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“This smells like elves.”
“For Eru’s sake Thorin, just because it’s got a flowery scent doesn’t mean that it smells like something elvish!”
Bilbo snatched the pot of cold cream out of Thorin’s hands, placing it back on the side table next to the narrow pallet he had set up in the King’s receiving room. He ignored Thorin rolling his eyes and grumpily settling himself down on the thin mattress, instead moving to a wooden crate to retrieve the last two little bottles in his arsenal.
“Tell me, why is this necessary again?” Thorin asked. “I have other things to attend to.”
“Because you haven’t taken one moment off since you recovered from your battle wounds from the Battle of Five Armies and jumped up to rule Erebor. It’s been eighteen months since then and not once have you ever taken a day for yourself,” Bilbo replied, placing a warning hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “I have seen you take at most a few hours here and there, and that was because Kili foisted Tilli on you.”
Thorin smiled at the mention of his grand-niece. Half elven she may be, but she was treasured by all of Erebor, and especially by him.
Bilbo noticed his soft expression and smirked. “See, there we are, think of that little bean and relax. This is meant to be calming for you.”
“I don’t need it,” Thorin said, a hint of a whine in his voice.
The hobbit huffed, changing track. He bent over so he could meet Thorin’s eyes and said gravely, “You have done so very much. I don’t think you can see or understand how far you have come since that day of the battle. This mountain is a home for its people once more, and this is mostly due to you and the company. They, at least, take time to nurture their hobbies, to explore Dale and Laketown, to sleep without wondering if someone will rouse them for an important matter. You’ll work yourself to death if you continue like this for long.”
The dwarf sagged back, absorbing in the truth of his friend’s words. He had been working hard. It was his responsibility to. But truth be told, if he took even a moment to stand on a balcony and breathe in the fresh mountain air, it felt too much of an indulgence.
“I can’t just neglect my duties, my friend,” Thorin replied softly.
Bilbo looked heavenward and muttered, “The Valar save me from your stubbornness. Who says that they’re neglected? I’ve taken care of it and every pressing need is being seen to. You’ve obviously forgotten the skill of delegating. Erebor can continue without her King just for a little while.” He chuckled and added teasingly, “You’re special, but not that special Thorin. The world doesn’t stop just because you’re taking a day off.”
Glimpsing a flash of discontent and guilt, the hobbit tightened his grip on Thorin’s shoulder and said, “You are being much too hard on yourself. Now…I want your full co-operation on this.”
Thorin sighed. “Are you sure those are not elven products?”
Bilbo let out a sound of outrage. “I made these myself!”
“Apologies,” Thorin replied, hastily backtracking. He moved his hand to clasp Bilbo’s. “I agree. Do with me what you must.”
Biblo grumbled but calmed, plucking a bottle of scented oil and adding a few drops to his hands. He carefully reached under the thick raven tresses and behind the dwarf’s large ears, stroking it into the crease where they joined the skull. In response to Thorin’s stunned look, he explained, “This is sage and mint with a little bit of chamomile. It soothes me at the end of a long day dealing with the council.”
“Why the ears?” Thorin inquired curiously.
Bilbo withdrew with a shrug. “Trial and error.Seems to be one of the more effective areas where the scent lingers for a while.”
Thorin hummed in acknowledgment. His ears were tingling from Bilbo’s touch. He had half a mind to ask Bilbo to do that again and for much, much longer. “What else are you planning to torture me with?”
The hobbit mock-scowled and answered, “That’s for me to know and you to find out. It will involve touching so if at any point you feel uncomfortable with it just left me know.”
Thorin knew that there was going to be no need for that whatsoever.
Bilbo sensed Thorin’s eyes following his movements. Feeling suddenly nervous he began to illustrate what he was doing. “I’m just going to place a towel underneath your neck so you’re a little more comfortable. Then I’m going to dab a little more of the scent mix at your pulse points…” he trailed off, rolling up the towel as he thought. “Er...it might be better for this if you take off your tunic so I can access your back later.”
Thorin arched an eyebrow, but made no comment, dutifully sitting up and yanking his tunic over his head, flinging it in the general direction of his coat stand. Bilbo swiftly placed the rolled towel down for the dwarf to lay back onto. As Thorin laid back, Bilbo suddenly wished that he hadn’t. Thorin’s muscles were on stunning display, rippling through his chest and arms.
Bilbo was glad Thorin wasn’t looking in his direction - he was sure his cheeks were flaming red. He sat on a stool and busied himself with the jars and bottles of his self care collection, continuing, “There we are. Now, I know you’re a little curious as to why I have so much of these kinds of concoctions. The act of looking after oneself for hobbits is normal. We look after ourselves, especially because most of us are outside, and a great deal of hobbits also have gardens to tend to. We have been quite clever, if I may say so, in creating different kinds of creams to make sure dirt comes off and that our callouses do not leave us numb to sensation.”
Thorin hummed again. Bilbo took that as permission to proceed. He poured out more of the soothing oil into his hands, rubbing it into the skin at Thorin’s wrists, the hollow of his neck and at the solar plexus.
“Next I’m going to do your hands.”
“‘Do’ my hands?”
Bilbo smiled and selected a squat jar with a cloudy liquid inside. “Yes. Your hands are in a constant state of tension. You’re either gripping a quill, the hilt of your sword or clenched in frustration. It might not feel like it now, but your hands are under a lot of strain. A lot of minute muscles in there. So I’m going to give you a massage. You can do it to yourself - and I have - but it’s better when someone else does it.”
With that, the hobbit scooped a generous portion out of the jar, passing it between his hands to warm it. “This one is more grounding. Vetiver root, patchouli and orange,” he added.
“That sounds to me what Khuzdul is for you I imagine,” the dwarf said.
“Well, it’s lovely. That’s what’s important,” Bilbo said. He took the hand closest to him and propped it up on a folded towel in his lap. Slowly, he began to push his oiled hands into the fleshiest part of Thorin’s palm, thumbs moving in tiny circles as he went. When Thorin hissed at the unexpected tenderness, Bilbo hummed in approval.
“Told you,” he murmured, amused by the myriad of expressions flickering across the other’s face. He grunted with effort, stroking firmly across the palm and upwards along each thick finger. “By the Valar, you’ve got so much tension in these hands.”
“Over a hundred years worth,” Thorin quipped.
Instead of making Bilbo laugh, he sobered. “Far too long to be left without self-care. Has anyone tried to take care of you like this?” he queried quietly.
Thorin cast his memory back, thinking of all the years that had passed him by in a haze of survival and plain existence. “Not since I was very, very young, and my mother would bathe my siblings and I in the sacred pools. She would rub almond oil through my hair and rub my feet,” he whispered, caught in the fleeting memory. So long ago… “Dis tried, once, when we were settled in my Halls in Ered Luin. But she had her hands very full with my nephews. There was never the time.”
Bilbo went on, focusing on the knuckle joints and flexing them to his satisfaction. “You do now. If you like this you can avail yourself of my services any time you wish,” he said kindly. He moved on to Thorin’s other hand, beginning the process again. “It’s a pity though, that you never asked anyone to see to your needs.”
“It seemed too...intimate to ask,” Thorin said after a long while thinking about it.
Bilbo paused, glancing up into the pale light of the dwarf’s eyes. “Intimate? It’s just a massage.”
“Bilbo,” Thorin said fondly, but his tone was also admonishing. “Have you known me to let people close to me easily?”
The hobbit grinned ruefully. “True enough.”
Bilbo applied himself to the task of kneading out the tension in Thorin’s hands masterfully. After the initial twinges of pain from being wound so tight, the sensations were quite pleasant to bear. It was having a domino effect on the rest of his body - Thorin could feel a new ease in his shoulders, and the muscles spanning his back weren’t quite so rigid.
And his hands...by Mahal his hands.
They tingled pleasantly, as if filled with warmth, much like his ears had, and felt almost boneless. Like Bilbo had magicked all of the turgidity from them.
If this went on for long enough, Thorin had no doubt it would put him to sleep.
Bilbo gave a happy sigh at that moment, placing the dwarf’s hand back to his side. “Ok, next step-”
“There’s more?” Thorin asked incredulously.
Bilbo gave him his ‘you’re a remarkably intelligent idiot, aren’t you?’ expression and said, deadpan, “You did hear me say I was going to do your back earlier, didn’t you? I didn’t get you to take off your shirt for my own enjoyment...although you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of at all underneath your tunic.”
Thorin felt his face heat with embarrassment. “It slipped from my mind the moment you touched my hands. You are far more skilled than you seem, burglar. I have underestimated you again,” he returned smoothly, in contrast to his bashful demeanour.
It was the hobbit’s turn to blush at the compliment. “It’s nothing, I told you. This is a regular part of life for me. It assists in destressing. In fact, I would have been less grouchy on the trek to Erebor if I had more time to do this,” he muttered, humbled by Thorin’s praise.
“We might have to introduce it Erebor wide. To promote cultural bonding and aiding in self care. It might work,” the king mused aloud. Bilbo tapped him on the arm pointedly.
“No thinking about kingly things. Right now, you are just Thorin and you’re being taken care of,” he reproved lightly. “Now, back or feet?”
Bilbo had to say he took great pleasure in the emotion that followed and spread over Thorin’s features. A humourous mingle of joy and being torn at having to choose.
“...feet,” Thorin finally decided.
The hobbit smiled wide. “Excellent choice,” he said.
As he moved to the bottom of the pallet with his jar of massage oil, Bilbo hid his smirk.
After all, Thorin wouldn’t have known that to touch another’s feet was almost as intimate as a kiss in Hobbit culture.