The Home

The Next Morning

Bilbo awoke early, as the sun was coming up, a lightening sky gleaming out his round windows. He stretched, sliding out from under his blankets and reaching for his robe, his mind clear, his stomach empty, a good mood blooming in his chest. Then he remembered the night before. Thorin was alive. With a sigh, he fell back in the pillows, resting momentarily in the silence, then dragged himself out of bed, slipped on his robe and crept out of the room, slipping into the sitting room to see if his guest was indeed there and not just a dream.
And there he was, laid out across the couch, covered in his coat and a blanket, his black hair spread over his shoulders as he slept. Thorin alive.
Bilbo crept quietly towards him. He had not quite remembered how handsome Thorin was—his regal profile, his strong cheekbones, his dark eyelashes, his muscular arms, his shapely neck, the mouth that was so gentle upon his own, his broad chest rising and falling peacefully, face relaxed in slumber. And it was standing there, in the cold, dim light of dawn, watching him sleep, that Bilbo realized he still loved Thorin.
It burned deep within him, growing until it engulfed him, a bright and burning fire, and it took all that he had not to run to him and kiss him right then, but he instead turned on his heel and left for the kitchen, the image of Thorin's lips burned into his mind. It stayed there all through the time he made breakfast, the room lightening around him, pans and pots clinking together comfortingly as he prepared breakfast, setting out two place settings and double checking to make sure the kettle was on before crossing back into the sitting room to see if Thorin was awake, morning sunlight filtering through the windows.
Indeed, the dwarf lord was awake, rubbing his neck and yawning, the muscles in his neck flexing as he did so, Bilbo swallowing hard to keep his passion under control. He carefully arranged his features into a neutral expression and stepped into Thorin's line of sight. Immediately, his eyes softened and brightened, his mouth turning upwards in a smile.
"Good morning," he said, his voice still husky with sleep. Bilbo carefully sat down at the end of the couch and looked down before speaking.
"I have made my decision," he said carefully, looking steadily up. Thorin's expression immediately darkened, his brows furrowing, his eyes taking on a worried look. He sat up quickly, shifting himself around to sit facing Bilbo.
"And?" he prompted, a note of fear in his voice.
"You can stay, if—and only if—" he clarified as Thorin looked up, startled, "you kiss me."
"Is that all?" Thorin said, drawing closer, a smile spreading across his face.
"Yes," Bilbo stated, staring evenly into Thorin's eyes.
"I thought you would never ask," Thorin breathed. He slid closer, pressing his thigh to Bilbo's, placing his arm around the back of the couch, leaning in. His hand rose slowly, sliding up Bilbo's arm and across his neck, causing his heart to quicken. Their eyes were fixed on each other's lips, heads tilting slightly, Thorin's hand cradling Bilbo's face, their breaths warm on each other's cheeks as they drew closer. Slowly, their lips met, softly and carefully. They pulled apart briefly, Thorin opening his eyes, but Bilbo stayed frozen, eyes still and closed.
"Again," he whispered, and Thorin moved in, kissing him harder, his lips moving against Bilbo's, holding longer, letting passion fill him before breaking off.
"More," Bilbo murmured, sliding his hands up Thorin's chest and around his neck. This time, Thorin opened his mouth, caressing his lips with his tongue, Bilbo's mouth opening slightly. He pulled back, breathing hotly.
"More," Bilbo repeated, louder, shoving his face against Thorin's, his mouth finally opening, their tongues winding around each other. Thorin sighed with pleasure, the sweet taste of Bilbo's mouth filling his own, desire overtaking him.
"More!" Bilbo gasped, pulling Thorin in, and they poured their passion into each other, mouths moving together, moaning in pleasure, Thorin leaning farther into Bilbo, the hobbit sitting back, sliding his legs around Thorin's waist. They were so happy—surrounded by sunlight and each other, nothing in their way, hungering for more of the other, feelings awoken in both of them that had not been felt in years. It was worth the wait, both of them without love for so long, to be kissing one another, to be held by one another, to be loved by one another.
Bilbo clutched Thorin tighter, memories flooding him, of Thorin's arms on his shoulders and the soft darkness of Beorn's house, long nights spent snuggled at Thorin's side, passionate kisses in the bed at Erebor. He pressed himself farther into Thorin, sighing as he pressed back, their bodies once again curving around each other.
"We should have breakfast before it gets much later," Bilbo murmured, kissing him again.
"You are so delicious, I don't need breakfast," Thorin smiled, his lips on Bilbo's.
"You may be full, but a hobbit needs Second Breakfast," Bilbo returned, unwinding himself from Thorin and sliding off the couch.
"Well, hurry, because I'm still hungry," Thorin laughed, reaching for him, but he danced out of reach, running off to the kitchen, laughing in turn as Thorin chased after him. He caught him in the doorway and spun him around, arms around his waist, face buried in his shoulder, the hobbit breathless with eyes shining, halfheartedly struggling to get away.
"Stop, stop," he giggled, pulling his arms from around him, Thorin planting gentle kisses along his neck. He slid into his seat, Thorin across from him, hands held across the table, mouths smiling, food spread across the table.
They fed each other, forks forgotten, the other's fingers gently pressing bites of bread or eggs against the other's lips, faces fondled gently, fingers lingering in each other's mouth, Thorin's hands sliding around Bilbo's waist as he jumped up to get the tea. And when it was done, when the last muffins were polished off and the cups of tea drained, they leaned over the table, learning each other's mouths again, fingers laced together.
"Are you ready?" Thorin said finally, his eyes deep and dark on Bilbo's own.
He didn't hesitate. "Yes," he breathed, his full cheeks, rosy lips and long eyelashes tantalizing in the morning light. Desire swelled in Thorin's heart, and together, they walked to the bedroom, hands wound together, arms around each other's waist. They entered the room, glowing with golden light, warm and welcoming. And slowly, they stopped walking, Thorin turning Bilbo gently to face him, slipping a hand around his neck, thumb stroking his cheek, tilting his head upwards, rubbing his cheek with his own before sliding his lips to meet the hobbit's, who pressed back gently, evocatively, provocatively.
They swayed back and forth, Bilbo's hands on Thorin's wrists as Thorin ran his hands over his hips, breathing through his mouth, eyes closed in enjoyment. And suddenly they were kissing like they were trying to overtake the years between them, those long years of nights alone, the emptiness created by them, tongues deep in each other's mouth, hands wound through the other's hair, hands sliding over each other's body, curving to fit into the other's shape, twisting around, stumbling back, Thorin falling over Bilbo onto the bed, pressing him back into the blankets, mouths still latched together, murmuring with pleasure, breaths coming quick and fast, Bilbo wrapping his legs around Thorin's waist and pulling him closer, his hands digging into Thorin's broad back.
Thorin broke the kiss, breath hot on Bilbo's neck as he ripped back the robe, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as the hobbit slipped his arms out of the fabric of the robe, his fingers working at Thorin's belt, chest heaving and eyes bright.
"Curse these buttons," Thorin panted.
"Here," Bilbo said, pulling apart from him and turning to unfasten the rest, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, his back to him, as Thorin pulled off his tunic and shirt, casting them to the floor and twisting back around to gaze at Bilbo, who was quickly unbuttoning his shirt.
Thorin's mouth began to water at the sight of the small hobbit's back and shoulders, moving slightly under the light fabric, and then the covering slid down to reveal a perfect, ivory shoulder, then a second, falling away, showing the smooth lines of his back, his slender neck, his trim waist. Thorin couldn't stand it. He moved up behind him, sliding his thighs around Bilbo's hips, running his hands up the hobbit's legs as he bent closer, his breath warm on Bilbo's back as his lips brushed his neck.
Bilbo shivered with ecstasy, Thorin's lips moving softly across his back, his hands creeping up his thighs, sliding inwards, massaging the muscles, fingering the tendons connecting his thighs to his hips, pulling his legs apart, pressing them into his own. Bilbo slid his hands on top of Thorin's, pushing them farther into himself, arching into him, eyes closed, mouth moving slightly as Thorin's hair tickled his back.
Thorin pressed himself into Bilbo, curving around him, bending towards his neck, the hobbit's breaths quickening as he leaned back, throat exposed. Pausing only for a second, Thorin kissed his neck, biting gently down on the tendons that rose and flexed as Bilbo gasped, his fingers tightening around Thorin's hands.
"It's been so long," he moaned, twisting into him, wanting more. "It's been so long." Thorin's hands crept up his arms, wrapping around his wrists as Thorin raised one to his lips, kissing it, feeling the delicate flexing as Bilbo clenched his fist in enjoyment, panting as his mouth moved to his shoulder, his tongue caressing his skin, then again to his neck, working his mouth up to his jaw, running his tongue along the smooth curve, Bilbo breathing hard in his arms, which folded around him, Thorin's hands drawing circles on his stomach.
He arched upwards, pressing his face into Thorin's, kissing behind his ear as Thorin mouthed his shoulder, reaching up to wind his fingers through his long hair, tilting his head towards him, sliding his tongue into his mouth before turning to face Thorin, grabbing his shoulders and leaning forwards to push him onto the bed. Thorin fell backwards, groaning as Bilbo worked his fingers through his long hair, sliding a hand up his chest, kissing down his neck and shoulders, his fingers kneading his stomach, his thighs tightening around his waist. Before he could relax into Bilbo's lips, though, the hobbit's grasp lessened and Thorin heard the sharp intake of breath. He knew what he had seen.
"It's horrible, isn't it?" he said quietly, looking into Bilbo's face, which was frozen in an expression Thorin couldn't quite read. He knew what Bilbo's eyes were fixed upon.
A long, jagged scar crossed Thorin's chest, a brutal reminder of the blade that had passed through his chest, slicing his lungs, crushing his sternum, and ending his life. Now it stood, stretching slightly with each breath, white and unpleasant, striking an unwelcome line across Thorin's muscular chest.
Bilbo was silent, then gently reached out a finger and lightly stroked the edge of it, his face now slightly pained. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly, staring up at Thorin, worry in his brown eyes.
Thorin slowly shook his head. "No," he said, "not when you touch it. You fix all my hurts."
Bilbo smiled, rubbing a careful hand down his chest, then bent down and kissed the scar, feeling Thorin's heartbeat beneath his lips.
"I wish I could kiss away all of your scars," Bilbo whispered. He kissed faster, moving up to his neck, their breaths quickening once again.
Thorin grasped his legs, mouth open with enjoyment, Bilbo planting kisses all over his face, caressing his shoulders, reveling in the way Thorin's muscles flexed and moved as he massaged his thighs, arching into him.
"I had forgotten," Thorin panted, his neck vibrating against Bilbo's lips, "I had forgotten."
"What?" the hobbit mumbled, mouthing his throat.
"Everything," Thorin groaned, "ever—ah—everything."
"Mm, like what?" Bilbo returned, smiling as he moved down Thorin's chest.
"Everything," Thorin repeated, rising to him, Bilbo kissing down his stomach, hands against his back, pulling him in. Thorin let him fondle him, moving blissfully as Bilbo ran his hands over his hips and down his legs, rubbing his face on his knee and sliding a hand down the inside of his thigh, enjoying the feel of the muscle. Thorin sat up, reaching for him, and pulled in him into his arms, Bilbo curling against his chest, head pressed against his heart as Thorin kissed his neck, his strong arms circling his back.
And suddenly, Bilbo was crying, tears running down his cheeks, shivering in Thorin's embrace, pressing his face into his hands as Thorin started, but then curved around him, caressing his shoulder comfortingly.
"Shhh, shhh," he murmured, breathing into his hair, pressing a gentle cheek against his head as he cried, his small back shaking. Thorin waited, holding him gently, softly stroking his spine, until Bilbo's sobs had subsided and he was silent, still trembling, pressed against his chest. Slowly, Thorin slipped a hand around to tilt his face upwards, gently kissing away the tears that streaked his face, running a thumb over his lips, water sparkling like dewdrops on his eyelashes.
"What is it?" Thorin whispered caringly, his dark eyes searching Bilbo's face, cradling his cheek.
"It's just—" Bilbo's brown eyes filled with tears again, "you are alive." He buried his face in his hands again. "I thought I would never see you again. To be held and kissed by you again; you can't imagine how it makes me feel."
"Then help me understand," Thorin said softly, turning his face upwards again.
Bilbo choked again, half crying, half laughing, smiling, but with tears streaming down his cheeks. "Happy. So happy. You make me so wonderfully and completely happy," he laughed, his voice thick with tears.
Thorin's eyes began to fill as well. "I can understand that. You make my heart race and my breath quicken, you fill me with such joy—and when you kiss me it is like nothing I have ever felt before." He paused, his eyes deep and dark, his expression pained. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Bilbo choked out, then pressed his lips to Thorin's own, light seeming to fill his chest, his fears disappearing, melting in Thorin's arms, Thorin pressing back. It was a long kiss, one that comforted the other, soft and careful, yet full to the brim with love.
"Don't ever let me go," Bilbo whispered, wrapping his arms around Thorin's neck and kissing him again. "Don't ever let me go."
"Never," Thorin murmured back, squeezing him tighter, "I will never let you go."
And they sat there, held tight in each other's arms, the sunlight wafting around them, mouths pressed together, that pure, radiant happiness filling their chests, skin on skin, mouth on mouth, tongue to tongue, simply kissing, and loving.
The rest of the day passed slowly, a haze of sunlight and warmth, smiles and kisses, touches and hugs, caresses and murmurs. They stayed up late into the night, cuddled on the couch in front of the fire, talking softly, Thorin asking about life in the Shire, Bilbo asking about life at Erebor and the journey across the mountains. They feel asleep there, the fire burning to embers, Bilbo's head tucked under Thorin's chin, blankets covering them both. Neither of them woke throughout the night, sleep deep and dreamless, smooth and peaceful, their chests rising and falling in time with each other, the only movement in the still, dark night.