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2 Days out of the Shire

Dwalin was staring at the Hobbit again.

It was infuriating.

It was bloody infuriating.

"Stop staring at him," Thorin hissed.

Dwalin's response was a smirk that bordered on lewd. Thorin would make him pay for that look later. In private.

It wasn't as if there was anything to look at. Just a soft useless little creature that Gandalf had saddled them with, barely able to keep a decent seat and sneezing at pony hair, of all things. So his backside was a lovely view. So every time that pert little arse rose up from the pony it gave an involuntary and delightful wriggle…and every time it flumped down again it the Hobbit gave out the most incredible half sigh-half whimper. So he swayed and jolted unnaturally with the unfamiliar movements of the pony in a way that made his pretty curls bounce and that rump slide around the saddle….in a way that was...

It was not adorable.

Or sexy.

Thorin huffed.

Dwalin was smirking.

Mahal curse him.

"He's bloody lovely to look at, and you know it," Dwalin finally said. "But if you're of a mind to punish me for lookin', later..."

Thorin growled.

"Don't forget whom you belong to," Thorin huffed, and Dwalin finally deigned to take his eyes off the Hobbit, if only to shoot Thorin a slightly reproachful look.

Thorin blushed.

"Don't worry, love," Dwalin murmured, steering his pony in a little closer to squeeze Thorin's thigh. "I won't mind if you want to think of the Halfling while you fuck me later."

There was no response he could manage above another irritated growl.

 

3 Weeks into the Journey to Erebor

"You shouldn't coddle him," Thorin chastised softly, careful not to draw attention from any of the Company members scattered about the campfire.

"I haven't been coddling anyone," Dwalin insisted.

"Oh, you haven't? So it wasn't you that's been fixing the Burglar's tack when he's not looking? Not you making the lads leave him be? Not you leaving him extra biscuits in his pack?"

Dwalin shifted, eyes slipping to the side, fidgeting, until he broke under Thorin's stare.

“Someone has to slip him a little something extra. Did you hear him when Kili said that we would only stop for one breakfast a day? Mahal, Thorin, the wee thing whimpered!”

Thorin rubbed his face in frustration.

"It cannot continue."

Dwalin grunted something unintelligible.

"You'll only get attached," Thorin warned. "And what will happen when he runs away, or you lose him somewhere? I'm not getting you another one."

"I wouldn't want another," Dwalin defended, frowning. "I like this one. He's pretty and he smells nice."

"Dwalin," Thorin sighed. "You can't keep the Halfling."

"I don't see why not?" Dwalin sulked, glare twisting his features as he stared across the fire at the Hobbit. Said Hobbit, on feeling Dwalin's gaze, looked up and squeaked at Dwalin's expression, falling backwards off the log he had perched himself on.

Thorin didn't bother replying, but settled with rolling his eyes and huffing at the Halfling's display, repressing the urge to dash across and pick the little thing up, check him over and brush him off. Brush all that nasty leaf litter off, run his hands all over that compact little body with its lovely, generous curves.

He buried his face in his stew bowl instead.

Beside him, Dwalin started smirking. Never could keep a thing from the bastard.

"I've got all the way to Erebor," he said smugly. "You'll cave."

Thorin resisted the urge to bash his own head in with his bowl.

"Just stop coddling the burglar," he sighed.

 

Rivendell

Elves had tried to take his clothes. Here he was, minding his own business, trying to bathe in peace, and those bloody creatures had snuck in and tried to take his clothes. And leave him an Elvish rag to wear.

Yick.

Thorin just knew they had done it deliberately. Those blasted Elves had wanted revenge for the tiny oversight earlier. And in all fairness it hadn’t been Thorin’s fault. Well, not only his. Would it have hurt the Elves to mention in advance that they had some strange taboos about communal bathing? Seriously. Those fountains were really for aesthetic value only? What a waste.

"Stop sulking," Dwalin told him, flicking water across the bathing pool. "Come here and kiss me."

"I thought you only wanted to kiss Hobbits now," Thorin huffed.

Dwalin's eyes narrowed.

"Stop acting like it's only me wanting to sex the little thing up," Dwalin said. "And come and sex me up."

"Infuriating bastard," Thorin swore, pushing himself through the water.

"But you love me," Dwalin grinned, yanking him into his lap.

"Shut it," Thorin growled, sliding in close enough to wrap his legs around Dwalin's hips and swivel in a most satisfying way. "Make this worth my time."

"Oh, I will," Dwalin promised. "And every minute, you'll think about what it might be like for the little Hobbit to take your grumpy arse. How he might squeal while I shove my big cock inside of him instead of you. A cute little enthusiastic Hobbit in the middle."

"I will not," Thorin said, thrusting his groin into Dwalin's with a harsh pant.

"You already are," Dwalin snickered, thrusting his hips up to meet Thorin's. "You're so easy."

Thorin opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but was cut off by the sound of the door to the bathing chamber opening. Instead he pasted on his best glare, prepared to scowl down whatever bloody elf that thought he could swan in here while they were bathing...

The Hobbit did not seem to see them, in a bathing pool off to the side, too entranced by the sight of the pool closest to the door, already cooing at the sight of steam curling up from the crystal clear water. He'd stripped before the door finished closing behind him, and was all the way into the pool making the most indecent of sounds as he slid all the way down into the water.

It wasn't until he had dunked his whole head under the water and surfaced with a groan -that absolutely did not have Thorin's cock slapping against Dwalin's in interest- that Bilbo noticed the two gaping at him from a few pools over. He squeaked and almost lost his balance at Thorin's glare and Dwalin's leer, before he seemed to realise precisely the position the two were in. His eyes widened dramatically and he whimpered, whipping around to face the other direction so fast he almost slipped beneath the surface.

"I'm so s-sorry! I didn't see you….not that I noticed that there was anything to see- I'm not looking! I didn't see anything that- I saw nothing! I mean, sorry." he choked out, almost slinking beneath the pool again.

Thorin groped for something to say, but his attention seemed to have narrowed down to the slide of all those little water droplets down a smooth neck. Dwalin was no help, either, with gripping Thorin's hips a little firmer and tugging him down harder into his own pelvis.

"I'll... just- Er...." The Burglar grabbed at a piece of soap beside his pool and hastily soaped himself down, careful to keep his back to the two of them. Evidently, even the prospect of interrupting the Company's intimidating leader and the grimmest of their warriors mid-coitus wasn't enough to overcome the Halfling's desire to be clean, as he was still thorough, despite his shaky haste.

Two minutes and a hasty dunk had the Hobbit all but clawing his way out the pool, lovely ample bottom wobbling oh so enticingly as he clambered out and grabbed for a towel. Dwalin made a soft, breathy sound of appreciation, and Thorin grit his teeth against the urge to do the same.

"I shall, shall, er, leave you two, um, to, well... Not that I-! Yes," Bilbo babbled, scrabbling for his clothes and dropping the towel in his haste, and Dwalin's hips jerked erratically against Thorin's.

With arms full of towel and clothing, Bilbo made for the door, muttering to himself, but made the error of glancing towards the two silent dwarrows to his right. He stumbled, eyes widening again, and this time, Thorin let his eyes follow the blush all the way down plump creamy skin. Bilbo squeaked and fled.

"I wonder if his cheeks will flush like that while balls deep in your fussy self," Dwalin said, still staring at the closed door.

"Shut up," Thorin croaked, while Dwalin took them both into his large calloused palm.

"And now we have visuals," Dwalin continued, and Thorin yanked him in by the beard for a kiss that was all teeth and greedy tongues.

 

Misty mountains.

"You didn't need to say that. It was cruel," Dwalin grumbled in his ear. Thorin ignored him, kicking a few rocks aside on the sandy floor. He was too tired to pull out his bedroll; he'd had worse to sleep on than sand.

"Just because he scared you-"

"He didn't scare me."

"He did. You've started to care about him, and we almost lost-" Dwalin growled, and Thorin whirled.

"I do not care for the stupid Hobbit," he snarled quietly in his lover's face.

Dwalin stared at him in disappointment for a long moment.

"I do," he said finally, stalking off to find a piece of rock wall to lean on to sleep, on the opposite side of the cave to Thorin.

Thorin sighed, rubbing one tired hand over his damp face, guilt tugging unpleasantly at his stomach.

Stupid Hobbit.

The Company were all settling in, now, laid out on bedrolls and heads propped on packs or limbs of others, and Thorin let his own frame drop to do the same, crossing his arms in front of his body and defiantly closing his eyes.

What did he care if the idiot burglar had hurt feelings? If he couldn't take a bit of pressure, then he shouldn’t be with them, leading Dwalin on as he was.

It was infuriating, how the silly little fool's face wouldn't leave his head, though. Like a small creature that had been kicked by its master, all wounded and confused big eyes.

Stupid Hobbit.

Alright, fine. So he would have to be nice tomorrow. He wasn't going to apologise, but he would be... nicer. For Dwalin.

Or not, as the Hobbit seemed to be packing to leave. His gut clenched, and he glanced across the cave to see Dwalin watching the Hobbit with sad, resigned eyes. One long look at Thorin, and Dwalin laid his head back down, shutting his eyes against the sight.

It was for the best. It was for the Hobbit's own safety! He would be fine to make it back to Rivendell, and once they had their mountain back and stable, Thorin would take Dwalin back to the Shire to court.

Truly, it was better for all of them. He'd make it up to Dwalin.

 

The Carrock

"What did you think you were doing?" Thorin heard himself roar, and Dwalin's sigh of exasperation.

Stupid Hobbit had scared the shattered Gypsum out of him.

Later he would admit that he wasn't quite rational, or in any way in his right mind in his rant and hug routine he had subjected the Hobbit, no, Bilbo too, but the sight of Dwalin's pleased expression and the feel of the beautifully rounded figure clutched to his own, was so worth the lack of composure.

As was Bilbo's smile.

Bugger it.

 

First night at Beorn's.

"I think it would be better if you went first," Dwalin said, plonking himself down at Thorin's side.

"Went first at what?" Thorin asked, somewhat distracted by the sight of his nephews dancing on a bench and slopping mead down their fronts.

"Tuppin' the Hobbit," Dwalin said with a roll of his eyes, as if Thorin should know that already.

Thorin turned to stare at him a moment.

A long moment.

"How did you get the idea we were at the tupping stage?" he finally managed, forcing his eyebrows to retreat downwards some.

"I figure he'll be less intimidated if we go separate at first," Dwalin said, ignoring Thorin's incredulousness. "And with the rocky start you two have had, I think it would be best to get you two started first."

"I don't think-" he finally managed, only for Dwalin to snort.

"You never do."

"Shut it. I just don't know if-"

"Thorin," Dwalin said firmly, grasping his shoulder firmly. "Go find Bilbo. Don't talk, just kiss him. Tumble his pretty arse, and come and see me later."

"I don't-"

Dwalin cut him off with a hard breathless kiss, eyes bright.

"Stop thinking, love. Go."

 

Still at Beorn's.

"Well," Bilbo gasped, and Thorin grinned. "Well."

Thorin hummed in satisfaction, laying a few absent kisses over a smooth shoulder while he eased himself fully off Bilbo's much smaller frame. He was surprisingly sturdy, and a lot hardier than Thorin had expected, but Thorin still didn't want to end such a lovely time by squishing his lover. No matter how hardy Bilbo had turned out to be.

He honestly had tried to be gentle. The Hobbit had just not been particularly interested in gentle.

"I have to admit," BIlbo breathed after a moment, stretching languidly, "I was not expecting that."

"Oh?" Thorin said absently, too busy watching Bilbo's gentle undulations of satisfaction to worry about silly things such as words.

"Well, I thought... After Rivendell..."

Thorin scowled. Honestly, what a way to ruin a moment. Hey, let's talk about Elves.

"What about it?" he said gruffly.

Bilbo stared a moment.

"I just thought, that you and Dwalin... That you were a couple."

"We are," Thorin confirmed, nodding.

Bilbo stared again.

"Er, are? Still?"

"Of course," Thorin said, somewhat affronted. "Till our dying day."

Bilbo was silent for a while after that, and Thorin shifted uncomfortably when he realised that Bilbo's small frame held none of the relaxed contentment of the moment before.

"I see," Bilbo said finally.

 

At Beorn's still.

"I can already tell from your face that you buggered it up," Dwalin growled at him quietly.

"I didn't mean to," Thorin protested plaintively, loud enough that Fíli looked at him oddly from his seat further down the breakfast table. "We were talking-"

"Oh no," Dwalin moaned.

"Shut it. We were talking, after, and all of a sudden, he wasn't happy."

"Didn't I say not to talk?" Dwalin demanded, shaking his head. "I should have gone first."

"Yes, you should have," Thorin said, grabbing for a giant tankard. Milk. Just bloody great.

"Don't worry, I'll fix it," Dwalin said lowly, watching Bilbo make his way stiffly to the other end of the table, avoiding even looking at the two of them, staring fixedly at his breakfast.

Thorin said nothing, merely sighing.

Dwalin should have gone first.

 

Departing for Mirkwood.

"I fixed it," Dwalin grinned smugly, somehow managing to sprawl with satisfaction in the saddle of his borrowed pony.

Thorin ignored him. And the surge of relief at the words. And the small, miniscule really, flash of interest at his lover's relaxed frame.

Quest. They were questing right now. They could do that later.

Hopefully, all three of them could be doing that later.

"Don't you want to know how I fixed it?" Dwalin asked with a leer, steering his mount in closer to Thorin's. "First I fixed it with some cuddling and some very nice stroking of those very pretty curls. Then I fixed it by working our clothes off while I touched all that lovely skin. Then I fixed it by taking my-"

"Shut it," Thorin hissed, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. He didn't need that kind of discomfort right now.

Dwalin chuckled knowingly at him, reaching to run one hand down Thorin's back, before looking forward at the Hobbit riding next to Gandalf.

"You definitely fixed it, then? Whatever I did?" Thorin asked. He wasn't anxious. He wasn't.

"I fixed it," Dwalin nodded. "Stop fretting."

 

One week into Mirkwood.

"I didn't fix it," Dwalin said moodily, tucking himself into Thorin's side, his measly portion of dinner in hand.

"I noticed," Thorin snapped, reaching into his pocket for the wedge of cheese he'd been hoarding, and handing it over to his lover.

Bilbo, was very noticeably avoiding them.

Fixed it, Thorin's very hairy, defined, masculine arse.

Dwalin shoved the cheese back at him and waved half-heartedly at the Hobbit, just barely visible in the gloom across the clearing.

"I don't understand," he said, shoving a bite of food in his mouth and chewing morosely. "I thought he understood to disregard whatever you had said that upset him."

Thorin choked a little.

"Hang on, you mean, you didn't work out what I said to piss him off?"

Dwalin silently chewed for a moment, staring sulkily into the rapidly falling darkness.

"Not... as such," he admitted finally. "He said a few things about commitment and misunderstandings, but then I had his pants off, and, well..."

Thorin swore softly, slumping into the warmth of Dwalin's side. He'd kill for a proper drink right now, but they were almost out of bloody water, let alone anything with some kick in it.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled a while later, moving back to draw Orcrist out and lay it across his lap as the last of the light disappeared and the ever-present glowing eyes appeared at various points around them.

"We'll sort it," Dwalin insisted, propping Grasper and Keeper against his legs. "We just have to get out of these stinking woods."

"We will," Thorin said, pressing his leg firmly against Dwalin's in silent promise.

 

In bloody Thranduil's dungeon's.

If that twice-damned Elf with his flouncy silky dresses and his glitzy flippin' crown thought that he was going to tell him anything about his Company or himself, he had another thing coming.

The nerve of that poncey, tree-shagging wanker...

"Pssst. Thorin!"

...he could go frolicking with his giant moose in a bloody sulphur bog before Thorin would get on his knees...

"Thorin!"

...and demean himself and grovel for forgiveness from a bloody elf-

"For goodness sake, Thorin, stop sulking and get over here!"

Huh?

"Bilbo?" he asked stupidly, staring at the bars of his confinement. "You are not... dead. Or lost in the woods. Or imprisoned."

Bilbo scowled at him.

"No need to sound so disappointed," he said waspishly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I'm not," Thorin said slowly, eyes roaming over his Burglar. Tired, no, exhausted, he looked. "Are you sleeping?"

"How am I supposed to sleep in this place? I can't get you lot out if I'm sleeping, can I?" Bilbo ranted, throwing his arms in the air in frustration.

"No," Thorin said slowly, "But..." He trailed off. Don't speak, Dwalin said. Perhaps it would be best.

Bilbo stared at him a moment before he sighed and looked away.

"Look, the other are all here. Imprisoned. They're farther up the tunnels. I saw Dwalin, and he seems to be fine, if you were wondering. Now that I know where you are and that you are alright, I'll work on finding us a way out of here."

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo sighed again, turning to head back away, and Thorin acted without thinking, reaching between the bars and grabbing Bilbo's wrist.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, and winced. He really wasn't good at this. Hence why Bilbo was staring at him strangely. "I mean, I'm sorry for whatever I may have said to, er, upset you, after we, when, er, at Beorn's house..."

Thorin could feel his ears burning a hot deep red. He wasn't very good at apologies, either. It's why he didn't make them, normally.

Bilbo nodded, but he did not move away, or try to pull his wrist from Thorin's grip, and they stood silently a moment, before Bilbo lifted his chin and took a small step toward Thorin.

"I was intimate with Dwalin," Bilbo admitted in a breathless rush, biting his lip and staring worriedly up at Thorin.

His eyes were adorable.

"I know," Thorin said, wondering what Bilbo meant by telling him this.

"Dwalin told you?"

"Of course," Thorin says slowly. "Why wouldn't he?"

Bilbo glared at him fiercely, blinking furiously, breath rasping fast and unsteady.

"I don't know, why wouldn't he," Bilbo said finally, and with that he stormed away.

Thorin stared after him, brow creased in confusion.

That had not gone well at all. Somehow...

This was surely Thranduil's fault.

 

Laketown.

"You should go talk to him," Thorin muttered, sliding to sit next to Dwalin on the bench. It seemed to have taken forever to manage to escape the Master's clutches and finally getting a chance to talk to his lover.

"Wasat?" Dwalin asked around a happy burp, slamming his tankard back on the table.

"Bilbo. You should go talk to him."

Dwalin turned his head and pressed one wet, clumsy kiss on his temple, breath stinking of mead.

"He's sick, i'nt he? Best leave him be."

"Leave him be?" Thorin spluttered, gritting his teeth when Dwalin leant over to have Bifur refill his tankard. "Dwalin, I-"

"You wha?" Dwalin asked around a mouthful of pastry, crumbs flying everywhere when he grabbed for his tankard again.

"I talked to him. In Thranduil's slum."

Dwalin managed to groan around his mouthful, head falling forward.

"Of course you did," he said when his mouth was clear again. "If you could just stop doing that...?"

"Shut up," Thorin hissed, shoving at him. "So, you should go talk to him."

"Nah," Dwalin grinned, looping an arm around Thorin's waist. "He's sick. Leave him to sleep it off."

"I thought that he was what you wanted," Thorin snapped, shrugging impatiently.

"He is," Dwalin said, pulling him close again. "I can barely wait for it to be the three of us. It's gonna be glorious."

"So then?"

"You were right," Dwalin admitted.

"I often am," Thorin said, with a huff of impatient exasperation. Honestly. Dwalin was supposed to be the one who was better at this.

"Erebor first, and then we woo him," Dwalin said, with only an eye roll in response to his previous statement.

Thorin didn't say anything, sitting silently while Dwalin ate through a plate of something, and shared a few noisy pints with the others. He'd been telling Dwalin all along to wait until after their Quest. Funny now he was passively agreeing, Thorin didn't want to wait.

They were so close, though. And Dwalin was better at people and feelings and all that sort of thing.

"Erebor first?" he asked finally in a quieter moment, and Dwalin grinned.

"You bedded him, I bedded him. We know he's not adverse to bein' with us now. We've shown him our prowess in battle and in tumblin', next we show him our wealth and make him a proposition. So we got to get the wealth."

It made sense. Of course it made sense. Dwalin was better at this than he was. After all, Dwalin had managed to woo Thorin, hadn't he? He would know best how to handle these things.

"Look at you, all besotted," Dwalin said with a dopey grin, leaning for another kiss. "Never stood a chance against that cute little thing, did you?"

Thorin shook him off with an irritated scowl. A Durin was never besotted.

"Erebor first," he muttered. "And then, the three of us."

 

Erebor.

Thorin was at some level aware that the plan was not going so well.

 

After the Battle.

The Take Erebor plan had not gone so well.

Or, Thorin supposed, it was probably a matter of perception. They had taken back Erebor, and Smaug was gone. They had battled an army of Goblins and won, and his kin and Company still lived. He had spoken relatively peacefully with Bard and with Thranduil, and they had an accord, which Dain was imposing in his place, as he was still somewhat injured. Dwarrows even now were flocking back to the mountain. The original Take Erebor plan had come to fruition.

Their secondary 'Take Erebor' objective... was not well at all.

"He scarpered when I asked for a word this mornin'," Dwalin grumbled. "Sniffed and said he was busy and scarpered."

Thorin sighed and said nothing, staring at the ceiling while running idle fingers across Dwalin's scalp, gently tracing over the bumps and furrows of healing scars. Dwalin tightened his grip around Thorin's waist and rubbed his cheek against Thorin's chest, mindful of the slowly healing purple mess of Thorin's shoulder a little higher.

Another sigh escaped as Thorin shifted slightly on his soft, down pillow. The bed that he and Dwalin -or, mostly Dwalin and Glóin, as Thorin had been banned from much lifting and moving- had gleefully put together was enormous, made especially with the idea of three in mind; wide and long and soft, and sufficiently luxurious to tempt Hobbits who like a life of pleasurable things, they had thought. So far, however, it had held only two, who spent most of their time in it as they were now: sprawled all over each other in one spot with miles of bed untouched.

They had perhaps gone a little overboard.

Despite their efforts, however, they for some reason so far had little success in pinning down their small love, and their attempts to begin a proper wooing had been... well. They hadn't been sucessful in even beginning a wooing. Of announcing their intent to woo. There was no wooing. At all.

"Maybe he doesn't like us, after all," Thorin finally said, quiet in the still-empty bedchamber. (Hobbits were fussy creatures, they had thought. Beside their bed, they had decided it better to let Bilbo fill their home as he wished, so he could be best pleased with their dwelling.)

Dwalin’s only response was a long exhalation of breath, though that simple sound was heavy with the unsaid.

"Balin said... Balin is under the impression that Bilbo is making plans to leave with Gandalf next week. To return to the Shire," Thorin continued, waiting for Dwalin to burst into loud objections.

The only response to that was Dwalin twisting his head to hide his face in Thorin’s chest.

"Dwalin?" Thorin said, prodding at the other's shoulder.

"Wha?"

"He's leaving."

"I heard you," Dwalin mumbled, rolling to curl facing away from Thorin, head nestling into Thorin's stomach. "Not much we can do. You're probably right. He's not interested."

"Since when were you a defeatist?" Thorin said testily.

"We can't make him fall in love with us."

There... really wasn't much Thorin could say to that.

"So, you do not wish to even try?"

Dwalin snorted and propped himself up on his elbows and twisting to face Thorin.

"What are we supposed to do? Go and tell him he has to fall in love with us before he leaves next week?"

"Why not?" Thorin asked, waving his hands about a moment.

Dwalin groaned, flopping back on the bed beside him and joining Thorin in an examination of the ceiling.

"Fine," he sighed after a moment. "If we can corner him, you can ask him."

 

Erebor- In a storage area of some sort?

"I told you. If we can corner him," Dwalin said, grinding his teeth. Blasted little Hobbit.

"How does he do that?" Thorin asked with no small amount of exasperation. "How can he manage to completely and totally befuddle and escape with a few words, every time?"

They had him. They had him. In a corner, Thorin was determined to make Bilbo listen to them, even if he had to pin that pretty plump body to a wall with his own. But then Bilbo had started that talking thing he did where he was most polite and apologetic and without even raising his voice, managed to roll right over every objection they had managed to vocalise, and next thing Thorin and Dwalin knew, they were watching his lovely rump disappear around a corner.

It was bloody infuriating.

"I swear, the only way we're going to pin him down is if we stuff him in a bag and gag him," Dwalin said gloomily.

Thorin grunted an agreement.

Across the room, a working Dwarrow flicked a large grain sack, folding it to place on a pile, and then reached for a full sack, and several smaller.

They were lovely big sacks, those empty ones. Big enough to stuff a Dwarrow in, if one was of a mind.

Thorin stared hard.

And then at Dwalin. Dwalin was staring at the sacks as well.

Dwalin looked at Thorin.

"He'd be awfully angry," Dwalin said slowly.

"He would," Thorin agreed, tilting his head.

"One each?" Dwalin suggested.

 

Back in their room.

"Stop biting," Dwalin whined, backing away again.

"You're the one trying to gag me!" Bilbo shrieked, writhing hard enough to send him off the end of the bed. Thorin grabbed at his feet- or what was most likely his feet- and spun him up farther onto the bed. It earned him a glancing kick that almost took him full in the gut, but at least Bilbo wasn't in danger of smashing his head open on their stone floor anymore.

"Wasn't," Dwalin objected, reaching again. "Ow, stop trying to bite! I only tried to gag you the once; I'm trying to let you out, now!"

"Leave him," Thorin insisted. "He'll try to run off again if we let him go."

"We could bolt the door," Dwalin suggested, at the same time as Bilbo squawked in objection.

"I won't run off, just let me out of the sack," Bilbo said, kicking about in the folds of the bag again. His struggles had resulted in quite the picture; he was wonderfully flushed, hair damp and curls bouncing around his face, eyes bright with fury. It was exceptionally adorable.

Just because he was being adorable, though, did not mean that he was trustworthy.

"Do you promise?" Thorin asked, eyes squinted in suspicion.

"Yes, I promise," Bilbo said in exasperation, ceasing his struggles and lying still to look at Thorin, attempting to blow some curls back from his face at the same time.

"Alright," Thorin decided, moving forward to undo the knots in the sack's drawstring. "Better bolt the door anyway," he told Dwalin over his shoulder, ignoring Bilbo's loud aggravated huff.

Dwalin grunted and went to turn all the complex bolts and tricky dwarven locks on the door, and Thorin slid the bag down Bilbo's shoulders, helping him kick it off his legs. Bilbo sat quietly after it was gone, which Thorin was not certain was complicity as much as it was relief and an attempt to cool his body after working himself up inside the sack.

As long as he stayed still a little longer.

"Do you want to tell me what all this was about?" Bilbo demanded when Dwalin walked back to stand at Thorin's side.

"You kept running away," Dwalin said, crossing his arms across his chest and glaring furiously.

"I did not," Bilbo objected, mimicking Dwalin's posture with his own crossed arms, though it was somewhat less intimidating when sitting cross-legged in the middle of a giant bed looking more like a mussed kitten than a fellow not looking to be messed with.

"You did," Dwalin insisted. "Every time I've tried to get you alone, you scarpered. Running away."

Bilbo glared at them both.

"I have nothing to say to either of you," he said, chin jutting forward and eyes hard.

"But why?" Thorin heard himself whine. "I -we- thought that you liked us!"

"I did!" Bilbo said, arms loosening from their tight fold to wave in the air. "And then you went and used me for some sort of, of game between the two of you!"

"What?" Dwalin's face slackened from it's glare into a absurd display of incredulousness, so fast as to be comical, and Thorin would laugh, he really would, normally, at whatever would put that expression on Dwalin's face, if not for the fact that he was somewhat occupied with gaping like and idiot and trying to pull his thoughts into some semblance of order.

"There was no game," Dwalin insisted, taking a step forward. Bilbo's glare this time really was fierce, and Dwalin halted, hesitant. "There wasn't," he said, again.

Bilbo turned his glare on Thorin, so he stepped forward beside Dwalin, laying a hand on his lover's shoulder and nodding. "No game, I do promise, Bilbo. We were not using you for anything."

"Then why did you..." Bilbo trailed off, frame softening a little before he stiffened again and his renewed his terrible little glare. "You both bedded me!"

"Of course we did!" Dwalin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and stepping forward to perch on the end of the bed.

"We thought that you would prefer us to come to you separately the first time," Thorin added.

"Separately?"

"Would you have preferred it to be both of us the first time?" Dwalin asked, so earnestly, gently, and reached for one of Bilbo's hands.

"Only," Thorin continued for him, bravely moving to perch with Dwalin and take Bilbo's other hand. "Dwalin and I had thought to build a bond with you each on our own, before we came together as three."

"Bond?" Bilbo asked faintly, and Thorin nodded.

"It didn't work the way we wanted it to, though," Dwalin said with great regret, taking a chance and raising his captive hand to his lips. Bilbo gasped a little at the action, and Thorin stroked the fingers in his hesitantly.

"We had hoped for a better chance to prove our worth as potential bond-mates when we had claimed Erebor for the Western Dwarrows once more," Thorin said, sighing a little wistfully. "But then I..."

"Got a little distracted," Dwalin said hastily, and Thorin shot him a wry grin.

"I know our actions, or more specifically my actions in recent days have been disgraceful-"

"And we have no right to ask, really," Dwalin chimed in.

"Despite that, we thought we would make one last attempt, since you seem so determined to leave us soon," Thorin said, eyes falling to the hand he was gripping a little too tightly.

"Last attempt...?" Bilbo asked, voice raspy and quiet.

"To see if there was a chance," Dwalin said, and Thorin glanced at him, not surprised to see Dwalin's face woeful and a little resigned.

"A chance for what?" Bilbo asked, and Dwalin and Thorin exchanged looks and nodded.

"If there was a chance you could love us," Dwalin said, kissing Bilbo's hand again.

Thorin shut his eyes a moment, waiting for the response, and expecting the worst, but the silence grew longer, and Thorin looked sideways to Dwalin, to see him doing the same to Thorin, and both of them looked up.

Bilbo was wide eyed and gaping, mouth opening and closing a few times as if he was trying to respond, and just could not find the words.

"You need not couch any response in flowery wording," Thorin assured him. "If you cannot find affection for us in your heart, say so plainly and we will bother you no more."

Dwalin made a strangled noise of agreement, and ducked his head again, shoulders curling. Thorin felt a thud in his chest at the sight, but kept his head up and waited for Bilbo to reject them.

"Oh," Bilbo said finally. Dwalin's head shot up, and they exchanged glances when Bilbo said no more.

"Oh?" Dwalin ventured, and Thorin swallowed around a dry throat.

"Oh," Bilbo exclaimed, eyes rounding. "OH!"

"Oh?" Thorin asked, heart thudding frantically when Bilbo grinned.

"Oh," he nodded, pulling himself free to lean forward and fist his hands into both Thorin and Dwalin's tunics and yank them forward.

"Oooh," Thorin and Dwalin chorused as they let themselves be tugged down to sprawl with their Hobbit.

 

The Bed of Three.

"Thorin," Dwalin whispered. "Thorin!"

"What?" Thorin whispered back, determinedly keeping his eyes shut and face buried in soft curls.

"Hobbit!" Dwalin whispered gleefully.

"Shut it," Thorin answered, and hid his grin in those curls.

"Told you," Dwalin quietly sang.

"Shut it," he said, reaching to tug Dwalin's arm to bring him in closer, hooking one leg over a soft pair of Hobbit limbs and Dwalin's knobbly knee.

"Sleep," he insisted, while Bilbo sighed, wriggling furthur into the furs of their bed.

Their bed.
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