Funnily enough, Bilbo had never felt small in his entire 50 years of life until very recently. He was a Baggins, and that meant a normal, respectable, downright average hobbit, in all aspects. In fact, the only thing particularly grand about him was his beautiful hobbit hole back in the Shire. Bilbo Baggins was perfectly average, thank you very much, and had never taken that negatively. That is, until now.
Now, standing clothed before a bare Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo felt incredibly small and soft, and very, painfully average.
He supposed it must have been the ale he had drank earlier this evening that gave him the courage to march right up to the room Thorin had to himself at an inn the company was spending the night in. He very much indeed thought that it could have only been the ale that had given him the brass to knock smartly at the door, and open its opening, pull the dwarf lord against his mouth by the braids in his beard.
Somewhere between that moment and the present, the courage the ale had given him had fled, though it did not take with it the bloated feeling it gave his belly. Bilbo now felt very average indeed in front of the fierce and rugged beauty that was Thorin Oakenshield.
And though he may not have appreciated the hobbit describing him as such, Thorin was exactly that: beautiful. Bilbo stared in awe at the dwarf in front of him, whose bare skin glowed bronze in the dim light of the fire in the grate behind him. His eyes roved over his broad shoulders and chest, smattered in dark, curling hair that trailed down his strong stomach, tight from many years of hard labor, and even further down to what lay between his legs.
Bilbo flushed pink. No, there was nothing small or soft about Thorin Oakenshield, king under the mountain. Bilbo wrung his hands in anxiety, knowing he could never compare and wondered what the dwarf saw in him. He was but a hobbit, small, soft, and average. There was nothing spectacular about him.
"I-I know I'm not very much to look at." Bilbo worried the edges of his shirt that had come un-tucked in the heat of their first embrace. He stared at his furry feet, wanting to look upon Thorin, but not wanting to see the disappointment that would surely be in his eyes at the shortcomings of the hobbit's appearance.
Bilbo was startled suddenly from his worries by a large hand gently cupping his chin, raising his face up to meet Thorin eye-to-eye. The dwarf king's eyes, usually stormy blue and set hard with purpose, were now dark and tender. Bilbo felt himself flush once again. Not for the last time!
The dwarf leaned in and kissed him firmly but sweetly on the mouth, before drawing the hobbit up in his arms and depositing him gently on the large bed in the corner of the room. Thorin pulled down the hobbit's suspenders and began to undo the buttons on his shirt, all the while pressing soft kisses to Bilbo's jaw, neck, and every inch of chest that became exposed. Bilbo hummed in pleasure, enjoying the scratch of Thorin's beard on his skin followed by the soothe of his lips. He barely noticed that the dwarf had removed his breeches and undergarments both until he felt the tickle of his beard against his naked thighs.
Bilbo froze up and his skin burned bright pink. Thorin stopped the descent of his mouth down the hobbit's belly to look up at him with dark eyes filled with lust. Bilbo was rendered breathless at the look, and even more so when the dwarf lord moved up his body to kiss him and pressed his obvious attraction to the hobbit against his thigh.
Thorin wasn't good at soothing words or verbal comfort; Bilbo had long ago come to understand this. But the hobbit now understood that the dwarf was taking care to show him how much he wanted him. And however unbelievable it was to Bilbo that this strong, incredible dwarf of royal lineage desired such a small, average creature as himself, the proof was here, literally in front, on top of, and against him. And that, Bilbo mused as he smiled against Thorin's mouth, gave him more courage to continue on than any ale ever could.