Bilbo was not sure when sitting by each-other’s side had turned into him sitting between Thorin's legs – his head resting against the dwarf’s chest and his arms lazily on his raised knees - but it was not a change he objected to.
Except for the position they were sitting in, not much about their interactions had changed. Thorin’s laugh would still rumble at the back of his throat every once in a while as he ruffled Bilbo’s hair, and Bilbo would play with Thorin’s black mane in return. From experience he knew that he would end up tangling the black mess even more, but that did not stop him from making haphazard braids and twining wisps of hair together.
He had always known that their relationship was heading down a path, but where the path was taking them he had not dared to explore. Not yet. While he was aware of Thorin's interest in him - in fact, he could feel it this very moment - he was not sure if it would be wise to act upon it. He wished nothing more, but what had started out complicated would only become more so, and while not wanting to admit it, Bilbo was scared. Their quest was after all not free of danger, and the thought of allowing himself to be even more stupidly devoted to Thorin, only to lose it all to dragons fire... it scared him, even painfully so.
This was not the first evening of its kind. They had spent many nights just like this, closer than neither of them had thought possible, yet never acting on the heat that had slowly been building between then.
This night, however, was special. Neither because the rest of the company lay asleep, nor because of them closing in on The Lonely Mountain faster than ever before, but because Bilbo had made up his mind.
It was not that he felt certain in his decision, not by a longshot. Doubt was still heavy on his mind, the same way he had waited until the last second to join the dwarves at all; hobbits were not creatures that enjoyed taking risks, and they did not make brash decisions. However, had he not been impulsive he would not have joined this quest at all; he would not be surrounded – or rather, consumed – by the warmth of Thorin and he never would have seen Rivendell. The adventure was far from over, and it seemed to him as if brash decisions could be a quite good idea, after all.
Hobbits may have been known to be polite and cautious, but what Bilbo did was neither. Without a word he shifted where he was seated, pushing back against Thorin enough to feel the obvious erection pressing against the small of his back.
Thorin instantly shifted against him, hips twitching and a hitched breath in response. But as he realized what he had done he quickly distanced himself from Bilbo.
Looking over his shoulder at the dwarven prince he saw a glimpse surprise and something that could have been shame in those icy eyes. Thorin looked as if he was desperate to make up for his mistake, while wanting to prove he had done nothing wrong in the same breath.
“I am sorry, master Baggins. It was not my intention to…” It was not like Thorin to hesitate. During their journey it had been made clear that he was a man who would chose his words carefully before speaking, and that he would rather remain silent than saying something stupid. “It was not my intention to bother you.”
The wording itself was humorous enough to make Bilbo smile.
“I will not accept your apology.” The few times they had tried to speak of their relationship it had been with vague words. There had never been a particular need to clearly state what they wished, for the other seemed to know perfectly fine without guidance.
Now Thorin went silent, and instead of fidgeting he was completely still. Bilbo realized that he was not getting his point across, and so he turned to face the dwarven prince completely.
Thorin, despite always trying his best to give an intimidating impression, had seemed to Bilbo as an emotional person; often with hurt or happiness showing clearly in his features. Looking at him now, his dread was clear, as if he was considering fleeing the hobbit's company never to look back.
At this Bilbo closed the distance between them, kneeling in order to meet the dwarven prince’s gaze. He brought his hands up, caressing Thorin’s face gently, before speaking again.
“I will not accept an apology.” Emphasizing his words with touch, he ended up stroking Thorin's chin, barely trailing his lips. “Do you understand?”
One of the things Bilbo had come to enjoy about Thorin was watching him think. Whenever he was confused, or attempted to solve a mystery, wrinkles would appear between his eyebrows and his gaze would grow distant, as if watching the situation from afar. Now he was doing the same, his lips moving slightly beneath Bilbo’s fingertips, muttering all too quietly for the hobbit to hear. He seemed like he could not properly comprehend the situation, and Bilbo felt both nervous and impatient at the lack of response.
Then a large hand was brought to his neck, rough fingers brushing against his skin before bringing him in close.
It was chaotic at first, with their teeth clashing and Bilbo having to keep both hands on Thorin’s chest in order to keep himself from falling. Eventually desperate hands and almost painful kisses turned into relief, as if they both realized there was nothing to fear; if they wished to, they would have this night, and the next, and as many as they could ever want.
The desperation faded, as well as the clumsiness, as they started to explore what was still new and delicate.
Bilbo shifted his seating, moving up to straddle Thorin rather than precariously leaning into him.
Catching up – as if the first touch was a sprint rather than a simple kiss – they were both panting, Bilbo wrapping his arms around Thorin’s neck and tangling his fingers in the black hair. Despite their lips being chapped, the kiss was soft and tentative; Thorin licking his lower lip, a scratch of beard with every single stroke.
It is not like Bilbo had imagined, as Thorin is being both gentle and shy in his actions. Yet, there is something very possessive about the way he grasps at the hobbit’s clothing, as if to hold him closer than anyone has ever done before. When Bilbo opens his mouth Thorin stops for a second, letting out a deep breath as if he had been holding it all this time, before bringing their lips together again.
It is a continuous struggle, but not a struggle for power, and Bilbo finds himself shivering as Thorin’s tongue enters his mouth. The warmth of resting in Thorin’s arms, the heat of his fingertips, and more than that; a mouth of harsh words and an unforgiving voice gently welcoming him. Feeling Thorin’s teeth against his tongue he is overtaken by a breathlessness, and when leaning back with a sigh the dwarven prince does not struggle to keep their lips together, but breaths quite heavily himself.
Bilbo leans forward again, but only to rest his forehead against Thorin’s. Together they pant, sharing breath as well as heat.
There was a moment of stillness then, the wind howling through the forest and their companions scattered around the camp, snoring loudly. The realization that they were, in fact, not alone struck Bilbo and for a moment he panicked; why he was not sure. If Kíli and Fíli had noticed them he would have had to listen to endless teasing, but it could hardly be more bothersome than interacting with them on a daily basis. The other dwarves would likely react with varying levels of joy, indifference or teasing - or all three - so being found out should not be something to fear.
But perhaps, Bilbo thought, it was not the others knowing that he dreaded. Perhaps it was simply that this was so intimate that the thought of involving someone else – someone listening in or seeing them – felt wrong.
The taste of Thorin still on his lips, he leaned back enough to see the dwarven prince’s face entirely. There was a smile lighting up his otherwise so grim features, wrinkles at his eyes deepening his smile and a white row of teeth gleaming in the flames of the fire.
Thorin’s smiled turned almost wicked as he changed his seating, not leaning back against a tree stump anymore but lying down on his back.
While he had gravitated towards the dwarven prince for a long time, it was another thing to see him like this; laid back with his grey-stained hair like a halo around his head, and his hands lazily on Bilbo’s knees. The twisting in his gut could not be described as anything but pure need, and had he not wanted to study his lover thoroughly he would have since long met those lips again.
Bilbo felt Thorin’s hands travel upwards, along his thighs, as if mapping out the skin underneath his trousers. With his weight now pressing them together there was only cloth separating them, and the fairly thin fabric was not enough to hide from the other.
With a searching gaze he eyed Thorin up and down, taking in every detail about him; both in his features and clothing. The dwarven prince seemingly had no problem with being straddled, but there was a possessive look in his eyes. His hands ended up at the small of Bilbo's back, holding him hard as if to say "mine”.
At that moment Bilbo realized he was being gazed at just as intensely, having paid more attention to Thorin’s body than his eyes for the past moment. With those icy eyes slowly trailing his body, he could not help but notice the challenging glare.
He already knew he would have to do little in order to make Thorin respond. His eyes meeting the blue stare he decided to grind down, feeling Thorin’s erection against his thigh and the hold on his back tightening, bringing him forward a bit. Repeating the motion he could not help but to gasp at the friction, only to see Thorin’s eyes widen in return.
As he leaned down to capture the dwarven prince’s lips again Thorin’s hands were quickly brought up to caress his face, keeping them barely an inch apart. Bilbo had not expected him to hesitate, not at a time like this, and met his eyes with an even stare.
When he spoke Thorin was breathless, his voice nothing more than a murmur; it was the sound of both regret and desire. “I cannot give you what you want.”
Bilbo needed longer than he expected to find the words for a response, his voice was quiet; he had always known this to be the case, yet ignored it to freely enjoy Thorin’s company. “I know.”
And there is a pause, as Thorin gently strokes his face, dirty but warm fingers brushing against his lips, his eyedlids, his nose. Bilbo cannot help but be surprised that hands used for battle and blacksmithing can hold such a tender touch. “I cannot give you what I want.”
The regret in Thorin’s voice is obvious this time, and his gaze drops to study Bilbo’s collar as if it is the most interesting thing in Middle-earth. Suddenly Bilbo finds himself laughing, from relief and giddiness and a nervousness finally letting go.
Reaching up to caress one of Thorin’s hands with his own he smiles, his voice still unsteady with laughter as he speaks. “It's okay. A dragon poses no challenge anyway. It will be over before we know it, and then we will have all the time we need to give what we wish to give.”
Thorin’s reply is still silent, but warm and with a smile, and his eyes on Bilbo once again. “We will do that.”
And without hesitation Thorin pulls him close, Bilbo falling to his chest with an affronted huff. Both of them still trembling with silent laughter the heat returns, mercilessly, and Bilbo shivers as Thorin’s hands settle on his hips once again.
It is not kissing anymore, with Bilbo lapping at Thorin’s lips – every once in a while feeling the brush of his beard and trembling in response – as they are rocking against each-other.
While he may not be a burglar – at least not officially – Bilbo has always been quite nimble with his fingers, and without trouble he both finds Thorin’s belt and unbuckles it quickly. It is ridiculous, really, far too broad and heavy for any sensible person to carry; only with great effort can he manage to throw it to the side in this state.
Once the belt is out of the way he easily slips his hand beneath Thorin’s many layers of clothing, finally feeling skin beneath his palm. As he runs his fingers across Thorin’s torso – feeling the dampness of sweat and the chest hair teasing his fingertips – a moan is the only reply he receives.
Slipping his hand beneath the rim of Thorin’s pants is no hard task, and when finally closing his hand around the dwarven prince’s manhood it brings forth a sigh from both of them. Thorin thrusts into his hand, and Bilbo leans down to kiss him properly this time; short and sweet and smiling.
There is not much room for movement as his hand is trapped by their bodies pressing together, yet it is enough. His heart stutters at the sight of Thorin coming apart beneath his touch, and moments later warmth is spilling into his hand.
Not knowing the proper dwarvish way of going about these things, Bilbo finds himself stammering – much like the unadventurous hobbit he once was – as Thorin can barely mask his amusement. At the blink of an eye he is wrapped in strong arms, and next thing he knows they are both lying on their side; his back pressed against Thorin’s chest.
Bilbo would rather take on Smaug armed with nothing but a handkerchief than complain about the situation, but even the most polite of hobbits cannot hide their discomfort in a situation like this. Not knowing how to mention his predicament to Thorin he remains silent, arguing with himself what would be the best wording. His worry is not needed though, as Thorin reaches around and easily slips his hand down Bilbo’s trousers.
Other nights he would be embarrassed, but as he comes with only a few strokes from Thorin’s rough hand he can feel no shame. While being held closely he rests his head against Thorin’s arm, feeling his breathing slowly but steadily even out.
Once the world has gone quiet around them Bilbo can feel a rumble in Thorin’s chest, something that can only be silent laughter. Feeling too tired to join in he simply smiles to himself, and nuzzles the dwarven prince with his head. In response Thorin’s embrace tightens somewhat, and they lie this way until the laughter has died down, only to be replaced by a soft humming.
“Sleep.” Had someone told Bilbo a few months ago that an order to rest would be the sweetest thing he could ever be told, he would have laughed at them. Now he can do nothing but nuzzle in closer, with Thorin lulling him to sleep.