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Bilbo let out a tired sigh as he set his plate down on his desk. It’d been a long day–so long, in fact, that he’d missed several meals, and now had to take a midnight snack just to get his stomach to stop growling enough for him to sleep.
Shivering, he stepped away from his desk and to his wardrobe to fetch his patchwork robe. No matter how much he stoked the fire at night, his and Thorin’s room was always so blasted cold. Hobbits may live underground, but they were not creatures suited for living in the freezing depths of a mountain.
He heard the door to the adjoining wash room creak open, then click closed. Turning, he smiled tiredly but fondly at his husband. “I was afraid I’d be asleep before I saw you,” he said, tying the sash around his waist to keep his robe closed.
Thorin gave him an equally tired smile as the two crossed paths in front of Bilbo’s desk and pulled his husband into a hug. “I feel as though I’ll fall asleep standing up,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck.
When the two finally separated, Bilbo said, “Well, we can go to bed soon. Just let me have a few bites of–hey!” he exlaimed as Thorin popped almost an entire scone into his mouth, cheeks puffing out adorably. “I was going to eat that.”
“Bu’ fere’s more on th’ pla’e,” Thorin said through a mouthful of scone.
Bilbo tutted. “Not very kingly, you know, talking with your mouth full…” he was trying to be stern, really he was, but watching his husband guiltily flush from his cheeks to his chest just made the tired hobbit laugh. “Into bed with you,” he said, picking up the plate of scones from his desk. The dwarf king, swallowing his scone, ambled over to their bed and collapsed on the mattress with an “oof.” Bilbo, seated on his side of the bed and covered in many blankets, set the plate of scones on his lap and muched on them happily.
And if Thorin stole another scone or two off the plate, Bilbo didn’t mind all that much.