Chapter Text
Frodo dropped Sam off at home and pulled the truck down the drive towards the Baggins property. Bilbo hadn't ever cared much for driving himself, as he usually walked or had his nephew run the little errands around the town that he considered essential. The only time he did drive Bungo's old red Chevy pick-up was when he went to the city -- once a year, around Christmastime, Bilbo went and visited Frodo and his parents in London. His brother, Drogo, who wasn't his blood-sibling but instead just a cousin with brother-like values, was similar to Bilbo in regards that he enjoyed being home with his family. His wife, the beautiful Primula, was more adventurous and could be seen wandering around the big city more often than any other of the Baggins did, as she loved to see Bilbo and introduce him to the delicacies of the city. Frodo was more like his mother, but he was a Baggins at heart and was welcome whenever he chose to stay with Bilbo.
Perhaps, he had been given another reason to as he found that another car was currently parked in the driveway -- an expensive-looking Porsche. So that was the man that he and Sam had heard about, but never had the luck of running into as they ran his uncle's errands. Poking around Bree was no holiday for the two of them, as they had picked apart the city stream by stream, hayloft by hayloft.
Frodo moved the truck back into the barn and shuffled to the porch with two bags of groceries, enough for dinner for the two Baggins' and their new guest. Frodo wondered if he was handsome like Bilbo always mused his city guests were. His uncle never had a problem speaking his mind to his nephew; he knew that he was into men if his blush served as a reminder every time the teenager watched reality television. He would insist that the models weren't beautiful and gorgeous and giving him a hard-on to save the lad from embarrassment. In reality, Frodo found Bilbo's pining more amusing than disturbing and enjoyed teasing him about it consistently.
"I'm back, Uncle!" Frodo announced, locking the inn's door behind him. He brought the groceries into the kitchen, where he found his young uncle cooking up a monster pot pie. "I thought we had company?"
"W-We do! We do... Thor- I mean, Mister Durin is washing up for dinner. He should be down any second if he doesn't want to keep us waiting as he has been the past hour." More hot and bothered than actually annoyed, Bilbo turned to face away from his nephew with a sigh.
"He's that handsome, hm?" The brunette chuckled and moved to finish the dishes while Bilbo went to set the table, fussing over his hair instead of lining the silverware. "Uncle! You're so nervous, you're never this nervous. Is everything alright?"
"Yes, yes... I suppose it is. He's just, um... I cannot make it through this meal, with him looking as he does," He whimpered softly, defeat bellowing in his green eyes.
Frodo opened his lips to speak before he heard the stairs creak. A tall, stocky man grinned at him silently as he ran a hand through long, wet locks. His build was toned, his eyes a looming, sea blue. Sporting a charming t-shirt and some trousers, Mister Durin took his leave at the dinner table and set down his phone next to his plate. A businessman he seemed, with his cleaned features and chiseled smile. No wonder Bilbo was nervous! The Londoner was handsome enough to overthrow even the queen with a flick of the wrist.
"Nice to meet you," Frodo spoke up first, knowing breaking the silence would lead to reward in the future; his uncle was still a little too red for casual conversation. "Uncle tells me you're a businessman; what do you do?"
"Oh, um... we work with iron and steel. We make tools and the such." Nervously, Thorin broke a smile and cut into the pot pie in front of him. "I had to use my vacation days up, so I decided this place couldn't hurt. What's there to do in Bree?"
Bilbo and Frodo met eyes, weakly smiling.
"Not much, I'm afraid," The innkeeper explained, deep breaths settling his stomach. He poured two glasses of wine before sitting down and making himself a plate of food. Even if he was nervous, he wasn't going to waste the beautiful meal he'd prepared. Not when it looked so delicious, the chicken pouring out the sides with carrots, celery, and potato. "You can horse-ride, go for walks, picnic in the hills..."
"Oh. That sounds, um... interesting." Breaking away to silence a call, Mister Durin shuffled his hands and occupied his mouth with a bite. "What do guests here usually do? No internet, I've found."
"Television comes in, except it's a little hard to find a good channel." Bilbo knew the news would upset the handsome man, but he had to tell the truth. Most of his guests were appalled to find they couldn't actually get any work done since the cell reception was as hard to get working as the cable TV. "You're very welcome to read. I have an expansive library.
"Did you... did you really want to visit Bree? Or was it the only place open?" Frodo asked suddenly, dropping his fork.
Bilbo shot him a look of disbelief. "Frodo! That's incredibly rude, of course, Mister Durin wanted to vis-"
"It's okay, lads," Thorin chuckled, a hearty laugh escaping his chest that filled the room. It startled the two small country boys, but Bilbo found it incredibly endearing. Sumptuous, even; he could get used to hearing it. "He's right. I had booked a flight for Ered Luin, but the hotels were booked weeks out. I tried Rivendell, but the news was the same. Honestly, a vacation was the last thing on my mind, but my boss insisted. I hope I don't cause you two any trouble; I'll try my best to stay out of the usual operations of the town. Besides, your cooking is delicious, Bilbo."
"Thank you, Thorin," Humming, Bilbo raised an eyebrow as Thorin met eyes with him, those curvy red lips seeming to study his own. Dinner went back to normal quickly, though, as he insisted to refill everyone's plates. "I apologize that Bree was the last place on your mind for a holiday. Most of the inn's guests come purposely for solace from work and the usual city living. Frodo and I try to keep to ourselves."
It was easier said than done, as, after dinner and a delicious dessert of cherry pie and tea, Thorin retreated to the front porch with his phone, leaving the oldest Baggins glaring endearingly out the window at him. Frodo called an early night and promised to do the dishes in the morning, leaving the men alone to their thoughts. And, possibly some romance, if he kept his hopes up.
"God, I could stare at him for a lifetime and never grow old," Thought Bilbo, resting his knees on the bench that faced the stained-glass window. Thorin was smoking a cigarette now and brooding; he was quieter than he seemed in the beginning, but nonetheless left a mark on the room every time he spoke. He seemed smart, possibly heartbroken, and very-much alone, such as the bachelors of the inn seemed to be. Oh, the joys of spring in Bree.