FIC: And No Rest Shall We Find ( The Hobbit: 2012, Thorin/Bilbo)
Title: And No Rest Shall We Find
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: The Hobbit (2012)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bilbo/Thorin
Summary: For all that the Hobbits of the Shire were mannerly and often generous, never in his life had Bilbo been so frequently an overnight guest in the house of others.
Sequel to: For Those Who Cannot Sleep
~~*~~
For all that the Hobbits of the Shire were mannerly and often generous, never in his life had Bilbo been so frequently an overnight guest in the house of others. Once, before he'd gone gallivanting after a wizard and a group of dwarves without so much as a pocket handkerchief, Bilbo's adventures hadn't carried him further than he could walk back to his own hobbit hole before nightfall.
Now he'd grown accustomed to sleeping wherever he could, curled up on stone or grassy woodland and he hadn't given much thought to where he would be sleeping once they made their way to the place Gandalf spoke of, the home of his friend, a shiftshaper or whatever he was. Bilbo wasn't inclined to concern himself with that at the moment.
The travel was difficult on foot; all of the dwarves seemed battered though they journeyed on stubbornly without complaint. Even Thorin kept on his own feet and if Gandalf occasionally called for them to stop, declaring that an old man needed time to catch his breath, no one else seemed to notice those moments came alongside those times Thorin staggered, his face pale and tight with pain as he pressed an arm against his ribs.
Two days and nights of travel before they arrived and on those nights, Bilbo slept as he always had, in the middle of a pack of dwarves, soothed by the snoring and nighttime shuffling. He didn't venture over to Thorin, did not notice if he slept or not, though he was less pale with each passing day.
That night atop the peak seemed as a dream and Bilbo might have thought it was; that his exhaustion had woven for him a fantasy to distract his mind, to soothe him with a moment's sweetness. Might have, except for one moment as he trailed behind Gandalf, the sun setting before them a reminder of just how long they'd been walking and Bilbo had tripped.
Strong hands saved him from a nasty fall, catching him against a hard chest and Bilbo had looked up, startled and exhausted, into Thorin's eyes. They cast over his face, searching, and whatever he saw made him call to the others that they would be stopping for the night. Together, they stood, for a long moment, until Thorin slowly released him and strode ahead, ordering them to make camp.
One moment, and no other until they were standing in the halls of Beorn, the skin changer while he offered them shelter and food. A hand pressed lightly in the small of his back, guiding him towards the dinner table as though Bilbo couldn't have found it blindfolded.
Two moments, then, and that did not a dream make.
The others showed no sign of knowing and Bilbo thought perhaps they'd all slept through it and hadn't noticed anything amiss come morning. And if there were any bruises mottling his chin or neck, they'd thought it from the battle the night before and not from the teeth of their king.
All his hopes were dashed in one moment after dinner as Oin pulled him aside and slapped a small leather pouch into his hand. Bilbo opened it with wary curiosity, touched the greasy ointment within and rubbed it between two fingers. It was slippery and smelled strongly of herbs.
"What's this, then?" Bilbo asked, glancing between the pouch and Oin's solemn face. He repeated it, louder, as Oin held up his crumpled ear horn.
"When you have a moment between, be sure to put that on any injuries he has," Oin told him, nodding towards the pouch. "The bruising will heal the faster for it."
"Between," Bilbo repeated, confusion furrowing his brow and the gesture Oin offered him in explanation was equal parts crude and informative.
"Oh, good heavens, no, that's not-it's nothing like that at all!" Bilbo exclaimed.
Oin only gave him a doubtful look and shook his head. "Put it on his bruises, there's a good lad. And let him have a rest from time to time, would you?"
"Of course," Bilbo agreed weakly and he was left standing in the hallway, clutching the small pouch against his chest as he wondered at what his life had become. When Gandalf had offered him an adventure, this wasn't precisely what Bilbo had had in mind.
Thorin had been given a room of his own rather than a pallet with the others in front of the fire and whether that was respect for his birthright or his injuries, Bilbo was uncertain. Either way it left him in position to knock timidly, shuffling his feet as he waited for Thorin to allow him entrance.
Through the door he heard a muffled, "Come in."
"Well, then, Master Baggins, shall we get this done with?" he muttered to himself and pushed the heavy door open.
The room was modest with the large bed taking up most of the available space. It was piled high with soft blankets and pillows, though Bilbo couldn't help but notice the lack of furs despite the chill nights. A small side table with a basin was the only other furniture and the rug at the hearth was crudely woven though clean and that was where Thorin had chosen to sit as he worked off his boots, glancing up at Bilbo long enough to nod a greeting.
"Good evening," Bilbo said, awkwardly, trying to both look and not as Thorin set one boot next to the fire before attacking the other. A dwarf's bare foot was not so different from a hobbit's aside from the lack of hair to curl over the toes. Just as well, Bilbo supposed. Had the dwarves furry toes they surely wouldn't be able to resist braiding in beads and charms and whatnot, and then their boots would never fit.
"I trust the others' lodging is decent," Thorin asked, standing his second boot next to the first before climbing to his feet. He stretched and groaned aloud, though Bilbo didn't miss his near-aborted flinch, his slight hunch as he pressed one arm over his ribs. Blast that warg and its teeth!
"Yes, yes, it's quite suitable," Bilbo agreed, shuffling closer until he could feel some heat from the fire. The floors were chill against his bare soles and the rug leant some warmth of its own. Never mind that it brought him closer to Thorin, who only stood before the hearth, eyes closed as he seemed to bask in its comfort.
"Gandalf assured me that this Beorn can be trusted, though I'd rather not test that. Sleep with your sword on hand," Thorin told him, though it had the feel of advice rather than an order. Even in the firelight he seemed somewhat pale and Bilbo suspected if he hadn't been there Thorin would have already been abed. Imagining what damage lay beneath those tunics was surely more horrifying than seeing it and Bilbo squared his shoulders, determined to take care of the task at hand.
"All right, then, let's have your clothes off," Bilbo announced.
And…perhaps that wasn't quite the proper thing to say. Thorin's expression was reminiscent of the scandalized faces down at the market from the old mothers, who gossiped as much as they shopped. One thick eyebrow raised as Thorin looked Bilbo up and down, and to his embarrassment, Bilbo felt a wash of heat rise up practically from his toes.
"I, no, I didn't mean," Bilbo tried, sputtering, "It was just. Oin!"
If anything, mention of the other dwarf only added to Thorin's dismay. His second eyebrow joined the first in a hairy, but brief inquiry that he aimed directly at Bilbo. Not that Bilbo could blame him for his consternation; few things seemed less appropriate than to demand a fellow remove his clothing and then shout another's name.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Bilbo huffed. He dangled the pouch from his fingers. "I only meant to say that Oin asked me to put some of this ointment on your bruises. He said it would help."
"Did he?" Now Thorin seemed richly amused and at Bilbo's expense, to be sure.
Bilbo lifted his chin stubbornly, "Yes, he did, and since he's more of a physician than I'll ever be, I'd like to obey his command, so. Well, then." He gestured at Thorin's entire person. "Have it off."
"If you can contain your impatience to have me unclothed, I'd like to bathe first. Oin generally prefers his treatments be used on clean skin."
"Yes, yes, of course," Bilbo muttered, and lacking a chair, Bilbo sat himself on the bed, determined not to leave until his task was accomplished. Only to feel the warmth of his blush return as Thorin glanced from the bed to him and back again, eyebrows once again lifting.
Right, then. He was in Thorin's bed after demanding the dwarf undress for him. There was simply no possible chance of saving his dignity and instead of trying, Bilbo gestured impatiently at the bathroom.
Luckily, it seemed the Dwarf king found it amusing to take orders from a hobbit. "By your leave, Master Baggins," Thorin nodded at him and left Bilbo to wait for him, squirming as he listened to the splash of water as Thorin washed. Bilbo told himself was not waiting eagerly for Thorin to return, this time as bare as Bilbo had demanded.
Perhaps Oin's assumptions were not as far off as Bilbo had thought.
Lying on the bed proved to be a mistake. One moment Bilbo was sitting, resting his chin on his drawn up knees while he listened to the distant splash of water and next, he was blinking sleepily, hardly aware of being asleep before he was awoken. It was a struggle to turn his head, his sleep-tangled thoughts trying to recall what was happening.
Thorin, yes, he was supposed to be treating Thorin's injuries and instead he'd made himself at home in his bed. The blanket was even tucked over him and Bilbo wondered blearily how he'd managed that when it finally occurred to him that he hadn't. It was the coverlet settling over him that had awoken him which meant Thorin had done it. Even drowsy logic dictated that Thorin was out of the bath and terror seized Bilbo, that Thorin had dressed whist he was stealing a nap and he would have to face Oin in shamefaced defeat, task undone.
"Stop!" Bilbo yelped, sitting straight up and Thorin startled next to him, jerking hard enough to bang his head against the headboard where it rested. That left Bilbo to sit awkwardly, watching with a wince of his own as Thorin rubbed his head, muttering under his breath in a language Bilbo did not know.
"And what exactly is it that you want me to stop?" Thorin asked tersely, frowning as if Bilbo had accused him of some nefarious deed.
"I…I only meant I needed to treat your injuries," Bilbo said meekly, scrabbling around to find the pouch of ointment. It had been kicked to the foot of the bed and tangled into the bedclothes. Bilbo struggled to pull it loose, uncomfortable aware of Thorin watching him and when he finally freed it, he held it over his head like a trophy.
Thorin only shook his head, smiling faintly, "If I allow you to use that, will you allow me to sleep?"
"Yes, of course," Bilbo said indignantly. Every dwarf he'd spoken to today seemed to think he'd suddenly become somehow lustfully deranged enough that he'd keep an injured person from their rest. "I shouldn't be a moment."
Thorin heaved a weary sigh, shifting to lie on his belly. "Very well, then. Get on with it."
Oh. Bilbo swallowed hard, presented with a wealth of bare skin. Thorin's shoulders were broad, banded with muscle and Bilbo might have sat dumbly and simply stared if the sheet hadn't slipped lower and the first crow's wing of a bruise had not appeared over its edge.
Hastily, he fumbled with the pouch, dragging his fingers through the ointment to coat them. He smeared it down, following the long line already swollen blackish and wide, trailing along his shoulder and down nearly to his hip.
"This wasn't all caused by the warg," Bilbo said unhappily.
"The goblins were poor hosts," Thorin said dryly. He made no sound, his breathing slow and even, as Bilbo tried to paint his fingers over every mark. It was becoming a monumental task. Again and again, he gathered up more ointment until Thorin's back was shiny with it. Each bruise had its attention and before he knew it, he'd reached the edge of the sheet, the whiteness stark against Thorin's skin.
Bilbo sat back, flummoxed. His hands were still slippery and the slight medicinal scent of the ointment was heavy in the air. He was quite finished, had promised he'd allow Thorin his rest and yet, and yet…
Daring was heavy in his chest, his heart thundering with it as Bilbo leaned forward to press a kiss between Thorin's shoulders to the tempting flex of muscle there.
"What are you doing?" Thorin murmured. He sounded sleepy, sighing quietly.
"I'm not certain," Bilbo confessed, truthfully. He pressed another kiss slightly lower, following the dip in the small of Thorin's back, until he came to the edge of the sheet. He tugged it aside with trembling fingers, dragging the linen past Thorin's thighs and exhaled, shakily, smoothing his hand over the newly exposed bareness.
There was no protest offered and when Bilbo slid lower, pressed a knee between Thorin's where the sheet still separated them, his unspoken question obeyed. Heavy thighs spread wider, allowing Bilbo between them. Almost as if he was holding Thorin trapped beneath him and if Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment and pretended it was so, no one would ever know.
Temptation itched at him; he'd done this much only once before, years ago and Thorin was yielding beneath him. The skin of Thorin's hip was smooth and pale, untouched by the sun and Bilbo kissed the softness there, felt the shift of muscle beneath his lips as Thorin moved slightly, unsettled perhaps. Still, there was no protest, no sound at all, until Bilbo carefully, so carefully ran his tongue along the crease of his backside, down between his legs to lick at the tiny, furled entrance hidden within.
That earned him a sound, low and broken, and Thorin clenched briefly against the press of Bilbo's tongue.
"Shhhhhh," Bilbo exhaled, let the soft breath caress wetted skin and another low cry greeted him. With all gentleness, Bilbo spread the firm cheeks with his thumbs, anxiously searching for any objection, any sign that Thorin wished for him to stop. Above him, Thorin's face was turned away, buried into the pillows, his shoulders quivering with each shuddering breath. His hands were gripping the sheets, his wide knuckles taut-whitened.
There was no protest, no words, and Bilbo lowered his head again and slid his tongue over the pink clench. It was a difficult push; Bilbo's tongue was not very long and Thorin was tight, barely loosening beneath Bilbo's insistence. He worked his way within, pausing to lap gently, coaxing, and slowly, that tiny pucker relented, letting him a little way inside.
Beneath one hand, Thorin's thigh was taut, twitching with the effort to remain still. Thorin shook with spasms, groaning through his teeth as Bilbo slipped a finger in alongside his tongue, pressing softly and Thorin thrashed against the sheets, nearly kicking Bilbo away.
He rode the wave of it, thinking his days of riding a pony had taught him some skills and when he raised his head, the pink stretch of skin was shiny with his saliva, obscene, and he could not resist the temptation to lick at it again.
Thorin's voice rose, muffled into the pillow and still Bilbo could hear it, nearly a wail and to hear such a thing in that rich voice was another layer to obscenity, strange and lovely.
He dug his thumbs into taut muscle, holding Thorin open as he worked his tongue in a little more, tiny, strained little thrusts and only then did Bilbo realize the state of his own cock, hard against the sheets and he was dragging his hips against the mattress, taking what friction he could from the bed linens. It would be enough, he knew, a little longer and he would spill in his own trousers and the temptation was there.
Another temptation seized him and Bilbo blushed to even think it, of spilling across the wide, bare skin of Thorin's back, painting wet lines across the dark bruises, marking him in his own way.
He pressed a last kiss between those taut cheeks, tongue dipping briefly inside as Thorin shuddered, before moving up, loosening his breeches. The touch of his own hand made Bilbo hiss, already aching for release and he straddled Thorin's thighs, his own stretched wide around them.
"I…I'm going to-" Bilbo started, hushed, his voice dying away, unable to even speak of it. "Please," he whispered, "I…please…"
"Don't stop," Thorin burst out, a ragged, desperate rush of words. "Don't."
Bilbo whimpered aloud, "A moment, please, I just…I need…"
A restless movement beneath him and Bilbo rode the rippling wave of it as Thorin arched beneath him, hips shifting upward. Low, muffled words came, barely heard over his own desperate pants, "…me…"
"Thorin," Bilbo gasped out. The slippery warmth of his own hand was enough. He just needed a moment longer, just a moment.
The edge was approaching, pleasure nearly cresting as Thorin turned his head, spat out, low, "Take me."
And perhaps there was a measure of unknown strength to him as Bilbo managed not to reach his end right then, those growled words echoing in his ears. Instead, he tore his hand away with a gasp, dropping low to rest his forehead between Thorin's shoulders as he struggled to resist the heavy throb between his legs.
Take me.
"You're certain?" Bilbo asked, hesitant, though his hand was already sliding low again, slipping down to press against his entrance, barely inside. Thorin only shifted impatiently, his body slowly giving to the push of Bilbo's finger.
He watched, mesmerized, as Thorin stretched around his finger, the careful slide in and back, loosening enough for him to press in another. A harder stretch, hardly managed and Thorin grunted aloud, thighs spreading wide as he sought enough leverage to push back and of course he would try to lead, even now.
A wicked urge took him and Bilbo didn't even try to resist, ducking his head to curl his tongue between his fingers, following Thorin down as he collapsed with a ragged cry. Again, he licked at the pink skin stretched around his fingers and Thorin quivered beneath him, legs spread wide and Bilbo pulled back enough to take in the sight of it. Thorin's hair was wild, tangled about his shoulders and clinging in sweaty tangles. His hands were clenched fiercely into the sheets, his thighs spread and his hips moving urgently with each press of Bilbo's fingers. He was utterly debauched and it was heady knowledge that Bilbo had been the cause of it.
Enough. Bilbo pulled his fingers free, ignored the ragged cry of protest that greeted him. There was no time to strip away his own clothing and Bilbo pushed his knees between Thorin's with feverish haste, forcing them wider still and took himself in hand, pressing against that fluttering, eager hole.
"Hold still," Bilbo begged, only to be ignored, Thorin writhing against him as though he could take Bilbo's cock himself and finally Bilbo gave in, patience lost, and simply pushed inside.
For all his careful efforts, Thorin was still excruciatingly tight, his gasps taking on a pained edge as Bilbo eased into him. If he had the breath, Bilbo would soothe him, stroke him into relaxing as he moved into him. As it was Bilbo could hardly manage a feeble pat, hips moving without permission as he drove in with stilted, clumsy thrusts. Until he was deep within, hips pressed tight to Thorin's.
"Oh," Bilbo tried, "Oh…that's…" He broke off with a moan as Thorin fought his way up to his knees, forcing Bilbo to his own as he grabbed him frantically, holding on.
"I said, take me," Thorin growled, a command that Bilbo mindlessly obeyed. He drew away slowly then pushed back inside, again, until he was nothing but mindless, desperate need. Need to get deeper, need to draw those ragged cries from deep within Thorin's throat, jolting within him and already pleasure was crawling up his spine, glorious and inevitable.
The heat of Thorin's body coupled with the brutal tightness flexing around him was too much to bear. Bilbo dug his nails into Thorin's hips, urging him to move with him, to take what he needed from this, "Touch yourself," Bilbo gasped, little more than desperate pleading. He felt it when Thorin obeyed, watched the flex of arm and shoulder moving with his rhythm.
It made him try to shuffle closer, the angle shifting and that smallest of changes had Thorin roaring beneath him, echoing through the room as his body clenched suddenly tight in a rough spasm. Another cry, softer, and Thorin trembled, shaking as he found his pleasure. He was already wavering on his knees, sinking lower as Bilbo followed, snatching himself from the slick, tempting heat to indulge in his own desires. He spilled in hot, wet streaks over Thorin's back and thighs, watching in guilty raptness as it fell across bruised skin.
Bilbo managed to collapse to the side rather than fall over Thorin and if asked, he would have said he was trying not to bruise him further. Torture wouldn't allow him to admit he wanted to look at the mark of his seed on Thorin for a moment, reaching out a hesitant fingertip to trace one streak up the length of his thigh. Thorin sighed as Bilbo's hand drifted upward, dragging through pale lines over bruise-darkened skin.
"As I've already bathed this evening, I think you might offer me a damp cloth?" Thorin murmured and Bilbo blushed to his eyebrows, snatching his hand away. Thorin shifted up to his elbows and turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.
"I…uh…yes, well…I'm terribly sorry," Bilbo stammered. He fumbled backwards, nearly falling off the bed in his attempts to gain his feet and Thorin only watched him, propping his chin on one broad fist.
"The apologies aren't necessary, just the cloth will do," Thorin said, lips curving in amusement and Bilbo paused, glaring at him. As though he didn't know what a picture he made lying there bare as a babe, shiny wet and lovely.
"Right then," Bilbo took a moment to do up his trousers, chin rising defiantly, "I'll do my best to clean your hair as well, shall I?" He ducked quickly into the bathroom, away from Thorin's outraged shout and took a moment to gather up a wet cloth, making sure it was warm enough before returning to Thorin's scowl.
He nearly radiated indignation and Bilbo gave his shoulder a tender pat as he climbed back on the bed, "There, there now, I was only teasing."
A low growl greeted him and Bilbo decided prudently to let it be, carefully wiped Thorin clean, his thighs and between them as gently as he could and he took a moment to touch between the cheeks lightly, finding the little hole tender but uninjured. Thorin made a half-sound of protest, pushing up slightly on his knees until Bilbo gentled him back down.
Slowly, he relaxed, sinking into the bed linens as Bilbo softly cleaned him, pausing to stroke his thumb through the cooling streaks before wiping them away and Thorin was drowsing when Bilbo urged him to roll over so that he might clean away his own seed, the wetness on his belly.
"Thank you," Bilbo said, softly. He kept his touch gentle, moving the soft bulk of Thorin's cock only to cleanse it. Lashes fluttered as Thorin's eyes slit open, meeting his.
"I need thanks less than I need apologies," he whispered, low, and Bilbo nodded slowly.
"I know, I know," Bilbo muttered. He let his hands fall into his own lap, twisting the cloth uncertainly. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly experienced with this sort of thing."
A low rumble of laughter greeted that and Thorin mumbled, sleepily, "Nor I."
"You-" Bilbo began, trailing off. Beside him, Thorin slept, unmoving even when Bilbo drew the coverlet back over him. Yet within his mind was the memory of the tightness of Thorin's body, his pained gasps as he was taken. Something hot and tight clenched in Bilbo's chest, making it difficult to breathe and as quietly as he could, he eased from the bed back to the bathroom, rinsing the cloth and hanging it to dry. Simple tasks that were no distraction at all and moments later he was back by the bed, watching Thorin sleep.
He watched the rise and fall of Thorin's chest, frowning as he took in a bruise he hadn’t treated, and another, his previous task forgotten before it had been finished. Thorin slept on as he retrieved the little pouch and he did not stir when Bilbo once again joined him on the bed, pausing long enough to undress and fold his clothes neatly.
Thorin only murmured softly in his sleep as Bilbo dabbed the ointment on the last of his bruises, never stirring until Bilbo finished his task and slipped beneath the blankets himself. Only then did Thorin move, reaching out to tug Bilbo close, burying his face into the tangle of his hair. Bilbo closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the arm circling him, holding on as he sought his own sleep.
-finis-
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: The Hobbit (2012)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bilbo/Thorin
Summary: For all that the Hobbits of the Shire were mannerly and often generous, never in his life had Bilbo been so frequently an overnight guest in the house of others.
Sequel to: For Those Who Cannot Sleep
~~*~~
For all that the Hobbits of the Shire were mannerly and often generous, never in his life had Bilbo been so frequently an overnight guest in the house of others. Once, before he'd gone gallivanting after a wizard and a group of dwarves without so much as a pocket handkerchief, Bilbo's adventures hadn't carried him further than he could walk back to his own hobbit hole before nightfall.
Now he'd grown accustomed to sleeping wherever he could, curled up on stone or grassy woodland and he hadn't given much thought to where he would be sleeping once they made their way to the place Gandalf spoke of, the home of his friend, a shiftshaper or whatever he was. Bilbo wasn't inclined to concern himself with that at the moment.
The travel was difficult on foot; all of the dwarves seemed battered though they journeyed on stubbornly without complaint. Even Thorin kept on his own feet and if Gandalf occasionally called for them to stop, declaring that an old man needed time to catch his breath, no one else seemed to notice those moments came alongside those times Thorin staggered, his face pale and tight with pain as he pressed an arm against his ribs.
Two days and nights of travel before they arrived and on those nights, Bilbo slept as he always had, in the middle of a pack of dwarves, soothed by the snoring and nighttime shuffling. He didn't venture over to Thorin, did not notice if he slept or not, though he was less pale with each passing day.
That night atop the peak seemed as a dream and Bilbo might have thought it was; that his exhaustion had woven for him a fantasy to distract his mind, to soothe him with a moment's sweetness. Might have, except for one moment as he trailed behind Gandalf, the sun setting before them a reminder of just how long they'd been walking and Bilbo had tripped.
Strong hands saved him from a nasty fall, catching him against a hard chest and Bilbo had looked up, startled and exhausted, into Thorin's eyes. They cast over his face, searching, and whatever he saw made him call to the others that they would be stopping for the night. Together, they stood, for a long moment, until Thorin slowly released him and strode ahead, ordering them to make camp.
One moment, and no other until they were standing in the halls of Beorn, the skin changer while he offered them shelter and food. A hand pressed lightly in the small of his back, guiding him towards the dinner table as though Bilbo couldn't have found it blindfolded.
Two moments, then, and that did not a dream make.
The others showed no sign of knowing and Bilbo thought perhaps they'd all slept through it and hadn't noticed anything amiss come morning. And if there were any bruises mottling his chin or neck, they'd thought it from the battle the night before and not from the teeth of their king.
All his hopes were dashed in one moment after dinner as Oin pulled him aside and slapped a small leather pouch into his hand. Bilbo opened it with wary curiosity, touched the greasy ointment within and rubbed it between two fingers. It was slippery and smelled strongly of herbs.
"What's this, then?" Bilbo asked, glancing between the pouch and Oin's solemn face. He repeated it, louder, as Oin held up his crumpled ear horn.
"When you have a moment between, be sure to put that on any injuries he has," Oin told him, nodding towards the pouch. "The bruising will heal the faster for it."
"Between," Bilbo repeated, confusion furrowing his brow and the gesture Oin offered him in explanation was equal parts crude and informative.
"Oh, good heavens, no, that's not-it's nothing like that at all!" Bilbo exclaimed.
Oin only gave him a doubtful look and shook his head. "Put it on his bruises, there's a good lad. And let him have a rest from time to time, would you?"
"Of course," Bilbo agreed weakly and he was left standing in the hallway, clutching the small pouch against his chest as he wondered at what his life had become. When Gandalf had offered him an adventure, this wasn't precisely what Bilbo had had in mind.
Thorin had been given a room of his own rather than a pallet with the others in front of the fire and whether that was respect for his birthright or his injuries, Bilbo was uncertain. Either way it left him in position to knock timidly, shuffling his feet as he waited for Thorin to allow him entrance.
Through the door he heard a muffled, "Come in."
"Well, then, Master Baggins, shall we get this done with?" he muttered to himself and pushed the heavy door open.
The room was modest with the large bed taking up most of the available space. It was piled high with soft blankets and pillows, though Bilbo couldn't help but notice the lack of furs despite the chill nights. A small side table with a basin was the only other furniture and the rug at the hearth was crudely woven though clean and that was where Thorin had chosen to sit as he worked off his boots, glancing up at Bilbo long enough to nod a greeting.
"Good evening," Bilbo said, awkwardly, trying to both look and not as Thorin set one boot next to the fire before attacking the other. A dwarf's bare foot was not so different from a hobbit's aside from the lack of hair to curl over the toes. Just as well, Bilbo supposed. Had the dwarves furry toes they surely wouldn't be able to resist braiding in beads and charms and whatnot, and then their boots would never fit.
"I trust the others' lodging is decent," Thorin asked, standing his second boot next to the first before climbing to his feet. He stretched and groaned aloud, though Bilbo didn't miss his near-aborted flinch, his slight hunch as he pressed one arm over his ribs. Blast that warg and its teeth!
"Yes, yes, it's quite suitable," Bilbo agreed, shuffling closer until he could feel some heat from the fire. The floors were chill against his bare soles and the rug leant some warmth of its own. Never mind that it brought him closer to Thorin, who only stood before the hearth, eyes closed as he seemed to bask in its comfort.
"Gandalf assured me that this Beorn can be trusted, though I'd rather not test that. Sleep with your sword on hand," Thorin told him, though it had the feel of advice rather than an order. Even in the firelight he seemed somewhat pale and Bilbo suspected if he hadn't been there Thorin would have already been abed. Imagining what damage lay beneath those tunics was surely more horrifying than seeing it and Bilbo squared his shoulders, determined to take care of the task at hand.
"All right, then, let's have your clothes off," Bilbo announced.
And…perhaps that wasn't quite the proper thing to say. Thorin's expression was reminiscent of the scandalized faces down at the market from the old mothers, who gossiped as much as they shopped. One thick eyebrow raised as Thorin looked Bilbo up and down, and to his embarrassment, Bilbo felt a wash of heat rise up practically from his toes.
"I, no, I didn't mean," Bilbo tried, sputtering, "It was just. Oin!"
If anything, mention of the other dwarf only added to Thorin's dismay. His second eyebrow joined the first in a hairy, but brief inquiry that he aimed directly at Bilbo. Not that Bilbo could blame him for his consternation; few things seemed less appropriate than to demand a fellow remove his clothing and then shout another's name.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Bilbo huffed. He dangled the pouch from his fingers. "I only meant to say that Oin asked me to put some of this ointment on your bruises. He said it would help."
"Did he?" Now Thorin seemed richly amused and at Bilbo's expense, to be sure.
Bilbo lifted his chin stubbornly, "Yes, he did, and since he's more of a physician than I'll ever be, I'd like to obey his command, so. Well, then." He gestured at Thorin's entire person. "Have it off."
"If you can contain your impatience to have me unclothed, I'd like to bathe first. Oin generally prefers his treatments be used on clean skin."
"Yes, yes, of course," Bilbo muttered, and lacking a chair, Bilbo sat himself on the bed, determined not to leave until his task was accomplished. Only to feel the warmth of his blush return as Thorin glanced from the bed to him and back again, eyebrows once again lifting.
Right, then. He was in Thorin's bed after demanding the dwarf undress for him. There was simply no possible chance of saving his dignity and instead of trying, Bilbo gestured impatiently at the bathroom.
Luckily, it seemed the Dwarf king found it amusing to take orders from a hobbit. "By your leave, Master Baggins," Thorin nodded at him and left Bilbo to wait for him, squirming as he listened to the splash of water as Thorin washed. Bilbo told himself was not waiting eagerly for Thorin to return, this time as bare as Bilbo had demanded.
Perhaps Oin's assumptions were not as far off as Bilbo had thought.
Lying on the bed proved to be a mistake. One moment Bilbo was sitting, resting his chin on his drawn up knees while he listened to the distant splash of water and next, he was blinking sleepily, hardly aware of being asleep before he was awoken. It was a struggle to turn his head, his sleep-tangled thoughts trying to recall what was happening.
Thorin, yes, he was supposed to be treating Thorin's injuries and instead he'd made himself at home in his bed. The blanket was even tucked over him and Bilbo wondered blearily how he'd managed that when it finally occurred to him that he hadn't. It was the coverlet settling over him that had awoken him which meant Thorin had done it. Even drowsy logic dictated that Thorin was out of the bath and terror seized Bilbo, that Thorin had dressed whist he was stealing a nap and he would have to face Oin in shamefaced defeat, task undone.
"Stop!" Bilbo yelped, sitting straight up and Thorin startled next to him, jerking hard enough to bang his head against the headboard where it rested. That left Bilbo to sit awkwardly, watching with a wince of his own as Thorin rubbed his head, muttering under his breath in a language Bilbo did not know.
"And what exactly is it that you want me to stop?" Thorin asked tersely, frowning as if Bilbo had accused him of some nefarious deed.
"I…I only meant I needed to treat your injuries," Bilbo said meekly, scrabbling around to find the pouch of ointment. It had been kicked to the foot of the bed and tangled into the bedclothes. Bilbo struggled to pull it loose, uncomfortable aware of Thorin watching him and when he finally freed it, he held it over his head like a trophy.
Thorin only shook his head, smiling faintly, "If I allow you to use that, will you allow me to sleep?"
"Yes, of course," Bilbo said indignantly. Every dwarf he'd spoken to today seemed to think he'd suddenly become somehow lustfully deranged enough that he'd keep an injured person from their rest. "I shouldn't be a moment."
Thorin heaved a weary sigh, shifting to lie on his belly. "Very well, then. Get on with it."
Oh. Bilbo swallowed hard, presented with a wealth of bare skin. Thorin's shoulders were broad, banded with muscle and Bilbo might have sat dumbly and simply stared if the sheet hadn't slipped lower and the first crow's wing of a bruise had not appeared over its edge.
Hastily, he fumbled with the pouch, dragging his fingers through the ointment to coat them. He smeared it down, following the long line already swollen blackish and wide, trailing along his shoulder and down nearly to his hip.
"This wasn't all caused by the warg," Bilbo said unhappily.
"The goblins were poor hosts," Thorin said dryly. He made no sound, his breathing slow and even, as Bilbo tried to paint his fingers over every mark. It was becoming a monumental task. Again and again, he gathered up more ointment until Thorin's back was shiny with it. Each bruise had its attention and before he knew it, he'd reached the edge of the sheet, the whiteness stark against Thorin's skin.
Bilbo sat back, flummoxed. His hands were still slippery and the slight medicinal scent of the ointment was heavy in the air. He was quite finished, had promised he'd allow Thorin his rest and yet, and yet…
Daring was heavy in his chest, his heart thundering with it as Bilbo leaned forward to press a kiss between Thorin's shoulders to the tempting flex of muscle there.
"What are you doing?" Thorin murmured. He sounded sleepy, sighing quietly.
"I'm not certain," Bilbo confessed, truthfully. He pressed another kiss slightly lower, following the dip in the small of Thorin's back, until he came to the edge of the sheet. He tugged it aside with trembling fingers, dragging the linen past Thorin's thighs and exhaled, shakily, smoothing his hand over the newly exposed bareness.
There was no protest offered and when Bilbo slid lower, pressed a knee between Thorin's where the sheet still separated them, his unspoken question obeyed. Heavy thighs spread wider, allowing Bilbo between them. Almost as if he was holding Thorin trapped beneath him and if Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment and pretended it was so, no one would ever know.
Temptation itched at him; he'd done this much only once before, years ago and Thorin was yielding beneath him. The skin of Thorin's hip was smooth and pale, untouched by the sun and Bilbo kissed the softness there, felt the shift of muscle beneath his lips as Thorin moved slightly, unsettled perhaps. Still, there was no protest, no sound at all, until Bilbo carefully, so carefully ran his tongue along the crease of his backside, down between his legs to lick at the tiny, furled entrance hidden within.
That earned him a sound, low and broken, and Thorin clenched briefly against the press of Bilbo's tongue.
"Shhhhhh," Bilbo exhaled, let the soft breath caress wetted skin and another low cry greeted him. With all gentleness, Bilbo spread the firm cheeks with his thumbs, anxiously searching for any objection, any sign that Thorin wished for him to stop. Above him, Thorin's face was turned away, buried into the pillows, his shoulders quivering with each shuddering breath. His hands were gripping the sheets, his wide knuckles taut-whitened.
There was no protest, no words, and Bilbo lowered his head again and slid his tongue over the pink clench. It was a difficult push; Bilbo's tongue was not very long and Thorin was tight, barely loosening beneath Bilbo's insistence. He worked his way within, pausing to lap gently, coaxing, and slowly, that tiny pucker relented, letting him a little way inside.
Beneath one hand, Thorin's thigh was taut, twitching with the effort to remain still. Thorin shook with spasms, groaning through his teeth as Bilbo slipped a finger in alongside his tongue, pressing softly and Thorin thrashed against the sheets, nearly kicking Bilbo away.
He rode the wave of it, thinking his days of riding a pony had taught him some skills and when he raised his head, the pink stretch of skin was shiny with his saliva, obscene, and he could not resist the temptation to lick at it again.
Thorin's voice rose, muffled into the pillow and still Bilbo could hear it, nearly a wail and to hear such a thing in that rich voice was another layer to obscenity, strange and lovely.
He dug his thumbs into taut muscle, holding Thorin open as he worked his tongue in a little more, tiny, strained little thrusts and only then did Bilbo realize the state of his own cock, hard against the sheets and he was dragging his hips against the mattress, taking what friction he could from the bed linens. It would be enough, he knew, a little longer and he would spill in his own trousers and the temptation was there.
Another temptation seized him and Bilbo blushed to even think it, of spilling across the wide, bare skin of Thorin's back, painting wet lines across the dark bruises, marking him in his own way.
He pressed a last kiss between those taut cheeks, tongue dipping briefly inside as Thorin shuddered, before moving up, loosening his breeches. The touch of his own hand made Bilbo hiss, already aching for release and he straddled Thorin's thighs, his own stretched wide around them.
"I…I'm going to-" Bilbo started, hushed, his voice dying away, unable to even speak of it. "Please," he whispered, "I…please…"
"Don't stop," Thorin burst out, a ragged, desperate rush of words. "Don't."
Bilbo whimpered aloud, "A moment, please, I just…I need…"
A restless movement beneath him and Bilbo rode the rippling wave of it as Thorin arched beneath him, hips shifting upward. Low, muffled words came, barely heard over his own desperate pants, "…me…"
"Thorin," Bilbo gasped out. The slippery warmth of his own hand was enough. He just needed a moment longer, just a moment.
The edge was approaching, pleasure nearly cresting as Thorin turned his head, spat out, low, "Take me."
And perhaps there was a measure of unknown strength to him as Bilbo managed not to reach his end right then, those growled words echoing in his ears. Instead, he tore his hand away with a gasp, dropping low to rest his forehead between Thorin's shoulders as he struggled to resist the heavy throb between his legs.
Take me.
"You're certain?" Bilbo asked, hesitant, though his hand was already sliding low again, slipping down to press against his entrance, barely inside. Thorin only shifted impatiently, his body slowly giving to the push of Bilbo's finger.
He watched, mesmerized, as Thorin stretched around his finger, the careful slide in and back, loosening enough for him to press in another. A harder stretch, hardly managed and Thorin grunted aloud, thighs spreading wide as he sought enough leverage to push back and of course he would try to lead, even now.
A wicked urge took him and Bilbo didn't even try to resist, ducking his head to curl his tongue between his fingers, following Thorin down as he collapsed with a ragged cry. Again, he licked at the pink skin stretched around his fingers and Thorin quivered beneath him, legs spread wide and Bilbo pulled back enough to take in the sight of it. Thorin's hair was wild, tangled about his shoulders and clinging in sweaty tangles. His hands were clenched fiercely into the sheets, his thighs spread and his hips moving urgently with each press of Bilbo's fingers. He was utterly debauched and it was heady knowledge that Bilbo had been the cause of it.
Enough. Bilbo pulled his fingers free, ignored the ragged cry of protest that greeted him. There was no time to strip away his own clothing and Bilbo pushed his knees between Thorin's with feverish haste, forcing them wider still and took himself in hand, pressing against that fluttering, eager hole.
"Hold still," Bilbo begged, only to be ignored, Thorin writhing against him as though he could take Bilbo's cock himself and finally Bilbo gave in, patience lost, and simply pushed inside.
For all his careful efforts, Thorin was still excruciatingly tight, his gasps taking on a pained edge as Bilbo eased into him. If he had the breath, Bilbo would soothe him, stroke him into relaxing as he moved into him. As it was Bilbo could hardly manage a feeble pat, hips moving without permission as he drove in with stilted, clumsy thrusts. Until he was deep within, hips pressed tight to Thorin's.
"Oh," Bilbo tried, "Oh…that's…" He broke off with a moan as Thorin fought his way up to his knees, forcing Bilbo to his own as he grabbed him frantically, holding on.
"I said, take me," Thorin growled, a command that Bilbo mindlessly obeyed. He drew away slowly then pushed back inside, again, until he was nothing but mindless, desperate need. Need to get deeper, need to draw those ragged cries from deep within Thorin's throat, jolting within him and already pleasure was crawling up his spine, glorious and inevitable.
The heat of Thorin's body coupled with the brutal tightness flexing around him was too much to bear. Bilbo dug his nails into Thorin's hips, urging him to move with him, to take what he needed from this, "Touch yourself," Bilbo gasped, little more than desperate pleading. He felt it when Thorin obeyed, watched the flex of arm and shoulder moving with his rhythm.
It made him try to shuffle closer, the angle shifting and that smallest of changes had Thorin roaring beneath him, echoing through the room as his body clenched suddenly tight in a rough spasm. Another cry, softer, and Thorin trembled, shaking as he found his pleasure. He was already wavering on his knees, sinking lower as Bilbo followed, snatching himself from the slick, tempting heat to indulge in his own desires. He spilled in hot, wet streaks over Thorin's back and thighs, watching in guilty raptness as it fell across bruised skin.
Bilbo managed to collapse to the side rather than fall over Thorin and if asked, he would have said he was trying not to bruise him further. Torture wouldn't allow him to admit he wanted to look at the mark of his seed on Thorin for a moment, reaching out a hesitant fingertip to trace one streak up the length of his thigh. Thorin sighed as Bilbo's hand drifted upward, dragging through pale lines over bruise-darkened skin.
"As I've already bathed this evening, I think you might offer me a damp cloth?" Thorin murmured and Bilbo blushed to his eyebrows, snatching his hand away. Thorin shifted up to his elbows and turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.
"I…uh…yes, well…I'm terribly sorry," Bilbo stammered. He fumbled backwards, nearly falling off the bed in his attempts to gain his feet and Thorin only watched him, propping his chin on one broad fist.
"The apologies aren't necessary, just the cloth will do," Thorin said, lips curving in amusement and Bilbo paused, glaring at him. As though he didn't know what a picture he made lying there bare as a babe, shiny wet and lovely.
"Right then," Bilbo took a moment to do up his trousers, chin rising defiantly, "I'll do my best to clean your hair as well, shall I?" He ducked quickly into the bathroom, away from Thorin's outraged shout and took a moment to gather up a wet cloth, making sure it was warm enough before returning to Thorin's scowl.
He nearly radiated indignation and Bilbo gave his shoulder a tender pat as he climbed back on the bed, "There, there now, I was only teasing."
A low growl greeted him and Bilbo decided prudently to let it be, carefully wiped Thorin clean, his thighs and between them as gently as he could and he took a moment to touch between the cheeks lightly, finding the little hole tender but uninjured. Thorin made a half-sound of protest, pushing up slightly on his knees until Bilbo gentled him back down.
Slowly, he relaxed, sinking into the bed linens as Bilbo softly cleaned him, pausing to stroke his thumb through the cooling streaks before wiping them away and Thorin was drowsing when Bilbo urged him to roll over so that he might clean away his own seed, the wetness on his belly.
"Thank you," Bilbo said, softly. He kept his touch gentle, moving the soft bulk of Thorin's cock only to cleanse it. Lashes fluttered as Thorin's eyes slit open, meeting his.
"I need thanks less than I need apologies," he whispered, low, and Bilbo nodded slowly.
"I know, I know," Bilbo muttered. He let his hands fall into his own lap, twisting the cloth uncertainly. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly experienced with this sort of thing."
A low rumble of laughter greeted that and Thorin mumbled, sleepily, "Nor I."
"You-" Bilbo began, trailing off. Beside him, Thorin slept, unmoving even when Bilbo drew the coverlet back over him. Yet within his mind was the memory of the tightness of Thorin's body, his pained gasps as he was taken. Something hot and tight clenched in Bilbo's chest, making it difficult to breathe and as quietly as he could, he eased from the bed back to the bathroom, rinsing the cloth and hanging it to dry. Simple tasks that were no distraction at all and moments later he was back by the bed, watching Thorin sleep.
He watched the rise and fall of Thorin's chest, frowning as he took in a bruise he hadn’t treated, and another, his previous task forgotten before it had been finished. Thorin slept on as he retrieved the little pouch and he did not stir when Bilbo once again joined him on the bed, pausing long enough to undress and fold his clothes neatly.
Thorin only murmured softly in his sleep as Bilbo dabbed the ointment on the last of his bruises, never stirring until Bilbo finished his task and slipped beneath the blankets himself. Only then did Thorin move, reaching out to tug Bilbo close, burying his face into the tangle of his hair. Bilbo closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the arm circling him, holding on as he sought his own sleep.
-finis-