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Chapter Text

Unnatural Attraction

He looks so young…He’s all curves and soft glades and not at all edges. Curls instead of strict braids. Suede instead of leather. Silk instead of fur. With small hands and round cheeks, and a wide smile so filled with naiveté. And the more I look at him, the more disturbing feelings grow. Feeling that should not ever be directed at someone like him.

The conversation turned to ages and cultures one night beside a fire, and it was his nephew that asked with an air of flippancy:

“And how old are you Mr. Bilbo? Surely a Burglar of your standing has years of experience behind his back.”

The hobbit flashes and tries to play it off, but Kili is persistent and finally an answer is given.

“If you have to know, I am fifty years old. Quite a respectable age!” huffs the other, not noticing the sudden silence around him. He looks up and sees everyone staring at him with astonishment. “What? Have I got something on my face?” rubbing his cheek with a sleeve.

“You’re only fifty?” says Fili with a shuddering breath as he drags his hand through his hair, looking at his suddenly distraught brother.

“Well yes, how old did you think I was?” Frowns Bilbo in return.

“At least 80; at the very minimum 80!” Cries out Kili

“What’s wrong with being 50 then?” asks the hobbit as he tries to understand the trouble that his age brings about the company.

“Bilbo, I’m 75. Fili is 84. There is no one younger then us here. “ says Kili quietly.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Thorin doesn’t listen to the end of the conversation. He slinks back into the shadow, carrying on his watch, but inside… on he is bleeding on the inside. How could Gandalf let such a young thing be brought along? How could he even live alone? The hobbit was basically a tween!

At that revelation more and more guilt churns up inside the dwarf. He is not only attracted to a member of a different species, but to a child… 

Chapter Text

He wanted. He desired and hungered inside his mind; aching for a touch that didn’t come. When Bilbo first saw Thorin, he had not known that such feelings would awaken inside him. He had not encountered such a rush since he was a tween, dead-set on a conquest. Lust, desire, hunger, and the sheer need that the hobbit felt for the leader of their company astounded him, and left him in a mind-numbing state.

The more time was pend together; the longer the Company spend in the presence of only each other, isolated from outer influence, the dynamics of what in Bilbo’s understanding was quite close to a pack of animals has started to emerge.

Thorin was the unquestionable leader with the power of the Lin brothers behind him. Balin, as the constant psychological, and Dwalin as the physical support and a veiled threat. The brothers Ri settled into the middle of the “pack”, just as the Ur brothers did. Fili and Kili, the heirs to the King Under the Mountain, an important, if duty-less, for now, position.  Oin and Gloin: skilled in a fight, and reliable in negotiations.  Each of the members of the group was essential within it, and left no place for an error or possible replacement. And even though Bilbo was reassured that he was included in the dynamics as well, he couldn’t help but think that it was a lie, a sham; forced upon the dwarves by a mad wizard.

And yet still, the hobbit couldn’t be happier to be in the presence of the older dwarf. And such was his attention that the prying eyes of him did not escape Bilbo’s notice. He had seen the stares and the hunger well up in the King’s gaze, when he had though that no one was looking.  When the light of the fire was dim, and the stars the only illumination, Bilbo would open his eyes just a sliver at a time, and take in the dark and heavy gaze filled with possession and want.

And yet to his utter disappointment, there was nothing. No touches lingered for more then absolutely necessary. No words spoken in anything but absolute need. And certainly no praise given. And for that Bilbo was confused.

If one hungered- he ate. If one thirsted- he drunk. If Thorin had wanted him, as much as Bilbo wanted the dwarf, then what was stopping him? It certainly wasn’t reluctance on the hobbit’s part. He had made his apparent interest clear when he had served the dwarf the best cut of the meat, and had taken care of his pony for him last week. Bilbo couldn’t exactly cook Thorin his best recipe, as there was no kitchen or ingredients to be had, but he though his intent was very forward as it was!

And after the conversation by the fire, when Bilbo had revealed his age the whole Company seemed to change their attitudes towards him. Alarmed as he was by the revelation that he was the youngest in the group, the hobbit read enough to know that almost every race in Middle Earth ages differently. And what was a mature age for a man was still tweenhood for a hobbit, and toddler for elf. Bilbo only assumed that dwarfs aged slower, earthly creations that they were, and left it at that.

But now Thorin was avoiding him like he was an orc, complete with disgusted glances thrown his way.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Thorin was quite distressed as he threw another loathed-filled look towards the hobbit. Oh, how he despaired at himself! Even after he found out that Mr. Baggins was still basically a tween, he still couldn’t help but want him! He truly was despicable… He deserved all the loathing he could give himself…

Chapter Text

He is so pretty. Kili’s never seen anyone so soft before. Oh sure there’d been humans, and dwarfs he’d managed to squeeze in a corner of a tavern occasionally. But there’d never been anyone so soft. When he looked at the Halfling all he could imagine was burying his fingers in his curls and tugging him closer, drowning in smell and the sensation of right.

When Kili looked at Bilbo…Oh when he had a chance to properly take him in, drink his fill of the copper of his strands, the curve of his back, the smile. He got drunk. He got drunk, and he drank and drank, and couldn’t stop. It’s like there just wasn’t enough. One more. One more smile. One more touch, burning his skin. One more caress of his fingers as they grazed his while passing him a bowl at dinner. Just one more, oh please.

He sees his uncle. So mighty and powerful. And so pathetic. Kili knows that Thorin wants the hobbit just as much if not more then him. But he does nothing about it. Even when Kili sees the other staring back at the older dwarf when his back is turned, expectation in his gaze. He doesn’t even make an effort. He just glances and tears his eyes away moments, seconds later. Never lingering. Not like him. Not like Kili.

There is bravery and foolishness in young, and Kili is all of these things and more. He is foolish when he sits next to Bilbo bedroll at night, and runs his fingers across the soft skin ever so lightly. But he is brave at it, for no one else dares to do the same. They all see his looks. The warning in them. The words that say STAY AWAY! The hobbit is not theirs to touch.

When Kili finds out how old Bilbo is he is stunned. He though there was never a chance. Oh, he’d imagined it. Imagined a lot of things. But the blasted laws of his kin! One may not take a partner younger or older than 30 years of them. It was made by their ancestors when the land was still new, and the dwarf population small, and there were too many elves around. The elders did not want to interbreed with different species. And since no one would consider a human a right mate, and elves were all a lot older then any of them, this law took place. No older or younger they said.  Well they fit just in. Fili was too old and too set on becoming a proper heir to his uncle. Ori was the right age, but too busy pining after Dwalin. But him! Kili was just there. A tight window of opportunity, but he was still within his right to claim.

So one night, a few days after the talk in front of the fire; Kili takes his bedroll and settles it next to Bilbo’s. He looks into his brother’s eyes and meets them with a raised brow. Fili just smiles and settles next to the Ri brothers, as nights are cold, and heat is precious. Kili then throws a glance over the rest of the company, meeting every stare. None oppose. Finally his gaze settles on Thorin, and for once in his life. For once. For the very first time, he is delighted to see anguish in his uncle’s eyes. Because he too knows the laws. And he knows well enough that Kili is within his right to claim. And even without a kingdom a King must oversee the rules being followed. And so Kili meets the fierce eyes of one he respects most in this world. And smiles with a grin full of teeth.

Thorin looks away and Kili sits on the bedroll, waits for the Halfling to come back to his and waits. Soon he is rewarded by his patience with the sight of Bilbo with a cloth over his wet curls, coming back from washing up at the stream. He sees the confused look send to the Company and then smiles hesitantly towards Kili, sitting down.

“What’s this then? Don’t you usually settle next to Fili?” asks Bilbo with a little curve to his lip, as he continues to dry his hair.

“Not tonight.” Answers Kili as he stares mesmerized at the hobbit’s actions. He waits a heartbeat and then snatches the cloth away from him, and settles it around the hobbit’s shoulders, placing his hands on top, and turning the other so he is facing him, with his back to the rest of the dwarves.

“Let me help you with that” He says

“Oh no! I couldn’t” tries to protest Bilbo, but it is thwarted by the feeling of fingers in his hair, and the damp cloth running over it, slowly, gently drying him up.

Bilbo doesn’t really understand what is happening, but he accepts the gesture and relaxes into the skilled hands of the young dwarf. Maybe he’s being nice, thinks he. And it is. It is very very nice. Kili is gentle, but insistent to make sure that no hair is left dripping, and so it takes him a while to finish the process. And by then Bilbo is relaxed and content. He hadn’t experienced a feeling like this in a very long time. Life as a bachelor had its downs that way, especially in a place like Shire. It really wasn’t the most free-spirited place in regards to relations of such sort.

Slowly, so very slowly, he feels that the cloth was gone, and there were only the hard callused fingers running over his head. Smoothing down knots, untangling any messes, digging softly but unwaveringly into his scalp. Raising his eyes at Kili, Bilbo’s breathe catches in his throat at the look of raw hunger in there. No one has ever looked at him like that. Not even those who had come to court him back in Hobbiton; and being the heir to Ban End and his not too shabby looks had ensured that there were plenty of those. And now here he is. Sitting on a beaten down bedroll, in the middle of nowhere, with fingers running through his curls, and eyes of molten russet staring at him. And as he stares back, unabashed, confused at the face of his own sudden bravado, Bilbo doesn’t notice that the desire he had felt for Thorin is waning, and tittering, and is being pushed aside by the charge of emotion he is being faced with.

So deep is the glance, and relaxing the silence and comfort that the two are engaging in, that neither noticed a sorrow-filled glance Thorin throws in their direction, holds for a moment, and then yanks back hard, sealing it in, promising to never let if surface again. He catches Balin’s eye and the old dwarf nods at him, approval shining through. For he is King. And a King must uphold the laws. Especially one of the oldest of them all.