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Thorin absolutely detests party settings.
Not that he can't grasp and hold the attention of a room whenever and for however long he pleases, not because finesse escapes him, not because he is afraid; but simply because he doesn't understand the necessity of all the damn pageantry.
He couldn't even walk down the stairs in his own house without being accosted by plastic leaves and fairy lights just hot enough to leave a tiny burn on his cheek.
He also did not understand for the life of him why Dis appeared out of nowhere to kiss him cheek every time he took a leaf to the eyeball. Was she trying to make up for something? Who knows.
It was honestly taxing.
Hence why, when he finds himself in a room with the group that called themselves 'the Company' all through highschool he is pleasantly surprised.
"Balin! Dwalin! How's university been treating you? Bofur! Bifur! How's the shop? I hope your father is well. Gloin! How many poor buggers did you screw over this morning?" As he goes around and individually greets each member, they all answer his questions in a short, condensed fashion, as was their usual behavior. He stops at his younger cousins Fili and Kili. "Where's Bilbo?"
"Family matters. His father passed last month and apparently those awful cousins of his have finally decided that they have waited long enough to extend their claws. He'll be here, he'll just be late."
Thorin's curt nod was all the acknowledgement that was going to get. Apart from Dwalin, Bilbo Baggins was his best friend, and he would likely not get through this night without him. Especially not when his father had chosen this particular year to mend ties with the Mirkwood Capital bank. Their pretentious git of a CEO would be making an appearance as a peace offering. He had never in his life met such a delicate looking man, and Thorin honestly couldn't tell if he had the right plumbing to match that 3 piece Italian suit. He certainly could have looked equally professional in one of those disgustingly frilly cocktail dresses that all of the women in attendance were wearing, what with the hair longer even than Thorin's own. Longer, but so different. Straight and smooth like silk, and silvery blonde. Quite the opposite of the dark curly mass tha-
His silent musings were interrupted by two things simaltaneously: Ori being given a friendly punch to the arm from Oin and toppling sideways into Thorin just as Thranduil himself entered the room, a wine glass cradled lightly between his slim alabaster fingers. It appeared that he was having a word with his assistant Tauriel, who was quite comfortable perched on Kili's lap. During the exchange Thorin watched them, all while ignoring Ori's squeaky apologies.
Thorin first noted that Thranduil was very tall and thin, anyone else would have appeared spidery, but somehow it worked. By very tall Thorin means taller than himself, being fairly large at 6'2", he did not have to look up at many people. This ethereal creature had at the very least several inches on him.
Soon, too soon, Thranduil was turning to exit the room. Why had he detested him again? Oh right, miserable bastard, something about being a straight faced prick, yeah okay.
It seems that Thranduil had noticed him staring, and stopped in the doorway.
Two very large strides brought him directly to Thorin's side. "What's this, Thorin? A little zealous about catching some poor girl under the mistletoe are we?"
"What? no? what are you-"
Two of the very same marble white fingers from earlier were suddenly pinching one of the accursed plastic leafy branches between them, one dark curl still clinging to the end.
"I didn't know you were so desperate as to permanently afix yourself to plastic shrubbery," his tone dropped and with it his mouth came closer to Thorin's ear, "perhaps I can solve that problem."
Before Thorin can tell him exactly where he can stick his plastic shrubbery, there is a tall blonde man insistently attacking his mouth with what appeared to also be a mouth.
Not that Thorin registered any of that, his inner preteen girl was showing.
When the man, who could now only be described as a god, finally stopped, Thorin just looked at him.
"You, sir are stark raving mad."
Something in that statement set off the blonde god. "First of all, do not call me sir. Let's go outside now so I can explain to you exactly why that was uncouth of you."
Thorin has no choice but to follow.
Thranduil chooses a spot at a glass topped card table out on the back patio. Classy.
"Thorin Oakenshield, do you not realize that you live in the 21st century and that there are whole entire spectrums of identity, because if not I'm about to explain."
"Um....what? Of course there isn't! Either you're a male or a female. You like lads or you like lasses. What other options are there blondie." Thorin could not say his name, the sound of it took his will to argue.
Thrandu- blondie pauses to rub his temple and take a breath before launching into a long winded rant. "Alright, lets start with Latin root words, andro- means male, pan- means all, bi- means two..." he went on and on for what felt like eternity until Thorin considered himself more knowledgeable than most others on the topic of personal identity.
"So, Thorin, now that you know, that makes me a genderfluid, panromantic androsexual."
Thorin mulled that over for a moment. "So, have you ever worn a cocktail dress? I was picturing you in one earlier."
The corners of blondie's mouth tugged upward at that. "Come back to my flat and you can see me in all the dresses you like."
"Whoa whoa whoa there blondie. Biromantic or not, still demisexual. And I just met you."
Thranduil (he would let the name slip this once, it filled him with a warmth he had barely ever felt before) let himself fully smile at this, "I didn't say anything about sex."
With a gesture and a moment to stretch the two made it back inside.
Dwalin was the first to approach them. "So Thrandy, our plan worked I suppose. And Thorin, really laddie, over your father's favorite table? I would have thought better of you."
"Actually, Master Dwalin, Thorin here has recently discovered that he's demisexual."
"Well, whatever that means, it doesn't change that one or both of you just got the buggering of a lifetime bent over Thorin's poor father's table. And I'm not covering for you."
Dwalin walked away with a slightly shocked Ori clinging to his arm 'buggering of a lifetime? How do you know!' was the last Thorin heard.
The last thing anyone at that party saw of Thorin that night was a head of silky blonde hair bent slightly to whisper in the brunette's ear.
The only one within earshot had been Bofur, and he wasn't planning on repeating a single word of it even if you paid him.
He would never look at Thranduil the same way.