Bagginshield Fanfics

Paperweights naity_sama

Summary:
"Bilbo is certainly not going to have sex with Thorin on the night that the Dwarves first show up in the Shire. He's more likely to hit the damned dwarf in the nose with a paper weight if he found him naked in his bed."

Bilbo was quite possibly going just a little bit mad. His quiet evening had been entirely turned upside-down by the loud group of Dwarves. He wouldn't be lying if he said that he wished they had never shown up at his door. Woe that he had let the first one in. His hands rubbed and pressed worriedly through his curling hair, twisting it into loose knots between his restless fingers. He had blearily awoken in one of his back rooms on an old divan. The last thing he remembered was the one dwarf waggling his fingers as he elaborated on exactly what the dragon may or may not do to his bones if he joined them on their journey. Possible death. Melting flesh. Incineration. Just the thought was enough to make the Halfling's stomach sit uncomfortably. He didn't faint again, much to his credit. Instead, Bilbo slunk quietly into the washroom and splashed a little cool water on his face. It dripped down over his sweaty skin and into the sink, cold drops spattering against the hard porcelain. When he had gotten himself fairly under control, he grabbed an embroidered towel off the shelf and patted his face and hands dry. His eyes lingered on the stitched roses and the dampness over them before he hung it over the edge of the sink to dry.

When Bilbo stepped out of the room, he could see the distant firelight wavering from the room at the end of the hall. What he did not expect was to hear music. Soft humming reverberated through the lonely halls of Bag End, intensified by the acoustics of the antique wood that formed its structure. As he crept quietly forward, Bilbo heard the flow of words join the song. Low and deep like a mountain's roots, the voice seemed to come from the very Earth itself. Together, the Dwarves sang of ages past, and battles never forgotten. Their lips shaped great songs of sadness; tales of hope and grief, and glittering streams of gold hidden within a distant mountain's heart. They sang with their heads bowed in respect, and they sang with their solemn faces raised heavenwards. Listening to their somber song tied Bilbo's stomach into a different kind of knot. He could feel it in the air as the song vibrated within the walls of his home; the heartbreak at the terrible loss of their own home, the grief and rage that came with it. There, in a stranger's cozy home, crowded together under a stranger's warm roof and with their bellies full of a stranger's food, in front of a stranger's crackling fireplace, they mourned their Home.

Bilbo tried to tell himself that it was just the smoke that made his eyes water. Leaving the Dwarves to their song, he went to the back door and slipped out for a little brisk night air. There was a bit of a breeze, and it served to cool his brow and calm his heart. In the moonlight he could see the flowers of his garden and the green leaves and stems of grass rippling as if touched by gentle hands. The scent of his roses delicately wafted around him, weaving through the tendrils of fine pipe smoke rising from his pipe, and Bilbo knew that this was what home meant to him. Home was the place he could always turn to feel safe. A warm fire at his back and a kettle of tea steeping nearby, without a worry in the world of whether he would be warm and fed, or safe from the elements. None of the Dwarves in his sitting room would have that to return to once they left Bilbo's house.

Sighing into the breeze, the Hobbit sat with his pipe and his thoughts for a little longer, looking up at the twinkling stars. When the night began to grow cold and his thoughts had turned more to the wandering hills and brooks of the Shire, he let his bare feet carry him back inside. It was quiet when he came back in through the back door. There were neither the sounds of merrymaking, nor the lingering skeins of the Dwarves' solemn dirge. Somehow, the sudden quiet was strange. Bilbo looked down the long hall and felt as if something was out of place now that the house had fallen still. It was as if the walls of Bag End had come to love the laughter and the noise and vitality of his guests in just this little time. Shaking his head, Bilbo opened the door of his room and stepped inside. He had just laid his pipe down and was fixing to take off his jacket when he noticed his uninvited guest.

Seated on his bed, naked as a jay bird, was the last and most important of his guests. Thorin Oakenshield stared at Bilbo, his face set in an unreadable expression. Bilbo stared back, at a loss for words. His hands vaguely fluttered in the air for a moment before he started yanking on his curls.

"What - I mean - Do you really - Well - What are you - What I mean to say is..." Bilbo spluttered, ears turning red as he felt a wave of heat rush down the back of his neck. After looking around the room wildly, anywhere but at the naked Dwarf reclining so comfortably on his favorite bed sheets, Bilbo managed to spit out what he wanted to say.

"Why are you in my bed?" the halfling cried, distressed. Thorin just raised a single jet black brow and leaned back against the headboard, his dark hair spread out across Bilbo's pillows as he made himself at home. The motion let Bilbo see quite a bit more of the Dwarf than he was comfortable with seeing. Bilbo's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. In his defense, he had never had occasion to deal with a naked stranger in his bed before. As it was, Bilbo reached out and grabbed the first thing off his shelf that his hand touched. The gilded glass paperweight flew and hit the wall beside Thorin's head with a solid thunk. Being of good quality, the weight didn't shatter, but instead rolled down to rest against a bare, furry thigh. Thorin's pale blue eyes followed it wordlessly before he looked back at his distraught host. With a last unintelligible cry bordering on hysteria, Bilbo Baggins snatched up his coat and his pipe and left to go sleep in the hall closet. Behind him, the door slammed shut firmly. He never heard the single amused grunt as Thorin turned out the desk lamp and pulled up Bilbo's soft sheet over his naked body. He also never saw Thorin's hand running over the fabric as if his calloused fingers had not felt its like in many years.