Chapter Text
"Thorin!" Bilbo squealed like a kitten, laughing hysterically as the man loomed above him, pressing him into the plush mattress amongst a sea of florals. Peppering down his bare chest with kisses, the businessman conceded to enjoying his innkeeper, encircling a soft bite to his nipple. The brunette absolutely whinnied, sounding like a pony in heat. "Ahh... Y-You are going to be the death of me! Stop it!"
"You are so cute when you're flustered," Thorin smirked, his chin resting on Bilbo's stomach as he eyed the stimulated look in his pupils. "Does it feel good when I touch you..." Stroking the front of his jeans, the older man elicited a yelp. "-here?'
"Yes! Oh my god, yes..."
"What about..." Dipping his hand inside, Thorin tugged gently on his boxers. He could feel Bilbo's hardness; it was so obvious as it strained against his fingertips, and he smiled in satisfaction as more moans sputtered out. "Now?"
"We have dinner plans, you know..." The Shire-born complained, his hands balling in the sheets. The air in the bedroom grew warmer as Thorin teased, the windows seeming to fog as Bilbo desired more, more, more. "More," he gulped. "T-Touch... there..."
"Dinner plans, hm? I figured you and I could... have some dinner in here. God knows you're all I need to eat." Dipping a finger inside of the warmth, the businessman stroked his entrance, and Bilbo was lost in passion as soon as he caved. " Mahal, you're so tight."
"I haven't had anyone but you in a long t-time," He choked out, fingers carding through Thorin's dense black locks, which had just recently been trimmed short to his ears. "Please, I-I need..."
"What do you need, ghivashel? "
Those words, that language brought Bilbo to a hilt, his eyes rolling back inside of his skull as the man breached him with a second finger; a thick thumb was prodding for entrance. It stung, not sensitive, but Bilbo had known since that first time with Thorin that it was difficult for him to be gentle. He didn't want gentle, anyway, but he was still sore from earlier.
"I need, y-you..." Tears pricking his eyes, Bilbo cried in arousal. His belly was tight with knowing, close already as he was pulled at from the inside out. "Fuck me, Thorin!"
"God, I could never say no to you, love," Purred the beast above, yanking his trousers down. "It is going to be very, very hard to stop me if I do."
"D-Don't stop. Ever. I- God, that's it, that's-"
Bilbo hadn't seen stars since he fell out of that tree at age six.
"You look so handsome!" The innkeeper purred happily, his eyes like street lamps. Thorin was decked out in the usual modest country fashion -- brown trousers and a white button-up, his hair whisked behind his ears in a sea of gel. He had forgone the suspenders that Bilbo recommended he wear, but after a visit to the local mercantile, he had tiny gold labels on his collar to make up for the absent accessory. "Thorin Durin, you'll make Rosie Cotton choke."
"I look ridiculous," He chuckled, picking up the small man and bringing him onto the mattress. Pressing a modest kiss to his lips, Thorin whispered sweet-nothings. "Does Miss Cotton know that you're mine?"
"She doesn't have to know a thing. I think it's quite obvious," Grinned Bilbo, patting Thorin's cheeks. Dipping in for another kiss, he swatted the brunette's greedy hands away from his ass. "Come on! We have reservations, we'll be late."
"Bilbo, wait. Wait," Thorin stopped him, cupping his face. "Can I do something?"
"I... of course. What is it?" He wondered obliviously, green eyes beaming in curiosity. The man hummed and brought his hands to Bilbo's hair, tucking away a few pieces of the lush brown curls until he found a proper strand. "A-Are you braiding my hair?"
Thorin nodded simply. "It's, well, it's custom from where I come from to braid the hair of one's newest courting." He worked at fastening a beautiful braid, the pleats so delicate and intricate and unknown. Bilbo almost choked with happiness.
"I noticed you had a few in your hair, even after you cut it. What do they mean?"
"I have three. This one is my family crest, it dates back hundreds of years," Explained the businessman, plucking out his longest braid. It was similar to that of a German crest pattern, one's painted on the old chapels. "And one from my sister, it's a bit of a joke. She thought I'd be a bachelor forever. And this one my mother did when I was young. It's what we call an Amad Duym, a mother's blessing."
"That's so sweet. I'd love to know more about Ered Luin; you seem so... well, outdated!"
"Outdated?" Thorin raised an eyebrow.
Bilbo blushed in embarrassment. "I mean... traditional! Yes. That's the word."
"All done," He beamed, showing Bilbo the new braid situated along with his right ear. It was triangular, with a trickling pattern like a waterfall, and fastened with a wooden bead that Thorin had in his own hair before he chopped it. "I'm sure it's obvious that we do things very differently, but the traditions of my hometown have never grown... modern."
"Neither have we. We Shire people are simple people, we don't go on many adventures or do anything unexpected," The man explained as he pulled on his shoes and took Thorin by the hand, kissing it gently. "However, I feel I might do something quite unexpected tonight. Care to be my date to dinner?"
Situated below the hills of cottages, The Green Dragon Pub stood as not only the most famous bar in all of the Shire, but the only one indeed. It was a social endeavor; the Bree people didn't just go to for a meal, they went to mingle, to discuss the local gossip while having a pint, but of course, to stuff their faces with liver sandwiches and cheese soup.
Thorin felt out of place as soon as he ducked, no, squatted in through the doorway into a dark, warm restaurant. It smelled damp, like old boots, but the soothing aroma of steak and ale soon took over, and he felt lightheaded. He had never been in a place where all eyes were on him, at least not in the city, where space was so limited you had to share a chair with your mate at the bar. When Bilbo kissed his cheek, the slightest peck as they were led to their table in the corner, the waitress almost suffocated.
"Uncle, can I have a pint?" Frodo wondered, his hands fiddling nervously on top of the table. Sam was tucked into his menu, cautiously avoiding the glare of Thorin across the table, who was attempting to make conversation but had turned the discussion to intimacy instead of crop production in Ered Luin.
Bilbo grinned. "I suppose if Thorin is okay with it."
Raising an eyebrow from where he was stirring his straw uneasily, the brunette frowned. "Okay with what, love?"
"Frodo wants to have a beer or two, but he's not of age yet."
"Why does that matter to me?"
"I'm just pretending, you little beast," Nickered the man, slugging him in the shoulder. "One, Frodo. And Sam can have one as well, as long as he comes home with us and asks his parents. I don't want to get in trouble for letting you two drink to your heart's delight."
"Thanks, Uncle Bilbo," Sam rolled his eyes, shooting bullets at the waitress as he waved her over from the bar. Frodo greedily ordered for the two of them, winking humorously as his friend requested a cocktail and muttered something about beer making his worst parts come out.
"This is nice," Thorin hummed, glancing around at the liveliness of the restaurant. The people were laughing and dancing, playing pool... it reminded him of an evening at Dwalin's with his sister and their friends, just the regular, simple fun that adults had. Sam and Frodo had run off to converse with some of their friends, their smiles genuine as they flirted considerately with each other and made the ladies flush. He caught the eyes of a stranger across the room, amongst the smoke of the pipes, and a shudder fell through to his spine. He was positive he'd seen the man before. "I meant to ask you something."
"Hm?" Murmured the brunette next to him, sliding him a lovely-looking meat pie.
"Are Frodo and Sam actually... like, are they an item?"
Bilbo laughed sharply, lowering his spoon to poke at his vegetable soup. "They do this every summer. Frodo likes to be the center of attention, and he and Sam have been close since they were toddlers. As soon as he goes home in the fall, they won't exchange but a few texts."
Chewing, Thorin watched the boys, seemingly enchanted with each other. He found it shocking that Bilbo wasn't pushing Frodo to be more open with his feelings that he undoubtedly had for his best mate. "That's kind of sad. They're, I mean, neither of them are interested in women, right?"
"I wonder the same. I think Sam is homosexual, but his parents would never allow him to be open about it. Frodo looks up to me, but he's shy with his feelings," Explained Bilbo, raising an eyebrow about Thorin's roguish smirk. "Did you tell him something about what we do in private?"
"Of course not! I just figure if he takes after you, then he must be absolutely pining over Sam..."
"Are you saying I pined after you?" He scoffed, smacking his lover across the wrist. "You kissed me first!"
"I did, you're right. Do you mind if I talk to Frodo about it? My parents never knew that I was in the closet, and I was buried deep in there by the time they passed..." He sighed, tapping his fingers across Bilbo's thigh.
"Of course I don't mind, you are so sweet." Purring softly, the smaller man kissed Thorin on the lips, invading his worries about the second man he's found in the pub that he recognizes. After a moment of not reciprocating, Bilbo pecks him again, honey ale dripping off of his tongue. "Thorin?"
"Sorry." Pulling away, Thorin frowns, giving the eye to the muscle who scoffs at their kiss. He licks his lips, remembering to be present. "I didn't mean to get distracted."
"Is everything okay? You've been on edge all evening," asked Bilbo, turning back around to his lover after tipping the barman for not carding his nephew. He glared at where Thorin was concentrated, on the gentleman slumped to the right of them. "Do you know him?"
"I'm fine, darling. I just feel like everyone is staring," Thorin muttered softly, burrowing his face in his hands. Bilbo raised an eyebrow, chuckling nervously as he sipped on his ale and scoured the menu. "What?"
"That might be my fault. I might have told everyone I was taking the businessman out to dinner..." He squeaked, burrowing into his drink like a tortoise into his shell.
"What? Bilbo!" Turning red in embarrassment, the Londoner's blue eyes went dark as night. He knew Bilbo had been showboating him since he arrived a few days ago, and even Sam and Frodo were making an effort to brag about Thorin's good looks and wealth, but not that they were seeing each other! God, Dwalin was going to absolutely fire him. "W-Why would you ever do that?"
"I'm sorry," He sighed, squeezing his knee under the table. "I figured you wanted us to be... public."
"Public?! T-That's... oh, goodness..." Thorin was sure his lungs were going to explode and come out of his mouth. The air was becoming heavy as he glanced around; The Green Dragon seemed to be running normally, busy as usual, but he couldn't be positive he didn't see one of Dwalin's security guards just excuse himself to the loo. Couldn't they fuck off for one more moment, before they came for Bilbo and his dear nephew. "Bilbo, you have to grab Frodo. G-Go somewhere."
"Excuse me?" Bilbo looks at him like he's speaking another language, his worried tone tugging on Thorin's already tight heartstrings. "Are they here for you? They work for you, don't you? I knew I've been seeing security guards since you got here!"
"What they're here for, that's not important. What's important is you being safe," He mumbles, grabbing his coat and throwing it over his shoulders. Grabbing for Bilbo's hand, he groans frustratedly when the man refuses and sits back down in the booth. This was happening too fast; he thought he had more time than this, but he supposes the Fundin Company has been watching him since he stepped out of his front door in London. "Please don't make this difficult."
"Difficult?! You are a fucking bastard, bringing a security team with you!" Bilbo yells suddenly, causing the pub to go silent. "You thought you could keep me in the dark, hide your secrets! But let me tell you something, Thorin Durin, nobody keeps secrets from me! You tell me right now what's going on, who you work for, or this is over."
Thorin heard a gun click somewhere, and the barman dropped a glass. Frodo and Sam rushed to Bilbo's side, their eyes filled with anxiety as the residents of the Green Dragon filed out like lab rats chasing a treat. "Uncle?" Whispering, Frodo shook like a leaf in Sam's arms, ignoring the soothing protests coming from his friend's lips to calm down, his father would have everything back to normal soon...
"Frodo, go with Sam. Go home and lock all of the doors," He muttered, rolling his sleeves up. Thorin was suddenly aware that he wasn't the elephant in the room; most of the Shire had probably never seen him so riled up. It would have been humorous in a different situation, but not when four men were heading in their direction with their eyes fixated on the consigliere. "Do as I say. I'll join you soon."
"Bilbo, no-" As soon as he could protest, the heaviest of Dwalin's guards took him by the shoulder.
" Khazâd ai-mênu! " He growled, a heavy gun at his side as he kicked in Thorin's back knees, causing him to fall hostage to their capture. He remembers rope when he was younger, and being dragged from his cousin's arms the same way.
Thorin growled in response, noticing Bilbo's once-fiery eyes turning to dread, and then rage. He took a step back, eyeing the guards. The pub was empty except for the small party related to the consigliere; even the barman had made a beeline once he noticed the people were fleeing, mourning his tips for the evening. The second-tallest of the men grabbed at his curls, forcing his head down to the table. Thorin screamed.
" Shamukh! Leave him!" The words were like charred fire in his throat, his lungs dispelling as his lover was strapped to the nearest chair; he didn't dare fuss, knowing it would cause more trouble for Frodo if he protested. "Thorin, please, help-"
"Leave, ghivashel!" Croaked the older man, his wrists fastened in a burning embrace as he was dragged across the floor towards two black cars in the parking lot. The last thing he recalls in his subconscious is a fussy memory of green eyes, morning coffee, and honeyed curls before he's thrown into the nearest Porsche, the impact knocking him out instantly.
Meanwhile, inside the pub, Bilbo cried for his mother.