Fervently savouring his butterscotch kisses, Thorin overindulged himself. Toothachingly sweet, he enveloped them with his tongue, yearning for more. Greedy, sloppy and open-mouthed, they fuelled his burning appetite. Each touch was a gentle declaration of love that grew more frenzied. Bilbo's warm, cinnamon eyes met his, gleaming with adoration. His hobbit's face was framed by soft, toffee curls of hair. A strawberry flush of blush glazed his cheeks, lightly dusted with caramel freckles. The golden hue of dawn, pure and lustrous, poured over the lovers. A loving warmth seeped into their skin as they basked in the sunlight. Bilbo's name became like a prayer, falling devotedly from Thorin’s lips. His hobbit, his love, his cherished treasure, adorned his sturdy arms. Tears became salt pearls, bright jewels for Thorin’s fingers to weigh as he soothed all sorrow with his adoring embrace. Light touches, like butterflies, danced tenderly over each other, committing every inch of skin to memory. Thorin’s heart chanted as Bilbo satisfied his sweet tooth by sprinkling him with sugary kisses, honey caresses, and lingering saccharine glances. All his possessions for a moment of time. Thorin clutched them close to his heart as his love’s delicate hand encircled his.
*shamelessly (re)promoting one of my own fics because I miss the “You’ve got kudos” mail so much*
Summary: The events on Ravenhill, the cold and the hours at Thorin's sickbed have left their impact on Bilbo. He struggles with what he had to experience. Thorin tries to make him forget his anxieties and comfort him.
Some angst, but turning into Bagginshield fluff :)
Last night I had a dream that Thorin and Bilbo were in a kitchen preparing a cake for people - Bilbo was frosting it and Thorin was getting out plates and forks and stuff. The cake was small but there were a lot of people and Thorin was like, "Wait here," and he went and served the cake while Bilbo stayed in the kitchen and did dishes and assumed he wouldn't get any cake bc there wasn't enough. But Thorin gave everyone pathetic, miniscule slivers of cake you could practically see through they were so thin and everyone was angry but he ignored them and went back to the kitchen and gave a giant piece of cake (like one quarter of the whole thing) to Bilbo and he said, "For you, nothing but the finest treasure." and Bilbo looked at him all soft and confused and pleased and Thorin just gently smiled with his eyes all crinkly and focused on Bilbo and started tilting his head a bit - AND THEN I WOKE UP My subconscious has clearly descended to bagginshield hell
From prompt post: Where the fuck did that clown come from?"
So since you didn’t give me a pairing, I’mma go with Bagginshield.
Summary: Bilbo has to go away for a week because of his job, and leaves planning Frodo’s birthday party in Thorin’s hands. What could go wrong?
"Now, are you sure you have everything you’ll need?" Bilbo quips as Thorin helps him to carry his suitcase out to the car.
"Darling, we’ll be fine, really." Thorin huffs; honestly, Bilbo’s done this before—he’s taken up a job for Istari News—a somewhat magically prominent European newspaper—and has become their foremost writer, which means that, well, there are sometimes when Mister Gray calls him away to do special interviews, take photographs with his assistant Tauriel, or write exotic news-stories. This time, it’s a quick joint to Italy to cover the recent elections and Bilbo couldn’t say no—not with the paycheck he’s getting and the experience itself. Plus, he promised to bring Frodo back some souveniers.
"You have the grocery list?"
"Yes."
"The list that tells you where all of the cleaning supplies are?"
"…Yes. You know, I have been living in your house for two years now."
"Yes, but Thorin, I’m the one who cleans-"
"You’re going to miss your flight, ghivashel.” Thorin’s used to Bilbo’s anxiety when it comes to leaving his husband and four year old nephew home alone for parts at a time. But that still doesn’t mean he tries to use his Ereborian language and subtle pushes to make him leave and get on his way, so Thorin can get on his way with helping to take care of the child. It usually works, and it seems to, until Bilbo pulls up short.
"OH! One last thing. You know that you need to get Frodo’s birthday party in order, yes? I’ve left you a list of instructions on the kitchen table of everything he wants and needs and such and-"
"Bilbo, I think I can handle a child’s party. It’s-"
"His fifth birthday! You know those are always special to children…for some odd reason." The shorter man furrowed his brow. "Regardless, please handle it, since it’s happening the day I come back, and-"
"And you want everything perfect and in order and you want to come home to a wonderful time, yes, yes, I know. Things will be fine, I promise." He leans in to kiss his husband, ruffling the honey curls, "I won’t let you down."
"I know you won’t." Bilbo winks, "But remember, I’m merely a phone call away."
"An expensive phone call away, you realize."
Bilbo just laughs and Thorin can hear his giggling as the taxi pulls away, and though he already misses Bilbo, his heart feels light; he’s really gotten everything he’s ever wanted. Sure, his family’s business may have gone down the toilet and for years it seemed he’d be doomed to live in a desolate hobble but after running into Bilbo on that train, things had changed. Things were just…perfect.
Which was why he couldn’t let him down with this. He couldn’t let his ‘son’ down, either, because though Frodo had been terrified of him in the beginning, hiding behind his Uncle’s legs often, the child had come around and lovingly climbed onto Thorin whenever he got a chance, swinging happily and laughing just like his blood relation. He found himself being parental, something also seemingly out of reach for years; Frodo came to him with a want of bedtime stories, joyous teasing and toys, and whenever he seemed to crave too much sugar…and Bilbo would say no.
So there was a lot at stake, and Thorin wasn’t going to ruin it.
Too bad that dreaded cat named Smeagol happened to eat the instruction list when no one was looking…
Ah, well, Thorin would wing it. How hard could it be?
——————————————
"Where the fuck did that clown come from?”
Thorin expected a happy, joyous greeting when Bilbo would return to him the next week. Perhaps a leaping into his arms with a passionate kiss. Or maybe some tears and a desperate embrace and a promise of a warm bed.
He didn’t expect swearing, or Bilbo nearly dropping his suitcase on his foot.
"…I can explain."
"I TOLD YOU, NO CLOWNS, THORIN! SAMWISE IS TERRIFIED OF THEM!"
Well, that’d explain why Samwise was crying behind the mulberry bushes.
"Ah…Yeah…I realized that-"
"AND FRODO DOES NOT LIKE THEM EITHER—….Oh dear."
Which explained why Frodo was taking a balloon to the man. Poor Nori. He’d probably ask for double his pay now.
"Er…"
"Thorin." Bilbo looked downright livid. "What. Happened."
"Well…the cat…he…I mean I…"
"The list got lost, didn’t it?" Bilbo sighed, just as Pippin started crying over the fact that there was no chocolate ice-cream—only vanilla. That’s what Thorin gets for forgetting to buy the ice-cream the morning OF the party.
"…Eaten, really."
"….Right."
"And I guess I…forgot things."
"Clearly. Like you forgot to invite Gimli’s best friend, Legolas. AH—Don’t give me that look. I know he’s Thranduil’s son, BUT. Best friends, Thorin. No wonder the boy’s crying on Balin’s shoulder." Bilbo wagged a finger right in his face. "Or you forgot that Merry cannot swing to get a pinata because his arms are so short AND that he can’t eat meat. OR-"
"Okay, yeah…I know. I screwed up." At least he tried to look ashamed as he said it, with a sigh coming out. "I’m sorry Bilbo."
Screams were coming from the backyard and there was a loud THUMP and Thorin didn’t want to know what that was. Five bucks it had to do with Dwalin trying Gandalf’s birthday fireworks though.
Bilbo was silent for a moment and looked at the carnage around his family home—at least Frodo was getting some joy out of beating the clown to a pulp with rubber. In fact….well. It was kind of humorous.
"…I forgive you. But honestly, Thorin! I can’t leave you and the boy home alone for a week, can I?"
Thorin smiled, then, “Then maybe you shouldn’t leave us alone, hm?”
"…Well…" And though Bilbo was hesitant to admit it, he did: maybe his husband had a point. It always seemed they got into chaotic situations when he went away and maybe now…well. Maybe now this was the icing on the cake—literally. There was icing everywhere, had someone put a bomb in the cake?
"…I’ll see what I can do about maybe asking for a transfer of positions or…something of the sort."
Thorin kissed his husband’s cheek then, but got pulled up short when Bilbo spoke further:
"Only if you clean up this mess for me, dearest. And help me plan the NEXT party—because this isn’t a party, it’s a disaster."
"Kind of like me? Us?"
Bilbo gave him a look, but there was mirth there, even when a glob of icing hit him square on the cheek and Thorin had to bite his lip from bursting out laughing.
Psst just a thing but I think Bilbo has a not so secret love of horror movies and Thorin hates them with a passion.
Oh man, so Bilbo loves horror movies—he loves the psychological ones and the scary ones; he’s not a big fan of gore (a little is okay, but he’s awfully squeamish, the poor thing), so he and Thorin can agree on that at least. But of course, sometimes there’s just gore in some and he just tries to breathe through it.
But see, Thorin isn’t all about scares for fun. He’s gone through a lot so he obviously doesn’t really see the point of watching horror movies—movies are supposed to be enjoyable and such! What about action and adventure? Heck, he’d settle for rom-coms over horror films (don’t tell Bilbo that though).
So this does put a bit of a dint in their weekly movie nights—at first, it goes well but then Bilbo wants to watch Psycho and of course, Thorin isn’t about that. At first, Bibo wonders if it’s just that he doesn’t like the type of movie (which is a part of it), but after a while (after the argument’s over and they cool down, and Thorin sort of just flops onto him in apology and snuggles—he’s not great with words) he realizes it’s mainly Thorin is just not fond of being scared. It’s ludicrous in his mind—to be scared on purpose or for fun—and it brings up bad memories of losing his father and grandfather and brother.
So Bilbo, well, he doesn’t let it go—instead, he gets crafty.
So sometimes he’ll pop a movie in, and not tell Thorin the title; it’ll start to rev up the fear factor pretty quickly, and he’ll notice Thorin starts to sweat and fidget—so he brings out the blanket he’s crocheted and wrap it around the both of them; he’ll progress to hand-holding and petting because really, Thorin doesn’t want to stop the dates or the movies; he knows it’s something Bilbo enjoys and he wants to be near him.
He also wants to marry him but that’s an entirely different matter that he’s too scared to say out loud yet.
Sometimes Bilbo’s scheme doesn’t work—Thorin huffs, says he’s done and leaves to go be a grump in bed. And when it doesn’t work, Bilbo puts on other movies for a little while, happy ones, romantic ones that take Thorin’s mind off the world and sometimes cause him to stare at his boyfriend during the best scenes.
But after a while…well. It starts to work.
Bilbo will rub his hand and he’ll bury his face in Bilbo’s neck when the scenes get too bad and breathe in his scent and cuddle close. It’s soothing and he’ll sigh and sometimes he’ll watch various scenes—nothing too horrific, moreso the heroic scenes. When the cop is finally solving the crime and is about to catch the killer. When the thief is finally getting his justice. When the birds leave the town and when villain gets his just desserts.
Sometimes Bilbo’s lap welcomes him and he just relaxes under the blanket and instead focuses on Bilbo’s smile and nail-biting—because even he can get a bit frightened but he enjoys it and Thorin enjoys seeing him smile.
So in the end, he still hates the movies—he doesn’t get the purpose of them. But he’ll watch them with a cup of coffee and a warm blanket and a warmer body next to him because Bilbo makes it worth it.
Bilbo makes every scary thing, thought, and nightmare worth traversing through…because he makes everything brighter in the end.
Yoooo I had a very very bad day so please can I get some fluff? Ridiculous fluff, I mean it. I don't care what sort of fluff.
OF COURSE, DEAR! :D It is you after all. I THINK. I will give you my Bagginshield Stuck-in-the-Subway story in condensed form as fluff how about that, yes good?
Also, I leave this one on a bit of a cliffhanger, so if you want more, just say the word~!
Bilbo Baggins is nervous, his first time studying abroad.
He’s twenty-two, and there’s a mop of brown curls on his head, loafers on his too-big feet, and a backpack over his shoulder.
Granted, he’s known about London for years—but his family had moved to America when he was just a child, Belladonna insisting on exploring the world and leaving their little Shire community, and Bungo, well, he was a sucker for the old gal back in the day, so he left along with her, bringing Baby Bilbo in his arms on the plane, luggage being shipped.
And now, two decades later, and with his mother—in all her glory—having gone to her grave too, too soon, Bilbo is taking his advice to see the old country again. He’s studying English as a major, and International Studies as a minor (Because Bilbo is wonderful with languages, wonderful, really, it’s shocking how wise and flowing his words are) and it’s his first week in beautiful, brand-new London, with its gleaming towers and giant ferris wheel, and Bilbo’s already feeling a bit lost and discombobulated and and and-
He sighs. He’s used to the small suburbia of the Midwest, not…not all this.
But he’s got the hang of subways—the underground tram railway, and Bilbo has to admit, it’s really fun to take between his homestay and his university. He can easily plug in some headphones, make sure his wallet is tucked away, and sit quietly, watching the world pass him by.
This time, though, as he’s leaving class, it’s unusually busy. Perhaps there’s been extra meetings, or maybe it’s because of that art festival downtown Bilbo’s heard about…Nevertheless, he’s got too much homework, much, much too much to do!
But since it’s busy, and there’s no seat, he must stand, grabbing a metal pole, taking out his earplugs so he’s more alert (for there are others standing, standing close, and there are pickpockets in the world…) and letting out a sigh. There’s a subtle warmth at his back, the person who is gripping the pole next to him, and his skin prickles underneath the surface.
It’s strange, but Bilbo lets it slide—that is, until he starts sliding.
The subway has been going all of a minute, maybe two, when it becomes jerky—slowly, but surely. And then there’s a large jerk, and Bilbo finds his body falling backwards, and his hands are reaching out to grip anything to keep from falling on his rear end-
And he grips a taller man’s broad chest, just as an arm ducks out to grab his waist, and everything stops. Because there’s blue eyes staring into his, bright and blue like ice, like the ocean froze two little circles and made them cold and bright, but expressive when needed. There’s a cropped black beard, and short dark hair of the same nature.
"I-I’m sorry-"
"Don’t worry about it"
They breathe out their sentences and Bilbo doesn’t know what to say as he grips a snappy blue suit and dapper black coat with a bit of fur on the trims as he tries to right himself even though he can’t look away.
He feels like he can’t breathe because his heart is beating too fast, and his blood is on fire and he doesn’t want to let go-
But he does, slowly.
Though the other man doesn’t, and though Bilbo would question it, he doesn’t—because the subway jerks again and he collides back into that (warm, strong, stay here, stay here) chest just as the entire car comes to a stop and the lights start flickering, and groans run amok through the car.
He glances up at the stranger, who is scowling (beautifully) and holding Bilbo tight just as the conductor comes onto the intercoms and says they’ve had a failure in the engine, and that it’s going to be a while.
Bilbo sighs, stepping away from the man and, well, if they’re going to be stuck here, he might as well sit down.
He should find it creepy that the other man does so at the exact same time but instead he just smiles—and holds out his hand.
"Bilbo…Baggins."
"Thorin Durinson." Thorin takes it without hesitation and if anything, he scoots closer to Bilbo; he should be nervous. This man looks much older than him, at least ten years, if not more, and Bilbo’s talking with a stranger—but he’s a bit scared, this is all new, this isn’t what he was expecting, and-
"It looks as if we are going to be here a while." Oh, and he’s got that deep, debonair tone, and Bilbo’s about five seconds away from shivering.
"Y-Yes-" He nods, and sighs, and states that maybe he should go ahead and call his homestay and let them know—which, he does.
He notices at the same time, Thorin scoots away a few inches to make a call of his own; Bilbo can hear that there’s a woman on the other line, and he mentions the word “boys”—and he tries to ignore the disappointment in his heart.
But even if he’s disappointed, that doesn’t mean he’s going to keep his mouth shut, apparently.
"Ah—did you let your wife know we are going to be late?"
"No. My sister, actually. I was supposed to have dinner with her and her sons…it will have to be late."
Well, that’s-
"There’s no wife, actually."
…That…wasn’t an answer to any question Bilbo asked, but he gives a small smile regardless.
And it is going to be a while—a long while, really. They sit, and words flow easily, then; Bilbo says who he is, what he is, why he’s here, and Thorin does the same. A businessman, apparently, wealthy too—and he’s also forty-two.
Bilbo nearly stammers when he repeats the age and Thorin’s a little unsure about if this is wrong, if there’s going to be a problem. Bilbo’s just unsure if it’s wrong to be attracted to someone two decades older than you.
But that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop.
And he eases, and relaxes, and it lets Thorin know this is alright, this is okay. They can talk about their families and their studies, they can work on homework and business budgets and agendas for Monday’s meeting. Bilbo finds himself leaning into the arm around his shoulder as if he’s been seeking this all his life-
Burglar, Master Baggins, BILBO!
As if he’s been waiting for this-
NO FRIENDSHIP OF MINE GOES WITH HIM!
As if it’s a homecoming-
Child of the Kindly West…
As if this was meant to happen…
Thorin’s amused by his words, his accent, his English homework on King Lear; he enjoys the fact that Bilbo can speak Spanish and Italian, knows how to cook (he doesn’t). He enjoys those hazel eyes that are just too perfect…
It’s only an hour they wait, working, talking, Bilbo almost in the other’s arms by the end of it, just relaxing against each other, babbling nonsense about favorite books, stories, traveling, America, corporate competitors (SMAUG!), nonsensical nephews…but then the cab starts up again and they’re flying, and Bilbo worries the spell is broken then, as Thorin looks away (dejectedly?), helping Bilbo to his feet, and packing him his paperwork in his briefcase as Bilbo does the same with his backpack.
And soon they’re pulling up to the stop.
And soon, Thorin is nodding at him, smiling, as they step off, and Bilbo thinks, oh, oh, right—friends. Maybe. Not even…
And as he begins to step away, it doesn’t truly comprehend that Thorin is merely standing there, watching him go, perplexity on his face—and words flowing out of his mouth:
"Look back at me…"
Because if Bilbo does, he knows what to do.
And Bilbo, as if he hears the calling, as if it’s not a whisper, does look over his shoulder-
"Bilbo!"
And stops, turning, the breath flowing out of his lungs-
"…Come home with me?"
Oh well that’s just-
"F-For dinner-"
Oh, yes, food-
"And…well-"
And he sees it then. A dinner, normally set for four, set for five; warm steak and vegetables and cheesecake made by his sister. A wine toast afterwards, Thorin trying to smoothly wink at him, but awkwardly flirting all the same.
And then there are warm arms holding him beneath white sheets, kissing him, and oh, it’s a vision, it’s not real…
Not yet…
And his heart is beating, and he’s not one for spontaneity in love, in relationships, in anything…
But Bilbo’s feet are carrying him, having him run fast, fast back towards Thorin-
