Chapter Text
Thorin was thinking about Bilbo all the same as he sucked in another breath of tobacco and let it pass to his lungs, but he was also thinking about Frerin. He had always loved places like this; tacky decorations, country charm, cool, spring nights on the porch. Their grandfather, Thrain, lived somewhere similar to this little bed and breakfast in the mountains of Erebor, far away from society (or so he had heard, Thorin didn't remember much of the man), where the Durin family once lived alongside him. His sister remembered a bit more about it, and in Frerin's memory, had set to reveal more about the early days in Erebor to his brother. The home was supposed vast and beautiful, with a view unlike no other.
But what about the present, and the gorgeous little man inside of the tacky inn? He was spirited and free and reminded Thorin much of a foal just figuring out his legs. It certainly helped to kill the desire that Bilbo was so in love with the inn and it's floral curtains and bedspreads, but that seemed to be but a minor detail when it came to his personality. Bilbo was sweet and a wonderful host, not to mention a good cook. What would he look like stark-naked, making Thorin dinner in the kitchen while they discussed the gossips of the town?
Before he could settle enough to release the hard-on in his trousers, he heard the screen door open. The man of the hour popped out, barefoot, his own pack of cigarettes in tow. He greeted nervously at his guests and sat at the other chair, keeping his head down and the blush growing to his nose.
"You are positively brooding," He giggled softly, cradling his hot drink in his hands. "Do you usually look so sour in the face?"
"What's it to you? You've been blushing like a love-apple since this morning," Mister Durin shot back, his eyes creasing into a scowl. Before Bilbo could make a comment, that heavy laugh escaped into the night once before. "You take hate easy."
"What can I say? I am an unmarried homosexual in an English country town," Bilbo sipped on his tea, crossing his legs upon the rocker. He wasn't prepared to dump his heart on his houseguest, but it seemed Thorin was as interested in him as he was the handsome, impeccably moody, well-to-do man. "Do you usually pick on B&B owners who make you dinner and allow you to do what it is you please?"
"I admit I have never met one such as you, Bilbo Baggins. I work for a well-off company in London and we don't have much contact with others besides our coworkers and clients. I have been avoiding calls all evening, choosing to get to know you." Thorin smiled meanly; he knew how to make the young man positively bothered beyond belief.
"I usually don't speak to my houseguests if they are as disrespectful as you," Sneered the brunette, making a scene of glaring beyond Thorin's eyes and trying to pick his brain.
"So, you're gay. That's funny because I was going to ask about the bedspread."
"The bedspread?! What's wrong with it? It's a vintage needle-worked quilt made by my grandmother!" Bilbo almost stood, placing his bare feet on the porch even though it created an awkward angle. "How does that prove my sexuality, Mister Thorin Durin?"
Thorin looked pained and reached out to steady Bilbo back into the rocker. His hand touched his chest, the warmth spilling off almost instantaneously. "You are positively handsome, Mister Bilbo. I just think that it wouldn't do you wrong to allow your houseguests a more, hmm, neutral bedspread. Some of us enjoy a little touch-and-wank on our vacation if you know what I mean."
Bilbo's arousal shot to his head, and he rocked forward to tuck his forehead into his palms. What was wrong with this guy? Who gave him the right to stroll into Bilbo's private life like that, when he was a paying guest of Bagshot Row? He barely knew the guy; Thorin wanted to know him in bed already!
But Thorin remained neutral, his head clear and happy. He adored making Bilbo hot and bothered; it was beyond adorable and amusing. "Bilbo?"
"Don't... just don't," He all-but whimpered defeat, bringing his head up with stunned, big hazel-green eyes. "You are going to bring me an early death."
"An early death? You can't be older than thirty."
"I'm thirty-five. How old are you?"
"Forty-two."
"Forty- you look my age! You're a hunk of a guy!"
"Thank you, Master Baggins. As are you." Thorin smirked, his hand resting on the armrest of Bilbo's chair. Just close enough that Bilbo could see a lack of a wedding band, and gorgeous, thick fingers. Oh, what those could do! "Say, how's about we play a little game? I ask you a question and you answer, and then you do the same."
"A game, Mister Durin? You are positively beyond me." The young innkeeper had already given in; there was no way he was passing up a chance to get to know more about this prince and it wouldn't hurt to find out if he was... seeing someone. Bilbo had already engraved it in his mind that Thorin was much like him, and enjoyed the company of men. "Fine, I'll play. But I'm going first."
"That's fair." Thorin nodded, keeping his hand where it was perched and tucking his phone in his pocket. "What would you like to know?"
"Are you single?"
"I am. That was what I was hoping you would ask. Do I look single?" He almost laughed, motioning to the sky to represent an audience.
"No! No... just... I just wanted to know. That's all." Bilbo sighed; the dreamboat was a bachelor!
"Good question. Now it's my turn..." Tapping at his chin where a scruffy beard was growing in, Thorin thought up his own icebreaker. "Frodo, is he really your nephew?"
"He's my cousin. His father, Drogo, was raised alongside me like a brother, so when Frodo was born he started calling me 'uncle'. He's nothing short of a nephew to me, either. He's a good boy and I love him to bits. Why do you wonder?"
"He reminds me of my brother, Frerin, is all. He was always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He was lost in a family disaster when I was young." Thorin wasn't sure why he was opening up so easily; Bilbo just had that effect on him. "I wasn't sure if I was allowed to say so if he was your son."
"Oh. Oh Thorin, I'm so sorry. I lost my parents young, too. They left me the place, but it's never been easy knowing how much I missed. How old were you when your Frerin passed?"
"Eight or nine, I don't remember a lot of the day. Nor the year, but I know my brother was supposed to be turning five that year. Our house was subject to arson, as my dad wasn't a good man at work, and I couldn't get him out." Thorin looked at Bilbo, his look unhatched. His eyes were growing darker, but they weren't holding that broken look as earlier. Bilbo had hit a hard spot in the man's heart.
Where did he go from here?
Thorin was happy that the news was off of his chest. It felt good that someone knew about his loss and about Frerin, someone who wasn't affiliated with work. At the Fundin company, nothing stayed with the heart or was kept a secret. Balin and Dwalin knew all that went on inside and out, especially if that person was their consigliere, the inner man of their heinous crimes.
"My parents were in a car accident. They were just driving to the grocery, they weren't even looking for trouble! A man hit them and the car went into a tree... or so I heard, I never saw it. It hurts Thorin, I know it does. They tell you it's just grief and that it ends, but when-"
"When does it end? It's been going on for years, decades, and I still feel the same as I did when it happened," Thorin finished for him. He reached out at the tears that were welling up in Bilbo's eyes, flicking them away. "I know how it feels. And... and I will try my best to make it better."
"Thorin..." Bilbo sighed, his eyes drowning in the blue sea across from him as Durin kept his thumb on his cheek, rubbing softly. It felt new, like little electric sparks were passing through his nerves. "You don't have to."
"I-I want to," He promised, bringing the smaller man closer to him. Their chests touched but Bilbo was small, so much that he was almost perched in the opposite's lap when they met glances. "I have one more question to ask you. Can I kiss you, Bilbo Baggins?"
"Please."