Waiting For the Flame • Thorin/Bilbo [WIP]

[igrab]

Dinner that evening was a raucous affair. Dwarves, Bilbo had noted, tended to celebrate the conclusion of near-death experiences by enjoying themselves so thoroughly they forgot why they'd almost died at all. It had always seemed a reasonable activity, but Bilbo found he didn't care for it. Back home, parties were the best of times. They were meant to express joy and peace, and he frequently found himself wanting to say, 'You did almost die, didn't you? I mean, it wasn't just me?'

The night after Thorin's... well, the night after they really did think he was dead (and that was the scare of his life, for reasons Bilbo really didn't quite want to contemplate), the sound of dwarves singing echoed off the steep rock around them, and that was before they'd had very much to drink. Once they'd got into the ale the songs would turn dirty, and it had been well established by now that Bilbo looked a good sight prettier than most dwarf maidens - but not too pretty, especially not after the events of the previous evening.

No, no, he supposed he'd better get himself away now while he could. The ring in his pocket was a tempting thought, but he had a sneaking feeling that would catch Gandalf's eye more than anything else, and he did quite want to be alone just then.

He was surprised, then, to come up on the rise and discover that he was not, in fact, alone. A familiar bulk was silhouetted against the stars, and at the faint whisper of Bilbo's feet, he turned.

"Come and sit with me," Thorin muttered in a low rasp.

Bilbo felt his stomach do a flip-flop and he looked behind him on instinct, who, me? But of course it was him, there was nobody else. And certainly no one Thorin would look at like that, the moonlight slicing through those blue eyes, sharp and wary and intense, like he was looking down into the soul of him and judging what he saw there.

It would be very nice, Bilbo thought, if I could sit down and have tea with him without anybody else around. No weapons, no... dire threats upon the world. Perhaps I might be able to understand him for a change.

Well, there isn't tea, but he's certainly here now.

"You're not at the celebration?" He took a cautious few steps forward, then gingerly seated himself next to the dwarf. There wasn't at all much room on the narrow spit of stone, and Bilbo found himself breathing in the scent of leather and smoke trapped in the fur of Thorin's coat.

"Neither are you," the man responded, which was certainly fair enough. They looked up at the stars in a somewhat comfortable silence before Thorin continued, "Why did you do it?"

Bilbo blinked. "I'm sorry?"

There was a soft rustle as Thorin turned to pin him with those eyes again. "You've said yourself you're not a fighter. What on earth possessed you to do such a blindly stupid thing?"

The thing was, Bilbo had no idea. Oh, if anyone else had asked, he'd've promptly told them that it was the least anyone could do for another fellow being, but was that really the right answer? That leap had not been the act of a hobbit with a sense of self-preservation. Of course, he was on this little adventure in the first place, but so far he'd done all right for himself. Throwing himself at an orc with no plan or dignity was another matter entirely.

Those eyes were still on him, and this time his stomach did a little wibble and a wobble, like it was trying to tell him something. Maybe he was hungry? But surely, that wouldn't have anything to do with Thorin's big, beautiful eyes.

Ah.

That was the word, there. 'Beautiful'.

If it had been any other dwarf - and he hated himself for thinking this, but it was true - he didn't doubt he would've watched him skewered for sheer lack of courage. It was something about seeing him there, seeing Thorin there, that had turned Bilbo's brain all to mush and caused him to do the stupidest of stupid things - and, though he half couldn't believe it himself, undoubtedly saved his life.

"I-is it all right if I don't know?" he stuttered, quite unable to look away now.

"It's quite all right," the dwarf murmured, and his voice was like dark gravel on on a darker midnight. The moment felt heavy, like there was something there, and perhaps Bilbo was just too dense to see it?

If he was honest with himself, and he did always try to be, the truth was that Thorin meant an awful lot to him.

Enough to make his heart thump painfully in his chest when he saw him looking toward the horizon. Enough to make his stomach twist up into knots when he looked at him, really looked, and enough that when he looked away, Bilbo felt bereft.

And then there was the hug. Bilbo had been trying not to think about the hug, actually, because it had been distracting him all day and he'd come over all pinkish at awfully inconvenient times. He was entirely certain he'd imagined the whole thing, but what if he didn't? What if Thorin's lips really had brushed his ear in the ghost of a semblance of a maybe-sort-of kiss?

What if he really had done that, on purpose, and what would that even mean?

He realized belatedly that they'd just been staring at each other for well on minutes now, and wasn't that odd? Didn't Thorin think it was odd? But Thorin was quiet as ever, the intense scrutiny in his eyes replaced by something more giving, more warm. He was... a dwarf. But Bilbo had never cared much for lace and ribbons and a pretty smile, and Thorin was...

Well, he was handsome. Quite strikingly so. Very... very. Handsome. Intense. Beautiful.

Oh, for gods' sake.

Bilbo reached a hand up and curled it in the thick silvery fur collar of Thorin's coat. He waited, but there was no judgment in his face, no unease, no growing displeasure. Just as tentatively, the other hand joined it on the opposite side. Bilbo rubbed his thumbs in the soft fur and swallowed, staring at the little V of bare skin at Thorin's throat. He was not wearing his armor. Bilbo had never seen him out of his armor. How fascinating. He had just assumed at this point that dwarves were born with it grafted to their skin.

"Are my collarbones that fascinating?" came that gravelly murmur again, and Bilbo's head jerked up to meet those blue eyes. He found, much to his surprise, that Thorin was smiling.

"Er, yes. I mean, no. Well, it's just that I've never seen them before, and I-"

"Bilbo."

And with that word, Bilbo was lost. He didn't know what he'd ever heard him say his given name - but certainly not like that, all warm and warning (but pleasantly) and a little bit heated. He's an ember, Bilbo thought, and I'm a dry piece of tinder, waiting for the flame.

He had to strain up the slightest bit to kiss him; even sitting, a dwarf was taller than a hobbit. That quickly ceased to matter. Thorin's lips were warm and soft, but only for the briefest of moments. A large hand pressed at the small of his back, dragging him up, and Thorin was kissing back. Heat ripped through the hobbit's body and he whimpered, hands clinging tighter in the coat, trying to kiss back as best he could (which was surely clumsy and awkward, as he'd never done it properly before, not that he'd known that until right this moment), but Thorin bent his spine and held him in place and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

He pulled back enough to let Bilbo take a shaky breath, and then he simply pulled the hobbit right over his lap and kissed him again.

Right, so, this was definitely... well. It was definitely a bit more than he'd ever done, a bit more than was decent, considering the lack of privacy and so on. Bilbo thought about complaining, but his body seemed to be in full state of armed rebellion and was instead shifting his hands up to bury in the thick hair along Thorin's jaw so he could kiss back deeper and better.

What on earth are you doing? the last rational part of his mind protested.

Oh, sod off, will you?