Why this phrasing? If this is silly, I blame you. Uh. AU: Everybody Lives.
Explicit? | ~900
Maybe Bilbo has had a bit too much of the Gaffer’s homebrew…or maybe it’s the simple fact that the King Under the Mountain had shown up to his silly little birthday party.
Either way, Bilbo is giggling like a fauntling and trying not to show everyone in the Shire how excited he is to have Thorin back in Hobbiton, and perhaps to not draw too much attention to having Thorin back in Bag End.
It’s not like there’s necessarily anything untoward in having Thorin over in his smial as the party dies down and all his neighbors return home.
He’s just visiting with an old friend who happens to be a dwarf.
And his old friend just might spend the night in his cozy little hobbit-hole.
Alright, alright. When phrased that way, the glow of Bilbo’s blush could light the way for weary travelers and it’s not what he means–
Who is Bilbo trying to fool? It’s exactly what he means.
“Happy birthday, Bilbo,” Thorin is saying as Bilbo ushers him into his bedroom.
Dwalin and Balin had accompanied Thorin as the others held down the keep in Erebor and that was all fine and good, so long as they were as tired as they had said they were. (After they had returned to Bag End and Thorin and Bilbo had been talking–just talking–Balin had suggested that they might need to rest and who would Bilbo be not to accommodate his guests swiftly and definitively?)
“I’m so pleased to see you.” Bilbo lights a couple of candles by the bed and wonders if Thorin had grown more handsome since last they met or if it was simply his absence that made him now so irresistible.
Thorin smiles, and it’s so gentle Bilbo could faint. “I have missed you, Master Burglar.”
“Well,” Bilbo starts. “I could say the same, Your Majesty.”
Chuckling, Thorin shakes his head. “Is such formality necessary between us?” He steps in close. He hasn’t actually tried to so much as kiss Bilbo’s hand yet and Bilbo is vaguely worried.
Bilbo hums. “I’ll leave that up to your judgment,” he says, and then he’s waiting–waiting desperately–for Thorin to give him a sign.
“Thank you for allowing us a place to stay.”
Bilbo shakes his head. “Of course. No, it’s nothing. I’m glad to have you here.” He hesitates. “All of you.” Does he mean the three dwarves? Does he mean the entirety of Thorin’s body? Bilbo doesn’t even know anymore.
Thorin seems to finally take pity on him. “Is this your bedroom?”
“Yes.” How had he made one word sound so lewd?
“And,” Thorin asks, as Bilbo’s breath catches, “is there a reason, Master Baggins, that you have brought me to your bedroom?”
Bilbo’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times.
“Does that mean yes?”
“Yes.”
Thorin hums. “What reason might that be?” He’s standing so close.
“Thorin,” Bilbo starts, but he doesn’t know how to continue.
“Is something the matter?” What a tease.
With a huff, Bilbo grabs Thorin by the beard. “Oh, come here.” And then he’s kissing the King of Erebor and tugging him toward the bed.
Thorin presses his lips to each inch of skin uncovered as he undresses Bilbo, helps Bilbo unwrap his birthday present.
“Do you want me to take you?” Thorin asks, voice deep and dark and verging on desperate.
“Eru, yes.” Bilbo spreads his legs, reaching down to stroke Thorin’s cock between them, imagining it in him.
Thorin does not laugh, as Bilbo almost expects, but lets out a shudder and a groan. “Don’t let me hurt you.”
Bilbo begins to nod but then Thorin is sucking his own fingers, is pressing them to Bilbo’s entrance and Bilbo is hungry for more with each second until finally he clutches Thorin’s shoulder and the king understands.
Thorin stares into his eyes as he presses into him, searching for any hint of pain, slowing as he sees it. Thorin’s palm is large and warm on his cheek. “You’re the most magnificent creature in the whole of Middle-earth,” he murmurs, and he begins to move.
There is no way to truly respond to that, but Bilbo says his name. “Thorin, Thorin.” He clutches Thorin’s back as Thorin moves in him. “Oh.”
Thorin’s hand slides down from his cheek, over his chest, his stomach, and down to his cock. “Tell me what you need.” He mouths Bilbo’s jaw, his throat.
Bilbo nearly chokes, hips thrusting up into Thorin’s hand and down onto Thorin’s cock. “You,” he gasps. “I need you.”
“Bilbo.” And Thorin is coming undone, his rhythm turning to a mess of stuttering speed and gasping breaths until Bilbo is falling with him and he’s spilling his release into the hobbit beneath him.
Thorin does not disconnect their bodies, just clutches Bilbo close. Bilbo’s fingers twine into Thorin’s long hair as Bilbo catches his breath. Their foreheads press together.
“Come back with me,” Thorin whispers.
Bilbo must’ve misheard him. “What?”
Thorin kisses him, slow and sultry and sated. “Come back with me to Erebor, my treasure.”
Bilbo hasn’t been home all that long. He has obligations. He has things to do around the house. He has–
He doesn’t have Thorin.
Bilbo nods, pushing his face into Thorin’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “Alright.”
Now, Thorin chuckles, light like he’s never been. “Truly?”
Bilbo smiles. “For you.”
At least Bilbo’s last birthday in the Shire is a memorable one.
