out your eyes?” Primula suggested, ducking just as a sweater vest came right in the direction of her head. Bilbo perked up at those words, searching even more hurriedly until he pulled out the aforementioned jumper in triumph, quickly slipping it on. Prim praised the outfit choice while Ori nodded in agreement, but Bilbo still wasn’t one hundred percent sure, glancing at the mirror indecisively and doing a few turns. He started wondering aloud if he should change his trousers (for the seventh time) when Prim finally stood up, took him by the arms, and forcefully sat him down.
“Bilbo, I know this is your first date with Thorin, but seriously, no matter what you wear, you’re going to look amazing,” she said reassuringly, pulling the pair of slacks out of his hand and tossing them back into his trunk.
“You really think so?”
“I know so. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you!”
Bilbo smiled a small, nervous smile, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. He supposed there was nothing more he could do with his look at this point; he would just have to go as is.
---
Bilbo's nervousness was nothing compared to Thorin's, his poor attempts at concealing it quickly becoming futile as the day soon turned to evening. He had literally washed his hair so many times, his housemates were starting to wonder if he had contracted lice or something.
"Thorin, you need to calm down," Dís said as her older brother towel-dried his dark locks for a fourth time that day. "And if you keep messing with your hair so much, you will go bald, so stop!"
Thorin pointedly ignored his sister’s words, though he combed through his hair slowly that time, taking care not to pull out any strands as he detangled. He rubbed his chin in the mirror, proud of the beard that was starting to develop. The men in their family were known for their magnificent beards, and he would soon be joining the ranks and sporting one of them.
“You should probably shave that.”
“Are you mad? It’s just starting to come in!” Thorin looked at her, appalled that she would even suggest such a thing.
“I think Bilbo would appreciate a clean-shaven man,” Dís remarked, standing in front of him to help him with the braids he always had in his hair, another family trait.
“You don’t even know him.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Mine, and I will do everything I can to continue prolonging the introduction for as long as possible.”
Dís gave him a prominent pout at those words, but Thorin didn’t relent. His sister meeting Bilbo just spelled absolute disaster for him, and probably every embarrassing story she can fit into one conversation. It would do well for them to never meet, ever, though he knew it was only a matter of time until the youngest Durin tracked the Hufflepuff down, which she would be inclined to do.
As soon as Thorin deemed himself ready, every strand of hair in place, his start-of-a-beard properly groomed, he left the dorm to go meet up with Bilbo at the entrance to the Hufflepuff Basement, but not before Dís got one more word in edgewise.
"Word of advice from your loving sister,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek for luck, “don't muck this up."
"Thanks, sis."
---
As Thorin walked from dungeons to the basement, he felt his nerves starting to creep up on him again, causing butterflies to flutter around in his stomach. It was exactly like how he felt before every Quidditch match: confident but nervous, excited, pretty much anticipating anything. But as much as he loved the adrenaline pumping through his veins, making his fingertips tingle, he was aware of how different this particular situation was. He didn’t generally have to talk much out on the Quidditch pitch, but on a date, he was expected to be loquacious and charming, of which he felt he was neither. He hoped Bilbo would do most of the talking, and he could just sit there and listen all night, which was something he definitely didn’t mind doing with him.
Rounding the corner, he spotted Bilbo standing in front of the pile of barrels, looking as adorable as ever in a comfy red jumper and jeans. Some of Thorin’s uneasiness starting melting away at the sight of him, and as soon as they caught each other’s eye, they both smiled, immediately walking towards one another.
“You look great,” Thorin said, offering his arm in a gentlemanly fashion.
“So do you,” Bilbo said as he took it, looping their arms together. They took a few steps before Thorin stopped, right in front of the painting of fruit that was the entrance to the kitchens.
“Hold on a sec, Bilbo, I need to make one stop.” He tickled the pear of the portrait, revealing the green doorknob, and they walked in, the house elves still running around, hard at work, making sure the Great Hall was still full of food for dinner. Thorin looked at them expectantly until one stopped, recognizing his face, and scurried away before returning to present him with blankets and a large picnic basket, brimming with freshly made contents. Taking them off her hands, Thorin thanked the elf and led Bilbo back out of the kitchens, now making their way out of the castle.
“So we’re going on a picnic, huh?” Bilbo asked, the aroma of warm food wafting from the basket, hitting his nostrils and causing his tummy to rumble. Thorin only grinned in response as they walked through the large, wooden doors and out onto the grounds, in the direction of the Black Lake. In their five years at Hogwarts, Bilbo had only been outside at night a handful of times, typically for class-related purposes, such as to study certain plants that only bloomed in the moonlight, but this was far from anything like that.
They reached the edge of the lake, the almost full moon reflecting brightly on the still surface, and they continued to walk until they reached a particularly large, old oak tree; it was there that Thorin dropped the basket and began laying out the blankets for their picnic spot. Bilbo’s stomach grumbled again as they unpacked the basket, an array of different, delicious foods for them to feast upon.
As they ate, Bilbo glanced up at the night sky, which was absolutely littered with millions of stars, a magnificent sight, but all Thorin could focus on was him.
“It’s so beautiful out here,” the Hufflepuff remarked, digging his fork into the roast on his plate.
“Yeah, it is,” Thorin said, but his eyes still didn’t even glance at their surroundings. He found himself inching towards Bilbo, still at a somewhat respectable distance, where they were just shy of touching.
“I bet this is where you take all your dates,” Bilbo remarked with a smirk.
“No. Just you.” He answered, his words full of so much honesty, the Hufflepuff felt his breath catch in his throat.
"Well I'm glad you did."
---
After dinner and dessert (strawberry cheesecake, one of Bilbo's favorites), they went for a walk along the side of the lake, their hands bumping every so often until Thorin finally took hold of Bilbo's, lacing their fingers together. Bilbo leaned his head comfortably against the side of Thorin's shoulder as they walked, the Slytherin finding he wasn't as inept at conversation as he had previously thought, asking Bilbo about his home life and childhood.
“I think I was five or six at the time,” Bilbo reminisced, his thumb stroking over Thorin’s hand in his, causing the Slytherin's heart to beat irregularly. “I was laying in the garden one spring, admiring the flowers my father had just planted, when I noticed one of them hadn’t bloomed yet. So I started talking to it, encouraging it to grow. Suddenly, it started growing, and then a bunch of other flowers started appearing out of nowhere until I was surrounded by them! And I’m pretty sure that was the first time I did magic, that I can remember anyway.”
Thorin’s heart swelled at the idea of a tiny Bilbo, sitting amongst a field of flowers, created from his own magic.
“I can’t remember the first time I showed my powers,” Thorin admitted, letting Bilbo lead him further away from the castle, the grounds calmly quiet that night. “It was probably something insignificant, like knocking things off a shelf during a tantrum or something.”
“Well I bet your mother remembers. Mine still tells the stories to all my friends,” Bilbo remarked with a knowing roll of his eyes. Belladonna Baggins was insanely proud of her gifted son, almost forgetting that it had to be kept secret from the rest of their family and Bilbo having to constantly remind her of this fact.
"I wouldn't mind hearing a few more of those stories."
"I'm sure you wouldn't, but you won't be hearing them from me, no sir."
Thorin frowned at him for that, to which Bilbo could only smirk.
"Oh no, that's not gonna work on me," the Hufflepuff said, though it was apparent that his defense was weakening by the minute.
Eventually he had them both laughing about one incident in the bathtub when he was seven, and another time at grade school when he was ten.
It took a little bit more effort on Bilbo’s part to get Thorin to come out of his shell, but in due time, the Slytherin was telling stories about himself, growing up with his siblings, Quidditch, everything. Bilbo felt he could have listened to it all night.
Which they realized they both had, as by the time they were practically exhausted of stories, it was well past one o’clock in the morning. Bilbo, being the responsible prefect that he was, noted that they both had classes in a few hours’ time and should be heading back inside.
It was obvious in their matching glacial pace that neither was in a hurry to head to their separate dormitories, their hands still clasped together, silently catching each other's eye every so often and smiling shyly. Both glanced at the pile of barrels with somewhat disappointment, almost not wanting to keep walking but knowing they had to. Once they reached the entrance to the Hufflepuff basement, they stopped and faced each other.
“Thank you for a great evening, Bilbo,” Thorin said, giving the back of the Hufflepuff's hand a gentle kiss.
“It was my pleasure,” Bilbo said with a grin, making no effort whatsoever to release his hand from Thorin's hold.
“Well, good night, Bilbo.”
"Good night, Thorin."
Again, neither made any move to let go, and instead of moving apart, they subconsciously inched closer. They were so close, Thorin could feel Bilbo's warmth radiating against him, making him almost shiver with returned nervousness. He knew it was probably too soon to do so, but he couldn't fight it any longer.
“Bilbo, can I, can I kiss y-”
Before Thorin could finish his question, Bilbo had pulled him down roughly by the back of his head, their lips crashing together in an awkward, but wonderful kiss. It took Thorin by surprise, and he initially froze at the touch, but eventually enveloped the Hufflepuff’s soft lips in between his in a tender caress, kissing back with fervor. Thorin had always imagined their first to be tentative, on the shy side even, but this was far from it. It started off gentle for a moment, but soon became full of passion, pent-up emotion that had been bubbling just below the surface until it finally found an outlet and there was no getting enough. Thorin got so caught up in their kiss, it was Bilbo who had to slowly pull away after a few seconds for them to catch their breaths. Thorin slowly opened his eyes, his head spinning as he grinned down at the Hufflepuff, whose return smile was just as bright, his eyes still closed as if savoring the feel. Thorin took the opportunity to place his hands on Bilbo's cheeks, slowly running his thumbs over his cheekbones, making the Hufflepuff whimper with want, their breaths mingling with wordless anticipation.
"Kiss me again," Bilbo whispered, and Thorin did as he was told, pressing his lips hard against the Hufflepuff's once more, their mouths moving sensually together, slotting in place perfectly as if made for each other. The Slytherin tilted his head to the side to get a better angle, deepening their kiss and pulling soft sighs from both their mouths. Thorin gently guided him against the wall next to the basement entrance, running his fingers through Bilbo’s honey curls as the Hufflepuff’s hands, which had taken hold of Thorin by the shirt, moved right into his hair as well, one hand right at the nape of his neck, the other lost in his dark locks.
They stayed like that for several minutes, locked in their embrace, both memorizing the intoxicating feeling of being with each other. By the time they had to break their kiss the second time, they were gasping for air but still close, continuing to hold onto each other. Thorin ran his callused hand over Bilbo’s cheek once more, causing the Hufflepuff to sigh contentedly, placing his hand over Thorin’s.
“I don’t want to say good night,” Thorin whispered, his lips hovering just centimeters away from his again.
“Me neither,” Bilbo said, leaning forward again for another quick kiss, letting his lips linger on the Slytherin’s for a few seconds before letting go, causing Thorin to hum in disappointment. The Hufflepuff giggled before kissing him a few more times, until he remembered that they were supposed to be saying good night.
“Thorin,” he said, with Thorin’s lips pressed against his once more.
“Hmm?”
“It’s almost two in the morning.”
“I know.”
“So we should probably end our date.”
“But I don’t want to,” Thorin remarked with a pout, his arms now wrapped around Bilbo’s waist with practically no space between them.
“I know, I don’t want to either, but we should.”
Thorin sighed, unwrapping his arms to pull Bilbo by the hand towards the barrels. They stopped right in front of the entrance again, and Bilbo pulled him close to get one last, good night kiss. Thorin immediately went for another, but the Hufflepuff stopped him, pressing a hand against his chest.
“Thorin, if you kiss me again, I won’t be able to stop.”
“And that would be bad because…?”
“Thorin.”
“Alright, alright,” Thorin said, placing a last kiss on the palm of Bilbo’s hand before reluctantly letting it go.
“Good night, Thorin.”
“Good night, Bilbo. Sweet dreams.”