Tag: bagginshield

forhobbitreasons:

thorin looks up from his papers, surprised at the lateness of the hour – bilbo usually rouses him from his thoughts before now. he glances round, and spots the reason for such a delay: bilbo is already asleep, curled in his armchair by the fire, a book spread over his lap.

it makes thorin’s heart ache, just a little, to see him like this: soft and open, lulled by the safety and comfort of their rooms. he had worried once – or twice or thrice – that bilbo would never find that comfort in the mountain, that he would ever feel the outsider, the uncertain, the off-balance. that a hobbit surrounded by dwarrow might find friends, but not family. that bilbo might find a place in the depths of erebor, but not a home.

bilbo has always liked to prove him wrong.

slowly, carefully, so as not to make too much of a rustle around a sleeping burglar, thorin gathers his papers, banks the fire, and blows out the candles, save one to lead them through their quarters. he sets it on the little table next to bilbo’s tea cup, eases away bilbo’s book, and gets to his knees before him.

ghivashel, thorin whispers, sitting back on his heels and taking bilbo’s hands in his. amrâlimê. it is time for bed.

bilbo is still for a second longer, but he cannot hide the twitch of the corner of his mouth, not from thorin, who has for so long studied the planes and curves of his face, the lines and the creases of focus and worry and joy. he must have felt thorin dimming the light, have noticed the shift in weight along his knees.

i know you hear me, sweetheart, thorin goes on, switching his khuzdul endearments for shire ones. do you mean to spend the night out here, and leave me alone between our sheets?

bilbo’s smile flickers again, though he does not open his eyes. you’re a terrible flirt, thorin oakenshield, he murmurs. perhaps i am only waiting to hear if you remember my name before i let you lead me away with your debauchery.

thorin grins, and raises himself off his heels to lean in close, to whisper as though telling a secret. bilbo, he says, letting the bare edge of his beard just trail over Bilbo’s ear. will you come to bed with me, bilbo baggins?

bilbo’s eyes glitter in the low light of thorin’s single candle as he opens them, lapis lazuli and mountain larkspur and laughter shining in the dark. he meets thorin’s kiss halfway, warm and soft and promising. if you will lead the way.