Work Text:
Thorin and Bilbo had been doing an odd dance about each other since the beginning of the quest; their eyes strayed to each other, but neither was particularly openly fond of the other, eventually, either. Bilbo had tried more than once to garner the former’s attention in a way that didn’t make Thorin huff in annoyance, or storm off, but to no avail. For all of Bilbo’s pleasing physical attributes, which Thorin would only acknowledge to himself in the quiet hours of the night, he did not trust the hobbit.
Thorin was not a particularly trusting dwarf in general; how could he be, after all that had happened to him and his people? Bilbo seemed to think that a few warm smiles and food offerings would soften Thorin enough to allow a conversation not strictly necessary for the quest’s sake. If anything, it only made Thorin more suspicious. Why on earth would the hobbit care what he thought of him? They were not meant to be friends, but merely two sharing a common end goal; to retake Erebor by any means necessary.
Others seemed more inclined to humor the hobbit, such as Thorin’s own sister-sons, Bofur, Bombur, and Ori. Thorin didn’t much see the appeal, but allowed them their friendships, even when it irked him how over time others began to quietly question why Thorin refused Bilbo’s kindness.
Then, Bilbo returned to them after their time in the goblin kingdom and saved Thorin’s life.
All of Thorin’s inner protestations had dissolved like ice turning to water beneath the sun’s rays when he had held the brave hobbit in his arms. There was nothing but fondness, when all was said and done. Thorin could acknowledge that much to himself, at least.
The sight of Erebor was not the only thing that quickened his pulse that day.
It was after the moment on the Carrock, once they were within the confines of Beorn’s home, where everything took another turn.
Following their awkward introduction to Beorn, and a proper meal made by their host, they were all shown to their own separate sleeping quarters. Families doubled up, leaving the Hobbit unsure of where to go. Thorin solved that by requesting he join Thorin himself and his sister-sons.
He watched as Bilbo’s mouth dropped open, while Kíli snickered to Thorin’s left, beside his brother.
“Are you sure?”
“I would not have asked if I were not, Bilbo.”
“Alright. I suppose that will do. I still would like privacy to wash, though.”
“Then it shall be granted.”
Bilbo looked ready to mount further argument, but Thorin noticed a baffled smile cross his face instead, and then a dip of his head in acknowledgement.
“Good, fantastic.”
Given Thorin’s wounds that needed to be checked before a bath, Bilbo was allowed to go first, as his sister-sons were too rambunctious to bathe just yet, either. Instead, they were playing a lively tune on their fiddles for those in the main area of Beorn’s home. Their host seemed to be enjoying the show the pair put on, even going so far as to clap in time with the music, a smile on his face.
For his part, Kíli executed large flourishes of his bow and body parts, while Fíli’s eyes were more focused on both his own instrument, alongside a certain scribe returning his quiet attention from his own spot on the ground beside his brothers. Still, the elder shared bright smiles with his brother, as they fed off of each other’s energy. Thorin watched all of it with amusement and tapped his foot, as Óin checked over his mostly uncovered upper chest, save for the chest binding which had already been removed earlier to see the worst portions. He would only take it off to get into the bath himself.
With Bilbo washing up it was the best time to do it, seeing as he was the last member of the company unaware of certain of Thorin’s physical attributes. Thorin himself was not ashamed of his body, only he knew enough of hobbits and then Bilbo’s own quirks, that he could imagine their burglar’s reaction to such a development, were he to be made aware, might be less than accepting. A part of Thorin did not wish to see surprise or even disgust on Bilbo’s face, knowing it would only anger or dismay him. He would tell him one day, perhaps, but not so freshly after their own bond had gained much ground, once Bilbo had saved his life.
It was just after Fíli and Kíli had finished another song, the former forsaking his fiddle after a shared glance with his brother, that Óin patted his right shoulder which drew Thorin’s attention back to the healer.
“You’re as good as you’ll ever be, until tomorrow. Make sure you put some of this ointment on after washing up, and I’ll check the whole of you again in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Thorin responded, then pulled his tunic back on.
Óin muttered an affirmative, then sauntered off elsewhere to continue checking wounds.
When Thorin’s gaze trailed back to where both his sister-sons had been standing, he found only Kíli playing. Elsewhere in the room, Dori and Nori were glaring towards the sight of Fíli and Ori, attempting to dance with one another. The two were doing their best, awkwardly so, to keep in time to what Kíli was playing. It was a slower song than the previous few, though still lively enough in its own right; a love song, rather than a bawdy tavern tune.
Though the pair were stumbling together, Thorin could see both of their bright sets of eyes as they turned, and heard the quiet laughter when one of them nearly tumbled to the ground or bowled the other over. Fíli had dancing lessons before, but he had always been a bit nervous, where Ori was concerned. Ori was confident in his own right, but also a whole head shorter than Fíli, and due to that alone did not take the lead. There was an ease between them that was like a balm for any potential wounds inflicted; on purpose, or by accident.
It warmed Thorin’s heart to watch his sister-son happy in a way he had not been since the start of the quest, unless he were at his brother’s side, making mischief.
There was something also to be said for knowing your One from pebblehood, Thorin supposed. Though over the years after their coming of age, Fíli had done a good job of putting off Ori’s more serious advances for some time, due in no small part to Ori’s two elder brothers. Another larger part of Thorin knew his sister-son had been scared of such a commitment; Fíli had seen how his mother had languished in grief after his Adad’s passing, and did not care for a repeat show amidst his own generation. Still, the two had been shaped for each other by Mahal, and suited the other well, gravitating near one another always. Perhaps a more recent near death experience was all it had taken for Fíli to relent, and allow more than friendship to grow between them.
It would be some time before talk of marriage, Thorin imagined, but it was as good as set in stone. Ones, he himself knew, were a tricky business, and did not always ensure a happy ending. However, he had watched the boys fumble in friendship and the beginnings of love over the years; they were a sweet pair, with teeth.
Though Fíli and Ori quarreled, it was ever with an underlying care that was borne from having known each other nearly the whole of their lives. Neither wished to truly hurt the other, even when both wanted to go after each other in the sparring ring to cool off their anger at times. Their match would do the kingdom well, and usher in a stronger era of peace, Thorin knew. It made his heart happy, to know of the bright future that might lay before them, with the seeds having been slowly sewn and watered over the whole of the young pair’s lives thus far.
Ori was small, but vicious when he wanted to be. He would make a great Consort, if he could wrangle his shyer tendencies aside when necessary. Whereas Fíli was ever Thorin’s true heir; awkward in private matters, a bit shaky where diplomacy was concerned, but he had a good heart, and was able to laugh far more than Thorin had in recent years. He would make a good King for Erebor, once he gained more hands-on experience where ruling was concerned.
A hand lightly placed at Thorin’s left shoulder drew him away from his musings, bringing his own eyes to find hazel ones staring back at him. There was a tentative smile on the hobbit’s face, as he stood close enough that Thorin could smell the fragrances he must have used in his bath water. Jasmine and pine stuck out to him, as they were both quite different from each other.
For a brief moment, Thorin closed his eyes, and inhaled, allowing the scents to settle into him. When he exhaled and opened his eyes afterwards, he saw the way he was still being looked at - curiosity.
“Thorin, I’m finished if you’d like to go next.”
“Thank you, Master Burglar. I believe I do.”
Before he could embarrass himself further, Thorin rose to his full height, and walked off from where Bilbo had come from. Sounds of music and revelry had slowly faded, the closer he got to their temporary living quarters.
Once inside, Thorin was grateful for a few minutes of peace, away from the rest of their Company. Solitude was not something he had often on the quest.
After basking in the quiet for a few moments, he took in the space around him; there was a large bed, and other accompanying furniture. At the foot of the bed, there was what was likely an old feed trough, but it would serve its intended purpose, regardless.
Stepping forward, Thorin trailed a finger through the water and discovered it was still blissfully warm. After his own wash, it would need to be changed, though.
Thoughts of soaking in the heat brought him to pulling off his clothes quicker than he probably should have due to his still healing wounds. Soon he was nearly naked in front of the makeshift tub that they had been provided.
Just before he could climb in, the door to their shared room opened, and in came Bilbo, who immediately saw him. Eyes widened, Bilbo froze.
Thorin’s heart clenched, painfully.
“Shut the door, if you mean to come in,” Thorin ground out.
“Right, right.”
Well, there was nothing for it, Thorin determined. It was time to have this conversation, whether he wished it or not. Bilbo’s cheeks had flushed, then he had promptly turned away from Thorin, as he shut the door with both his hands resting open palmed on it. Thorin watched as the hobbit exhaled heavily against the door, then pivoted around once more.
There was no disgust on Bilbo’s face at least, though that was not exactly reassurance, either.
“What did you need?” Thorin asked, trying to be as polite as he could.
Trickles of worry slivered throughout him.
“I forgot,” Bilbo choked over the last word, then made a valiant attempt to finish his sentence, “something.”
Worry curdled in Thorin’s stomach, which would soon translate to anger, he knew.
“Does the sight of my naked form disgust you, burglar?”
Bilbo’s eyes widened.
“No, not at all.”
Bilbo rocked back and forth on his overly large, hairy feet, then gulped in a lungful of air, which he heavily exhaled moments later. A small smile brightened his face, which did something for Thorin’s own heart, as hardened as it was.
“Actually, I’m quite relieved, really. I thought,” Bilbo trailed off looking away for a moment, then said, “I thought I was the only one.”
Thorin’s eyebrows rose at that implication.
“Is that so?”
Bilbo nodded, his eyes resting on Thorin’s face again.
“Indeed,” he murmured.
Then, Bilbo stepped closer, and grasped one of Thorin’s larger hands, lightly tugging it so that he could eventually place it beneath his untucked shirt. The move was so forward, and unlike the hobbit, but when Thorin’s fingers grazed the edge of a chest binding similar to his own, Thorin understood.
Bilbo’s warm hand still held his while the two stared at each other, understanding dawning between them. They were more alike than they had previously known. A wave of happiness coursed through Thorin as he stared down at Bilbo, no longer worried what he might think. They were one and the same.
Perhaps, Bilbo really was his One, even.
Thorin had tried to deny the stirrings of it in his soul every time Bilbo had looked at him, from the moment their eyes first met, but it was nearly impossible to deny any longer. His old heart, which he imagined littered with cobwebs from disuse, began stuttering beneath the sight of Bilbo gazing up at him.
“I am sorry for intruding on such a private moment, but no, Thorin, I do not find your naked form displeasing. In fact, I-,” Bilbo stopped himself, biting his tongue to still his next words from taking shape.
Thorin followed the movement, as well as the way that Bilbo’s eyes tracked towards Thorin’s own lips, before his small tongue darted across his bottom lip.
The fact that they stood nearly chest to chest at that moment, was not lost on him.
“You what, Bilbo?”
Bilbo’s breathing stuttered, and he swayed forward a bit, while his eyelashes fluttered. Reaching out, Thorin anchored his right hand on Bilbo’s hip, hoping to steady him.
The strange scent combination from earlier entered Thorin’s awareness, but he ignored it, so as not to miss whatever it was the source of it all happened to do. The blood in his veins was on fire though, thrilled at even the possibility of what Bilbo’s actions suggested.
“I care for you, and have always thought you were quite ruggedly handsome, since the moment you walked into my smial,” Bilbo said, seeming to have dropped whatever held him back from speaking as he did then. “I still do, in fact.”
Thorin’s chest seized.
Words were not his forte, at least where the hobbit was concerned; Thorin had almost always spoken too roughly, more brash than brilliant. The latter of which he would have liked to be more than whatever it was he had spat at the burglar more than once. Thorin was a leader, having been molded for grand declarations about fealty, and ruling over a kingdom. Matters of the heart were always slightly out of his purview, as he had witnessed more matches than ever engaging with such unions himself.
Action, though, he could handle that much, he hoped.
Thorin tightened his grip ever so slightly, and pulled Bilbo closer. Then, he tilted his head down, his unbound hair splaying everywhere as their lips met. It was a soft, tentative kiss that grew more heated the second Bilbo reached up and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, tugging him closer after. A small tongue ran across Thorin’s bottom lip, and soon their mouths were open and tongues were tangling, as teeth were avoided as best they could be.
Warmth and need coursed through Thorin as he held Bilbo closer. Eventually, the pair broke apart, and he remembered he did in fact need a bath before the night’s end.
Taking his left hand out from beneath Bilbo’s tunic, he cupped his cheek, and dropped his forehead down, then exhaled heavily.
When his eyes opened again, Bilbo’s mouth was slightly agape in wonder; his kiss swollen lips plush before Thorin in a way that made him want to swoop down and forget the bath entirely for a moment longer.
Sheer giddiness thrummed through his veins as Thorin realized he could have what he had been secretly yearning for since he met Bilbo; a love all his own.
“As much as I would like to continue this, I really must wash off and put on some ointment Óin sent me in here with.”
Bilbo nodded.
“Would you like some help?”
Thorin smiled in a way that he had not done in so long, then said, “Of course."