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The disgust that curls Thorin’s lip does very little to curb Bilbo’s enthusiasm. The flowers he holds in his hands are beautiful and in full bloom, carefully selected and free of bugs, and picked so all of the stems are near the same length. Bilbo had taken great care to cut them right so they’d live longer and taken even greater care to arrange them neatly.
“What, burglar, are those.” The words are spit out like they’re something particularly vile and Thorin’s hand rests threateningly on the hilt of Orcrist. Bilbo is painfully undeterred.
“Flowers, rather obviously.” His smile widens, a cheerfully smug thing, when Thorin’s jaw clenches visibly, and he pauses a moment to enjoy the sunlight that slides warmly over skin before continuing “I thought you might like them.”
Thorin’s scowl deepens as Dwalin’s guffaws reach him where he stands. The look he gives the hobbit would have sent any man, or elf, running long ago, but Bilbo’s stays where is, offering the taller man the bunch of bright flowers still, despite his obvious distaste.
“What in Mahal’s name would drive you to think that I would want these-” the rest of the words are strangled with fury and Bilbo pays no mind to the dwarves who are roaring with laughter behind him. Gandalf’s quiet chuckles can’t be distinguished amidst the cacophony, but they’re there.
“I don’t think you want them,” Bilbo says easily, skin warm and glowing with the sun’s delicious rays “I know you do.” He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up and Thorin’s eyes linger briefly on the delicate inside of Bilbo’s wrist, which is surprisingly pale compared to the rest of him.
And with that Bilbo shoves the bundle of daisies, apple blossoms, white carnations, forget-me-nots, lilacs and one large, lovely sunflower, placed in the center of the wide array of flowers, right in the stricken king’s arms.
Out of reflex, Thorin takes them, eyeing the widely grinning hobbit with something akin to unease and the flowers with disgust. Bilbo turns to leave, tuckered out from his quest for flowers, and turns back around with an “Oh! I nearly forgot.”
Still grinning cheerily, he catches his foot quickly behind Thorin’s knee and jerks, bringing the man to his knees, and swiftly tucks a lilac behind his round ear, behind his mess of hair. In the same instant he kisses Thorin’s bearded cheek, hair rough against his lips and a little damp from sweat, and then darts neatly out of swinging range.
Thorin barely has time to give a surprised grunt. Bilbo’s lips are soft against his cheek and he watches on in shock as Bilbo disappears quickly over a flower riddled hill.
The rest of the company are beside themselves with laughter and Gandalf grins behind his beard, eyes full of mirth. “Well laddie,” Dwalin rumbles, shoulders shaking with restrained laughter, giving his king a hand up, “looks like you’ve got yerself a suitor.”
“If you like your tongue where it is, you’ll stop speaking.” Thorin growls, mortified. Dwalin gives in and doubles up with laughter at the sight of the regal and majestic Thorin Oakenshield, brought to a sudden halt by a bunch of pretty weeds.
Just as the laughter begins to die down, the call of “does that mean we have to call him Auntie Bilbo now?” from Kíli has it started up again. The look Thorin gives the lot of them should stop them laughing, but the fact that he’s got the bunch of flowers clutched to his chest ruins the effect and causes Bofur to lose his hold on Bifur, who he’d been holding for support, and slip to the ground.
It takes a good twenty minutes, but when the dwarves finally do return to what they were doing, Thorin does a quick, thorough check around to make sure no one is watching and then buries his face in the sweet smelling flowers.
From his spot on the crest of the hill he’s hiding behind, Bilbo watches the acceptance of his courting gift with burning cheeks and a wide smile.
It’s much later, when the company is scattered around Beorn’s oversized garden, that Bilbo slips from his hiding place and approaches a napping Thorin. The flowers are in a careful heap by his side, the lilac that had been tucked behind his ear once more in the pile. With light, soundless footsteps Bilbo sneaks up on the dozing dwarf and singles out the discarded lilac.
Deftly, without waking the dwarf, he braids the bruised flower into Thorin’s hair, his touch light on the dark strands. Once it’s done he slips back to his hill and waits for the dwarf to wake, smiling cheerfully to himself.
Thorin wakes not twenty minutes later, but it’s a good hour before he notices the flower. It’s when he’s addressing Balin and Dwalin, whose beard is twitching with the force it’s taking not to laugh, that Dwalin’s eyes linger on it for too long. Thorin snaps a hand up to his ear, fingertips brushing against the light purple petals, before he dismisses the both of them gruffly. Barely visible beneath his beard, Thorin’s cheeks redden, and he glowers at the flowers nearby fiercely. But the flower stays tucked lovingly behind his ear.
Glaring at almost everything in sight, Thorin angrily picks an apple blossom, and cradling it gently in his hands, stomps off to find his burglar. Bilbo, who was napping in the sun, amidst the flowers, is startled awake by Thorin towering over him, expression thunderous.
Bilbo gives a squeak and says on a huff of breath “Lovely afternoon isn’t it?” His pulse fluttering in the hollow of his throat and Thorin bends down so he’s level with the hobbit’s face. A wordless growl is the response he receives, an infuriated look accompanying it, before Thorin is brusquely and efficiently braiding the apple blossom into the strands of hair behind Bilbo’s ear.
When he’s finished, Bilbo positively beams up at the grumpy looking dwarf. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” Thorin repeats in a droll tone, expression surprisingly devious. With a sudden grin, Thorin leans into kiss Bilbo’s cheek, effectively startling the sleepy little hobbit.
The rasp of beard against his smooth skin is different, but in the best of ways and Bilbo’s nimble fingers reach up to tangle in Thorin’s hair before he can pull away. Bilbo leans up to rub his cheek against Thorin’s hair rasping over his skin. Thorin shifts so he’s kneeling in front of Bilbo, taking the weight off his burning thighs.
“Cheeky little bugger.” Thorin says with respect and fondness, nose to nose with Bilbo.
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Bilbo responds with a wide grin. “You will, have me, won’t you?” Bilbo asks quietly, concern and uncertainty entering his eyes.
Thorin responds by sliding their mouths together firmly, kissing Bilbo with care and passion. His moves around the back of Bilbo’s head, cradling it in his palm with he kisses Bilbo thoroughly. Bilbo shivers with delight and closes his fingers Thorin’s hair, lips moving against Thorin’s with an easy hunger.
When they part for air Thorin murmurs smoothly against Bilbo’s reddened lips “As many time a day as physically possible.” Bilbo stutters and blushes, laughing all the while, and pulls Thorin in for another warm kiss.