JUST ANNOUNCED: The Saps (Farewell Show) with Warm Ones and The Bama Lamas on Friday, January 19th at Beat Kitchen! Tickets go on sale tomorrow at noon.
Haircare (Or: How Thorin convinced Bilbo to stop cutting his hair)
Since @mithrilbikini, @rutobukaisdead and @ahiddenkitty all posted amazing art of Bilbo with long hair (1 | 2 | 3 ), I tried to write it.
So have fluff: Bilbo grows out his hair out of curiosity and Thorin helps him to care for it.
During the first years he spends in Erebor, Bilbo keeps his hair short.
It’s simply practical. He knows from personal experience just how much time it takes Thorin to care for his hair (and Bilbo helping him doesn’t necessarily make the process any quicker. It makes it much more enoyable, though). So while Bilbo might be considered a little vain, and does care for his looks, he doesn’t fancy spending hours every morning and every night on haircare.
Also, his curls are already long enough to regularly snag on the consort crown or the ornamental earclips and what else he has to wear on formal occasions.
“It wouldn’t snag so much if you let it grow out,” Thorin comments one night, when he helps untangle the crown from Bilbo’s head. “You could also just tie it down if it was longer, or braid it.”
He trails a hand over the one braid that sits within Bilbo’s hair. Slightly hidden and far too short by dwarven standards, but a marriage braid no less. Bilbo humms and wonders how to convince Thorin to continue his ministrations.
“Maybe,” he returns. After all, he thinks, he’s not planning to return to the Shire quite so soon. He’s married to a dwarven King, so he could just try growing out his hair and see if he likes it.
(So far he’s tried boots - which were a disaster).
There is a point in the process when Bilbo is just about to take the next pair of scissors (or knife or sword or anything) and just cut it off. Because the hair keeps getting into his eyes, keeps snagging not only on the crown, but also on his clothes and necklaces, and how on earth do dwarves combine their love of ostentatious jewlery with long hair? To Bilbo it seems a recipe for disaster.
Thorin catches him struggling to brush his hair out early the next morning.
“Allow me,” the King under the Mountain says and gently takes the brush from Bilbo. With the other hand, he grasps Bilbo’s hair, combs his fingers through it - and a pleasant shiver runs down Bilbo’s back.
“It’s grown long,” Thorin states, feeling for the snags and the knots without painfully pulling on them. “I like it.”
Blood rushes into Bilbo’s cheeks. “I’m sure I ...”
“You’ll need to take better care of it,” Thorin chuckles and brushes his lips over a loose strand. “If you can wrap up your duties early tonight, let me show you.”
And how could Bilbo ever refuse, when Thorin begins to carefully comb his hair?
Evening can’t quite arrive early enough, and while Bilbo is rather frazzled from another busy day, he is quite cheerful when he can close the door to their chambers behind him and finds Thorin already waiting.
“So, how do we do this?” Bilbo inquires as he slides into the seat before the large mirror and curiously surveys the multitude of small pots set out.
Thorin smiles at him through the mirror. “We start with relaxing. A head massage.”
And before Bilbo can inquire, calloused fingertips card themselves into his hair. Settle against the skin of his scalp and begin to rub in small, circular motions. Bilbo can feel the skin moving, his hair with it, and the sensation sends a pulse of pleasure down his spine. Thorin’s fingers wander, ever continuing their circular movement, toward Bilbo’s forehead. Tensions Bilbo never noticed unravel at the tug and pull on his skin.
Then Thorin’s magical fingers follow his hairline and Bilbo’s eyes flutter close. Something releases in his spine and he sinks against the back of the chair like a boneless puppet, humming with pleasure.
Thorin chuckles. “This is nice, isn’t it?”
“Just don’t stop,” Bilbo mumbles back, because he isn’t certain what he’ll do should Thorin stop now. But he understands a little better just why Thorin liked him taking care of his hair. This is bliss.
Thorin continues with his motions, his hands now following the hair backward. They hover over his ears a moment, and while Bilbo knows that the tips of his ears are sensitive, the skin behind them practically lights up with the uncommon touch. Yet most of all, there are knots underneath the skin that unravel; sensations that echo through his entire body right down into his fingertips.
Then Thorin reaches his nape. His fingers skillfully find just what area to press on – and for a moment Bilbo sees stars. With a groan he lets his head fall forward to give Thorin better access – more, please, more, he thinks, and barely hears Thorin chuckle.
And the King obeys Bilbo’s unspoken desires. He spends a long time just massaging the sensitive skin of Bilbo’s nape, taking care of the smallest of knots, until the skin is utterly relaxed and Bilbo barely even coherent.
“What now?” he asks blearily when Thorin removes his wonderful fingers.
“Washing.”
Bilbo finds he can’t quite resist standing on the tip of his toes and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Thorin’s mouth. The dwarf wraps and arm around Bilbo’s waist, though stops the kiss from deepening.
“Later,” he rumbles.
They head toward the bathroom, and Thorin points to the corner he uses for his hair-grooming. Bilbo casts a longing eye to the steaming bath (Erebor’s hot springs are a well of never-ending pleasure), but tells himself he can always bath later. He drops his shirt and wanders over to the low bench before a slightly tilted marble block Thorin usually sits on.
Bilbo has helped Thorin with this part (and how he liked running his hands through Thorin’s hair and combing it out), so he knows to sit with his back against the marble block and close his eyes while Thorin begins to pour warm water over his hair. Strong hands carefully comb through his hair, bringing water to his skin and flattening those usually so stubborn curls against the marble. His hair already feels utterly different.
The sensation is lovely. With the skin of his skalp still relaxed from the message, the warmth of the water seems to flood straight into his brain. Bilbo slumps against the marble nearly bonelessly - and goes utterly complacent when Thorin’s fingers come to work in his hair again. The dwarf is rubbing some fragrant lotion into Bilbo’s curls, and the scent makes Bilbo feels miles away. Far, far away from the stress of running a kingdom...
Thorin rinses the now foamy lotion out with luxuriously warm water, fetches something else. His fingers keep moving steadily, sometimes tugging, but never painfully so, and time fast loses all meaning. As does everything - Bilbo feels as if he is caught in a bubble of warmth and pleasure and if he could, he’d stay forever.
Somehow, however, a change in Thorin’s movements draws him slowly back to the present. The scent of the shampoos lingers, though the water has vanished and his hair seems to be drying. There are no more knots - not in Bilbo’s curls, not in the skin underneath, and Thorin is humming a gentle tune. His strong, clever fingers plait braids into Bilbo’s hair.
The soft metal tick announces a bead being snapped into place. And Bilbo feels a smile steal across his face.
“I think I know why you dwarves enjoy having long hair,” he says and perhaps his voice comes out a little thick with pleasure.
Thorin gives him a wonderful smile in return. “It is rather pleasurable, wouldn’t you agree?”
You talk about that Moonie guy a lot, your so cute! Are you two married or just dating and like super in love or something?
Moonie is my everything. My gravity keeping me in the same reality with everyone else down on earth. She is also the celestial heavens above-- my dreams made real. The warmth of the sun, the beautiful moon pulling me towards everything she does-- my earthly tides always reaching out and wanting her.
I am deeply and hopelessly in love with Moonie, and have been for a long long time.
BUT, sappiness aside, we are just girlfriends. THOUGH, she knows I plan on marrying her some day. When we are able to.
I'd say you mean the world to me, and that is certainly true, but you mean more than simply the world. You mean the inbetweens to me, too. You're my reality, and my escape from it. You're my everything, and I can't imagine a future without you. You're brilliant, talented, creative, beautiful, and just the right amount of crazy.
.... You are very good at that. The melting me into jelly thing. And i know just one person that can do that-- so you're a TERRIBLE anon. BUT! Thank you all the same. I'm sure you don't need me to say, behind that grey face and shades, I adore the wonderful person that I know loves me so much. <3 And your opinion on me means the most to me-- not only because it's biased beyond all normal reasons... But because you make me believe that I really am that person you see me as. Thank you, my love, for being my reality and escape from it as well. <3
wanderinwander said: My love! Oh I mean (( my love! <3 ))
LOL, it's funny how much the context changes based off of the parentheses. But my love! Oooh how I missed you so! Far too much-- it's sad. BUT, I am a lovesick fool, so these things happen. <3 <3 <3
