Work Text:
Bilbo squinted at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he held a curled lock of hair between thumb and forefinger and pulled it straight. It was starting the get unruly, he decided, his heart jumped slightly and suddenly his reflection was grinning like an idiot back at him. It was incredibly childish, to feel like a lovesick teenager at the mere thought of Thorin, the memory of his sure fingers working through his hair.
It had never been a big concern for him, it never bothered him if it got a bit long, if the loose curls became soft waves and dangled in front of his eyes or start tickling the back of his neck, it still didn't. But when his mother last visited she insisted it was getting out of hand and demanded he get it cut.
"You're starting to look scruffy, dear." Belladonna had said over lunch in a bistro as she tucked a few stray hairs behind his ear. "You could almost pull it into a ponytail." And when they finished they browsed the high street arm in arm, pointing out various things of interest in shop windows, occasionally going in to have a closer look.
And then it happened, the look of determination on her face, the strong grip of her hand on Bilbo's upper arm and the insistent tug as she pulled him toward the salon. Belladonna pushed the door open and marched up to the receptionist with a very bewildered, slightly disgruntled son on tow. The extremely blonde, tanned, bored looking girl peered at them from behind a laptop, put on a clearly fake smile and asked how she could help.
"I'm an adult, mum." Bilbo insisted before his mother could speak. "I can do this myself."
"Clearly you can't." Belladonna said with a pointed look, then turned to the girl behind the desk. "Do you have any appointments available?"
"Uh, now?" The girl asked. "Lemme see." And she looked at the laptop screen, clicked a couple of buttons and looked back up. "I can fit you in for a trim now, but if you're wanting anything else you'll have to come back in a couple of days."
"No, that's absolutely perfect." Belladonna assured her. "Just my Bilbo here needs a trim."
"Uh huh." The girl sounded completely uninterested and eyed Bilbo speculatively, then with a barely perceptible roll of her eyes she swung around in her chair and yelled. "Thorin!"
Bilbo couldn't help but stare when he appeared, if his mother thought his hair was too long and out of control then his was practically a mane. A very tidy, well kept mane, but the pony tail reached half way down his back. Muscles clearly visible under the snug, black t-shirt he wore and oh, that beard really wasn't helping. To make things worse, when this Thorin spoke, his voice, his voice was like molten honey, deep and rich and warm.
Thorin seemed quite intent on keeping his eyes on his work, which gave Bilbo the perfect opportunity to ogle him in the mirror, their eyes did meet a few times, but they both looked away the second they did. The way Thorin's fingers worked through his hair, the gentle touches to indicate he should move his head this way or that, the rumbling laugh in response to some little quip had Bilbo all but swooning in the chair.
He was grateful his mother hadn't been put off by the receptionists lack of people skills and had managed to lure her into a rather heated sounding discussion about... something. All too soon the receptionist told Thorin his next appointment was waiting, Bilbo was ushered out of the chair, then out of the shop and then home.
Yes, Bilbo thought as he absently tugged at his hair, it was time to make an appointment.