Chapter Text
It began, as many small things did, with Kíli.
Fíli had gotten used to Kíli's impetuous ways, the way his brother tripped through life like it was all a game—laughing at danger, grinning with his arms scraped and blood on his lip. What he had not gotten used to, not truly, was how often Kíli now ended up nestled in the hobbit’s lap.
Not just once or twice, but again and again.
It had started innocently enough. A twisted ankle here, a long watch shift there. Kíli would slump near Bilbo after dinner and somehow end up curled up at his side, head against his shoulder, fingers looped in the hem of Bilbo’s coat. Bilbo never pushed him away. If anything, he leaned into it. A hand would come up—gentle, instinctual—to stroke Kíli’s hair or rub slow, even circles over his back.
Tonight was no different.
The Company was gathered at camp, full and content after a meal Bilbo had thrown together from meager supplies. A good stew, warm bread, and mulled cider from a flask that Bofur had passed around. Everyone was resting in some way—Ori scribbling in his journal, Glóin quietly cleaning his axe, Thorin silent and thoughtful beside the fire.
And there was Kíli. Half-draped across Bilbo’s lap, eyes closed, lips parted in a soft doze. Bilbo's hand rested at the nape of his neck, carding through his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Fíli watched from across the fire, stomach twisting with something he couldn't name.
He didn’t begrudge Kíli the comfort. Far from it. Kíli had always needed more touch, more grounding, more reassurance. Fíli had been that source for years—an arm around his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair, a shared blanket. But now Bilbo had stepped into that space, and Kíli had filled it like it was shaped exactly to him.
It wasn't jealousy, not exactly.
It was ache.
The way Bilbo’s fingers moved. The way Kíli sighed and leaned into the warmth. The way Bilbo looked down at him—fond, protective, entirely at ease. It was that that clung to Fíli like smoke.
He hadn’t had that since they left the blue mountains.
And he hadn’t realized how much he missed it.
Later that night, the camp had quieted.
The stars above glittered cold and clear, and a hush had settled over the Company. Most were asleep or close to it—except for Bilbo, still awake by the fire, and Fíli, pretending to check the perimeter when really he’d just needed to walk off the restlessness in his chest.
When he returned, he saw that Kíli had finally moved. Curled up under his bedroll, still facing Bilbo even in sleep. Bilbo sat upright, a book in his lap and his coat wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
Fíli lingered at the edge of the firelight, unsure why he’d come back, or what he hoped would be different.
But then Bilbo looked up.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice low and warm.
Fíli shrugged, stepping closer. “Not yet.”
Bilbo tilted his head, the firelight dancing over his face. “Come sit, then. No sense pacing all night.”
Fili hesitated.
Then, without answering, he did.
He sat beside Bilbo on the log, the warmth of the fire licking at his boots, and let the silence stretch between them. The book in Bilbo’s lap was open but unread now. Fíli could feel Bilbo’s gaze flick toward him and away again.
And he couldn’t help but notice the space between them.
Not just physical. Emotional. Gentle. Welcoming.
Something Kíli always seemed to feel without thinking.
Fíli cleared his throat. “You’re… good with him.”
Bilbo blinked. “Hmm?”
“Kíli,” he said, eyes on the fire. “You always make space for him. Even when he doesn't ask.”
There was a pause. Then Bilbo gave a small smile.
“Well. He always needs it, doesn’t he? That boy runs himself ragged trying to be brave.”
Fíli nodded, quietly. “He does.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Bilbo said, softly, “But I would make space for you too, you know.”
Fíli looked at him, startled.
Bilbo shrugged, as though it were obvious. “You don’t ask. You never do. But I would.”
Fíli’s chest went tight.
Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t ask. Not for comfort. Not for kindness. He was the heir. The protector. The one who stayed upright when Kíli faltered. There was no room to lean, to need, to want.
But Bilbo had noticed anyway.
And suddenly, testing it didn’t seem so foolish.
Slowly, cautiously, Fíli shifted. Inched closer on the log until their sides brushed. Then closer still, until his shoulder pressed against Bilbo’s.
Bilbo didn’t move.
So Fíli exhaled—and leaned in.
The motion was tentative. Barely a lean. A slow surrender of weight. A silent question.
Bilbo answered without words.
His arms came up, steady and sure, and with a gentle tug he pulled Fíli into his lap.
Just like that.
No fanfare. No hesitation.
Fíli’s breath caught.
He was too long for it, too tall and broad for Bilbo’s smaller frame, but Bilbo didn’t seem to care.
One arm wrapped around Fíli’s back, the other settling across his shoulders. Fíli found himself curled slightly, head tucked against Bilbo’s neck, legs folded awkwardly—but none of it mattered.
Bilbo was warm. Steady. Solid beneath him.
And Fíli realized he was trembling.
“Darling,” Bilbo whispered, fingers already brushing through his hair. “You could have asked any time.”
Fíli let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
“I didn’t think I could,” he admitted. Quiet. Raw.
“Well,” Bilbo murmured, “now you know.”
———————————————————————
They sat like that for a long time.
The fire crackled low, shadows flickering across the camp, but Bilbo didn’t move and Fíli didn’t leave.
The hobbit’s hands moved slowly—over Fíli’s hair, along his back, grounding him.
It was the kind of touch Fíli hadn’t known he missed until he had it.
Gentle. Present. Unconditional.
“You’re always looking after everyone else,” Bilbo said after a while. “I hope you let someone look after you, once in a while.”
Fíli hesitated. “I used to.”
Bilbo didn’t press.
“My mother,” Fíli added quietly. “When we were younger. Before the quest. She always knew when I needed to be… reminded I didn’t have to be strong all the time.”
Bilbo’s hand paused for a heartbeat, then resumed its slow motion. “And now?”
Fíli gave a small, broken laugh. “Now it’s just easier to pretend I don’t need anything at all.”
Bilbo’s arms tightened a fraction. “Well. That’s nonsense.”
Fíli blinked against the sudden sting in his eyes.
“It’s alright to rest, Fíli,” Bilbo said. “Even warriors need someone to hold them now and again.”
Fíli didn’t answer. Just breathed. Let himself sink into it—into the arms that didn’t ask him to be anything but held.
————————————————————
Later still, when the fire was no more than glowing embers and Bilbo’s breath had slowed into sleep, Fíli shifted slightly.
Bilbo stirred. “You alright, dear?”
“I should get up,” Fíli whispered. “Let you sleep.”
Bilbo tightened his hold. “Nonsense. You stay right here.”
Fíli went still.
“Besides,” Bilbo added, voice thick with sleep, “you fit perfectly.”
Fíli swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Do I?”
Bilbo cracked one eye open. “Like you were made for it.”
Fíli didn’t know what to say to that.
So he didn’t say anything at all.
He let himself stay there, wrapped up in arms that had always had room for others. That had room for him.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Fíli let himself sleep.
Not as a prince. Not as a protector.
Just as himself.
——————————————————————
In the days that followed, Fíli didn’t speak of that night.
But he sat beside Bilbo more often. He lingered after dinner. He let his shoulder brush Bilbo’s when they walked.
And when the ache in his chest grew heavy, he’d find Bilbo again by the fire, settle beside him, and lean in just a little.
And Bilbo always made space.
Every time.
Chapter 2: Making space
Summary:
Kíli, as always, finds himself curled up in Bilbo’s lap. But this time, he notices something new—Fíli watching. Something in his brother’s eyes tugs at Kíli’s heart, and so, with Bilbo’s silent blessing, he does what any younger brother would do: makes room. The result is a tangle of limbs, startled yells, and more comfort than Fíli ever expected.
Chapter Text
It was nearing dusk when the quiet returned.
They’d made camp early, sheltered beneath the curve of a mossy overhang. A small fire burned low and safe between stones, its warmth licking at the circle of companions spread out around it.
Most were settled.
Thorin polishing his blade, Bofur humming faintly over his pipe, Bombur stirring the pot of supper for a third time just because he could.
And Kíli—Kíli had made himself quite at home.
In Bilbo’s lap, of course.
He’d flopped there not long after the packs were dropped, curling up like a particularly smug cat, long limbs tangled and cheek pressed against Bilbo’s stomach.
Bilbo hadn’t batted an eye.
His arms had lifted on instinct, cradling the younger Durin to his chest while one hand lazily combed through his hair.
It had become a common sight. A balm to more than one of them, seeing such comfort so openly offered and accepted.
But tonight, Kíli cracked open one eye… and saw something new.
Across the fire, Fíli sat on a bedroll, oiling the leather of his vambrace.
He wasn’t doing it very well—his strokes uneven, his focus clearly elsewhere.
Because his eyes were constantly flickering up to them.
Not just watching idly. Not annoyed. Not amused.
Longing.
Kíli knew that look. Knew the hollow tightness behind it. Knew it like he knew the ache of an old bruise.
And something in his chest twinged.
He turned his gaze up to Bilbo, who was still carding fingers gently through his hair.
“Bilbo,” Kíli murmured, just soft enough to be private.
“Mmm?”
Kíli tipped his head slightly, angling it toward Fíli without saying another word.
Bilbo’s hand slowed. His eyes lifted.
They settled on Fíli for a moment—just one heartbeat.
Then he smiled. Gentle. Certain.
And he nodded.
That was all Kíli needed.
——————————————————————
He rolled out of Bilbo’s lap with a stretch and a grin, waving his hand to get his brothers attention.
Fíli didn’t even look up, still stubbornly pretending to oil a vambrace that had no more leather left in it.
“Kíli,” he said without looking. “Stop grinning like that. You’re plotting something.”
“Who, me?” Kíli said innocently. “Never.”
Fíli sighed. “What is it this time?”
“Come here.”
Fíli glanced up. “Why?”
“Just come here.”
Fíli raised a brow, suspicious. “If this is another prank—”
“Come here, Fíli.”
There was something behind Kíli’s voice. Not teasing. Not demanding. Warm. That threw Fíli more than anything.
So he stood, brushing dust off his tunic, and walked over warily. “What’s going on?”
Kíli didn’t answer.
He just grabbed him.
“Kíli—!”
And with one swift tug and a very undignified yelp, Fíli found himself yanked down—his knees straddling something warm, his balance toppling forward—until he was sitting in Bilbo’s lap.
Directly.
Fully.
Wide-eyed.
Speechless.
Bilbo, of course, reacted with all the calm of a hobbit who'd known what was coming. He let out a small “Oof!” but didn’t so much as flinch.
His arms came up immediately. One around Fíli’s back. The other sliding low around his waist. Steady. Secure. There.
Fíli froze.
Kíli was cackling now, practically bouncing where he sat. “Perfect! Just like I thought. You fit too.”
“I—Kíli—I swear—”
“No swearing in the cuddle circle,” Kíli declared, plopping down beside them and leaning heavily against Bilbo’s side.
“Cuddle circle?” Fíli spluttered, cheeks going red.
But he didn’t move.
He couldn’t. Bilbo’s arms were still wrapped around him. Warm. Real. His chest a gentle rhythm under Fíli’s ear.
And his hands—those steady hands—had already begun rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Fíli let out a breath like a deflating wineskin.
“Shhh,” Bilbo murmured, cheek resting lightly against Fíli’s temple. “You’re alright, dear. You’re allowed.”
Fíli swallowed hard. His fingers gripped Bilbo’s coat. “You didn’t… you didn’t have to let me.”
“I wanted to,” Bilbo corrected, soft but firm.
Kíli was still leaning against Bilbo’s side, half-on his hip, arm draped over Fíli’s back now. “You’ve been making that kicked puppy face all week.”
“I have not—”
“You have.”
Fíli would have argued, but Bilbo’s hand slid up into his hair, brushing over his scalp with careful tenderness.
And Fíli melted.
Right there. No warning. Just folded in on himself and sagged fully into Bilbo’s arms like someone who hadn’t realized how heavy his bones were.
“Oh,” he breathed, barely a sound.
Bilbo pulled him closer.
Kíli made a pleased sound and closed his eyes. “Told you.”
—————————————————————
The Company didn’t stare. Not openly.
But glances were exchanged. Quiet ones. Fond ones.
No one said a word.
Not when Fíli—stiff-backed and red-faced—stayed where he was. Not when he leaned a little more. Not even when his eyes fluttered closed, his head resting firmly beneath Bilbo’s chin, and he let himself be held.
Bilbo looked down at him with quiet affection.
“See?” he whispered, his thumb brushing Fíli’s cheek. “There’s always room for you.”
Fíli didn’t answer. Not out loud.
But his grip on Bilbo’s coat tightened.
And he stayed.
—————————————————
Much later
Kíli was half-asleep, still pressed against Bilbo’s side like a lazy dog in winter, when he mumbled, “You’re good at this.”
Bilbo smiled faintly, still stroking Fíli’s back. “Am I?”
“Mmhmm. Don’t even mind sharing.”
“Sharing what?”
Kíli yawned. “You.”
Bilbo blinked.
“I used to think I needed you more than anyone else. But…” Kíli turned his head to peek at his brother, nestled so deeply in Bilbo’s arms it looked like he’d never leave. “I think maybe he needs you more.”
Bilbo’s heart clenched.
“Kíli,” he murmured, “I’ve got room enough for both of you.”
Kíli grinned sleepily. “Yeah. I figured.”
He tucked his face into Bilbo’s side and let sleep take him.
Fíli didn’t say anything.
But hours later, when Bilbo thought he’d finally drifted off, the prince’s voice whispered against his neck.
“Thank you.”
Bilbo’s arms tightened.
“Any time, darling,” he whispered back.
And he meant it. With every beat of his heart.
ash_lysandra on Chapter 2 Wed 23 Jul 2025 08:16AM UTC
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Addictedforevermore on Chapter 2 Thu 31 Jul 2025 09:13PM UTC
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