The advisor stammered, “Does your Highness have any questions?” and all Thorin could come up with, on the heels of the stunning announcement of his betrothal to someone called “Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,” was, “What, in Mahal’s name, is a hobbit?”
Turned out the advisor had never seen one either.
So here Thorin is, glove-married to someone he’s never met, standing outside his own bedroom, wondering what, precisely, he is going to find within. Dwalin, who had escorted the hobbit to Thorin’s rooms, had just smirked when Thorin pulled him aside to hiss, “What do hobbits look like?” Presumably that meant that the hobbit wasn’t too hideous – Dwalin would have warned him if it looked like an elf, surely?
He pulls open the door a little too hard and winces at the bang as it hits the wall, and gapes. There, in the middle of his bedroom, wearing nothing but his favorite fur coat, is a…
Well, it must be a hobbit. He must be a hobbit. He is smaller than a dwarf, with short curly hair and no beard at all (no beard! How unsettling) and slightly pointed ears. His bare feet are furry, as if all the hair that ought to be on his chin has migrated southwards for the winter. He is plump and soft-looking, and his face looks like it ought to be smiling, but the hobbit instead looks…worried. And shy.
The hobbit bows, one hand over his bare chest, and says, in a high nervous voice, “Bilbo Baggins at your service.”
Thorin recollects his manners. “Thorin son of Thrain, at yours,” he replies, and steps into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. There are so many questions to ask, from what is a hobbit to why did my grandfather arrange for us to marry, but all Thorin can think to say is, “Why are you wearing my coat?”
Bilbo looks at his furry feet. “It’s a hobbit tradition. To greet your bridegroom wearing only his winter coat, as a sign that he will shelter you in bad times and warm you in good.”
That’s surprisingly…sweet, Thorin thinks. A touching tradition. “You look good in it,” he finds himself saying. Bilbo’s pointed ears turn pink. Thorin finds himself warming to his unexpected spouse. To be sure, the lack of a beard is distinctly unnerving, but Bilbo seems a pleasant fellow. The situation could definitely be worse. Mahal knows what sort of strange traditions elves might have, for instance!
“Be welcome in my rooms and in my life,” he says at last, not quite the traditional bridegroom’s oath, but this is not quite a traditional situation. Bilbo looks up from his feet and smiles, and Thorin feels a sudden shock. The hobbit has a marvelous smile. Thorin swears to himself to make sure the hobbit has many reasons to share it.
But there is still the matter of consummation. Thorin does not shuffle his feet awkwardly, because that would be unbecoming of a Prince of Erebor. Instead he says, “By my people’s customs, we…would be expected to consummate our marriage tonight.”
“By mine as well,” says Bilbo, and gives Thorin a faintly apprehensive look. That decides Thorin.
“Since you are so much smaller, you had best be on top tonight,” he tells the hobbit. Bilbo’s eyes go wide in astonishment.
“I don’t quite know how,” he confesses shyly, and Thorin cannot help but stride across the room and gather his fur-wrapped hobbit husband in his arms.
“I will teach you,” he tells his warm armful as he bears his hobbit to the bed. “And then later, when you are less nervous and it will not hurt, we will try the other way.”
Bilbo relaxes a bit, and wriggles to make himself more comfortable in the coat and in Thorin’s arms. “Just as you say, husband,” he agrees, and Thorin is suddenly, achingly glad for his grandfather’s madness, without which Thorin would never have known he wanted a little, soft, fur-wrapped hobbit to call his own.
The hobbit is not soft all over, Thorin notes once he has gotten them to the bed and divested them of their clothing (in his own case) and a fur cloak (in Bilbo’s). Bilbo’s respectably proportioned, for a non-dwarf, and though he’s blushing shyly again, certain parts of him are very interested in consummating their marriage.
And he’s looking a bit awed at his first sight of Thorin naked, which is surprisingly ego-boosting – not that Thorin’s ever needed his ego boosted. Still, the hobbit’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks are pleasant to look on, and Thorin decides that he wants his hobbit to look like that as often as possible. So he props his hobbit up on pillows at the head of the bed – Bilbo goes willingly, looking lost and aroused in about equal measure – and spreads himself out over the rest of the bed with a bottle of oil in one hand and a filthy smirk.
Bilbo watches wide-eyed as Thorin opens himself, and his hand are twisted in the pillows. Thorin grins, hungry and wicked, and Bilbo looks from grin to moving hands and back again, and blushes to the tips of his pointed ears, and licks dry lips.
After much too long, and only just barely long enough – who knew that a look of hunger and astonishment on a hobbit’s bare face was enough to push Thorin nearly to the brink? – Thorin takes his hand from himself and beckons to his husband with oil-slick fingers. “Come, then, husband,” he says formally, and Bilbo makes a strangled sound deep in his throat and lurches forward, landing on hands and knees over Thorin and staring into Thorin’s face with a helpless, desirous heat in his eyes. Thorin spreads his legs wider and guides the hobbit forward, and there is a single confused moment and then the stretch and slight burn of penetration. Bilbo makes another strangled sound and drops his head to rest on Thorin’s chest. Thorin laughs, and tangles his clean hand’s fingers in Bilbo’s curly hair, and says, “Go on.”
Bilbo is clumsy in the way that virgins are – and Bilbo is not the first virgin Thorin has had, though Thorin supposes he will be the last, marriage being what it is – but he is clearly interested in making sure Thorin enjoys himself, and the expression of stunned pleasure on his face when Thorin finally kisses him is almost as precious as gold.
When they have both found their pleasure – Bilbo carefully wrapping his hand around Thorin’s bulk and looking a little nervous but very determined, which is also an adorable look for him – Thorin tucks his husband into the curve of his body and tugs the heavy sheets over them both. Bilbo sighs a little, and relaxes into Thorin’s grasp, and as Thorin slips into dreams he hears the hobbit murmur, “Well, this isn’t so bad at all.” Thorin smiles against his husband’s hair and quite agrees.