Chapter Text
As Bilba sank down into the hot water of the bath that Thorin had drawn for her, a languid purr emanated from her throat.
“I’ll give you one thing,” she told him as she let the luxuriant heat of the water seep into her muscles. “Dwarves certainly do know fire better than anyone else. I can’t imagine how you managed to heat this water so quickly.”
“If after one hundred and sixty years of studying fire I cannot manage to heat bathwater efficiently, then I have failed my ancestors as a dwarrow,” he retorted from his chair. They were situated in one of the back corners of the barn, where the tub had become a permanent feature. The privacy curtain that concealed it from the rest of the room was a more recent addition; after an unfortunate incident where Bilba had walked in on a quarter of the company nude, it had been added according to her request. The chair, of course, wasn’t usually present.
Sinking even lower into the water, she dunked her head briefly under the surface to wet her hair, smoothing it back from her face as she emerged. She cast a sidelong glance at Thorin as she did so, noting a certain possessive lust in his eyes. Though she hadn’t always recognized the hungry, wanting look on his face, over the last few months she had come to know it well.
“Are you just going to sit there and watch?” she asked, giving him a wry smile as she smoothed hot water onto her arms and shoulders.
“Would you prefer to be left alone?” he replied, making no noticeable attempt to leave.
“That wasn’t quite what I was thinking, no,” she answered mischievously, drawing the water up along her neck. She was certain to make a show of it for him, rubbing her long fingers over the column of her throat and down over the swell of her breasts. Though she kept her expression staid and innocent, as if she were ignorant of the game, she was delighted when she looked at him and saw that his face had grown darker.
“Actually,” she sighed, as carelessly as she could muster, “I was hoping that you might join me. There’s plenty of room and we have oodles of time—and besides, I need someone to wash my back.”
The shift in his expression was barely perceptible, but undoubtedly there. His eyes reflected back the mischief in her own, a wanton smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I take a hobbit for a lover,” he sighed as he hauled himself out of his chair and pulled off his shirt. Next he toed his boots off and fidgeted with the clasp of his belt. “And all she would have me do is toil.” When the rest of his clothing was neatly set aside on the chair, he made his way to the tub and slipped in behind her.
“You’re a slave driver,” he murmured as he planted a kiss on her shoulder. She savored the familiar warmth of his lips on her skin and the quiet adoration that he reserved only for her. Romantic involvement revealed a different side of him that seemed all the more precious for its obscurity; it was deeply satisfying to know that few, if any, had ever seen this part of him before.
“Mmm,” she hummed as she situated herself between his legs. “Then get to work,” she ordered playfully, even as he gently brushed her wet hair aside. “Or face my—“ her voice caught and wavered as she felt his lips press against the knob at the base of her neck, then again lower on the protrusion of her spine. “Wrath.” The word slithered pathetically between her lips, nearly lost in the low moan that started in her chest and climbed upward to her throat.
“Your wrath?” Thorin echoed, amusement audible in his voice. She felt the heat of his breath whisper over her wet back, exploring the bare skin inch by inch. “Do you mean with that pinprick of a blade I made for you? The one which I have taught you to use? Do not tell me that the student has already outgrown the master.”
“Master?” Bilba repeated with a laugh. “Now there’s a lofty title. And here I thought I was the one with the power. It makes for an interesting relationship when the master is the student and the slave is the teacher.”
“It seems we find ourselves at an impasse,” he remarked, his slow trail of kisses ascending to the freckles on her shoulder. “Unfortunately, you should know that dwarves are rarely keen to share power.”
“Is that so?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and shifting just enough to look him in the eye. “Mm, you shouldn’t have said that.”
“Surely you do not mean to make this into a competition, Miss Baggins,” he reprimanded playfully. “You cannot possibly—“ as he spoke, she slid her hand along his thigh until she grasped his stiff length, and suddenly his voice wavered and he gave her a warning look.
“You’ll lose,” he promised her darkly, dropping all pretense of verbosity.
“Will I?” she challenged with a wicked smile, her fingers rubbing just so. He writhed in the water, a low groan sounding from his chest. She took immense pleasure watching him, strangely satisfied by the knowledge that so ancient and majestic a creature was vulnerable to even her slightest touch. Though the sight of Thorin standing proud and tall was still enough to heat her blood, she was just as fond of seeing him utterly undone on his back beneath her.
“Melekinh urkhasaz,” he breathed, resolutely shifting away from the back of the tub to close the distance between them.
“I love when you speak your language,” she commented casually. She stopped his advance by turning to face him and pushing him back against the wall of the tub. “It always means that I’ve either done something terribly right or terribly wrong.”
“With you?” he answered dryly, his eyebrows raising as he yielded reluctantly to her will. “Usually both.”
“But you love me,” she purred adoringly as she climbed into his lap, straddling his thick waist. Her hands emerged from the water just enough to smooth over his chest and shoulders, admiring the prominent musculature and thick, weathered skin. As she leaned forward to kiss him, her pelvis rubbed enticingly against his groin.
“But I love you,” he echoed obediently when they parted, his voice softening like he meant every word. It was one of the many things she admired about him—he was an emphatic lover.
“Now then,” she bumped the ball of her nose against the razor straight bridge of his, then started to mount him. When he touched her thighs in warning, she stopped. “Is something the matter?”
“Not so fast,” he warned with a wry smile.
“But I—“ the words were stolen from her tongue as he grasped her by the rear and lifted her, reversing their positions with an unfair amount of ease. Before she could register what had happened, she was pinned back against the wall of the tub and he was kneeling with her legs on either side of him. “Oh.”
“You were saying?” His thumb smoothed between her open legs, and as the words washed out of her mind with the arousal that flooded her body, she thought that it was almost unnatural how quickly he had learned all the right ways to touch her.
“To the abyss with you, Thorin Oakenshield,” she moaned, her body arching against her will.
“That’s what I thought,” he teased. His hands shifted to support her hips as he moved forward to insert himself, mindful of her comfort. She braced herself on the edge of the tub—then in the wake of a pregnant pause, he began to slowly roll his pelvis against hers. The water of the tub lapped with the movement, exaggerating every little shift.
This was the part he was best at. Though she enjoyed sitting astride his hips, riding him at her own leisure, there was something to be said for the power and control he demonstrated when their positions were reversed. While he may have been older than any of her hobbit suitors, he was also a seasoned warrior and a craftsman of nigh unparalleled skill. When his body moved, that musculature she so admired shifted in practiced harmony, with none of the clumsiness or vulgar brutality she might have expected from a less experienced partner. Like the strings of his harp, he struck her in all the best ways, and as arousal tensed up in her belly her body began to writhe and coil in the hot water.
“You’re abominable,” she moaned, her head rolling back as he leaned forward and tested the pale expanse of her chest with his hot tongue. “Utterly wretch—“ he thrust just so, and she could have sworn that a screw was tightened somewhere in her tense core. “Wretched,” her voice jumped an octave higher as she breathed the curse again, her hand shooting out to grip his dark mane. “Nn,” the curse descended into a quiet whimper as she felt the teasing sting of his teeth against her sensitive breast.
Even in light of his distraction, never once did he falter in his work below. His girth filled her utterly, each stroke setting her whole body singing. The familiar ache was rising in her core, hungrily accepting every thrust, the tightly-strung muscles in her body urging him to satisfy her.
Gradually his pace increased, moving faster and harder. Tighter and tighter the coil wound, spurred by the symphony of sensation as he slid into her just so, arousing every nerve. The wake of him resounded through her form from head to toe, every rocking movement between the two of them sending her closer to the teetering brink. The water of the bath began to slosh over the edges of the tub, but she was blissfully unaware of the mess.
“Don’t tell me that you’re—“ he paused to let out a low grunt as he thrust, “Finished insulting me.”
Her grip on his hair had tightened but she couldn’t bring herself to let go as his mouth found its way to the sensitive skin of her neck. “I—“ she huffed, her breath growing heavy and labored. The words she’d conjured dissolved just as quickly from her head, and she let out a primal cry, equal parts pleasure and frustration. “I can’t—“ she managed, her other hand reaching to grab his shoulder. She could feel the edge drawing near and was helpless to stop her fingernails from burrowing into his skin as it approached.
“Thorin—!” she cried as the coil in her belly released, shooting like a flash of white-hot light through her whole body. She clenched up around him as he continued, her mind blanking out entirely for several blissful moments as she was rocked with waves of sweet release. Then she felt him let go inside of her, and as he withdrew he collapsed against her shoulder.
“You realize that this doesn’t mean you win,” she moaned languidly, looking down at him with a relaxed smile.
“Of course not,” he answered, shifting to plant a gentle kiss above her breast. “As a matter of fact,” he added, drawing back to look at her. “This was a game I lost long ago.”
She moved to run her fingers along his thick beard. “I can’t say I’m sorry,” she said fondly, leaning forward to kiss him.
By the time the Company had returned, the bath had been emptied and the mess of water mopped up. Bilba was curled up beside Thorin on the floor near the hearth, listening to him pluck the strings of his harp as a merry fire chased the damp from her bones. Their time in the bath hadn’t been quite long enough for her garments to dry; consequently, she was wrapped in Thorin’s comically oversized clothes, which she struggled to keep from slipping off entirely.
“Well, the two of you look like you’ve had a fine time,” Bofur said, making no effort to conceal the suggestion in his tone as he moved straight to the hearth and pulled off his boots. A pair of feet wrapped in dirty, wet socks propped themselves up on a chair to warm.
“Ach,” Dwalin grunted derisively as he hung up his winter cloak.
“Did you deliver the wood to Bag End?” Thorin asked, his attention not straying from his harp.
“Aye, and Mistress Baggins was very grateful,” Balin supplied.
“Thank you,” Bilba said. Even if she was certain her mother had already thanked them amply, she felt obligated. It was no small service they were doing for her family.
“It must’ve been boring here at the forge without us,” Nori chimed innocently as he stooped to warm his hands over the fire. “Can’t imagine what the two of you have been doing all this time. That’s a nice look, by the way,” he added, nodding to the oversized clothes Bilba was wearing. She aimed a flimsy kick in the direction of his calf.
“Oh, no, I agree,” Bofur added, his fingers dancing absently where they rested on his belly. “Y’ look… cozy.”
Her sudden movement had caused the wide neck of the shirt to slip off of her shoulder, and she abashedly pulled it back up again. “If I’m cozy,” she retorted, “It’s not because of the clothes.” With a wry smile she shifted closer to Thorin, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He accepted it with indifference, remaining blithely focused on his harp.
“Aye—clearly,” Dwalin mocked, sitting down to sharpen his axe. “Thorin’s the cuddliest fella I know. Why, I myself turn to him on those cold nights when I cannae sleep.” His sarcasm earned a disapproving glare from Thorin, to which Dwalin only snickered.
Bilba took the jibe as a challenge; with a demure smile, she adjusted her seat to give her better reach. Then she brushed Thorin’s hair back and tucked it behind his ear, leaning up to catch the lobe between her teeth. He abruptly stopped plucking his harp, resting one hand against the strings as he cast a sidelong glance in her direction.
“Bilba,” he warned. He was shy about their relationship with the Company, and preferred to keep their private moments private.
“Here now, what’s she doing?” Nori asked, his brow furrowing in fascination as he stared. “Eating him?”
“There are worse fates,” Bofur said, his eyebrows lifting in surprise and—she could have sworn—approval.
“Fili, Kili, come look!” Nori called across the barn. “Bilba’s eating Thorin’s ear!”
If the rest of the Company had taken no interest in the couple at the hearth, that was enough to gain their attention. Thorin sighed in exasperation and set his harp aside, turning to gently extract himself from Bilba before they became a spectacle.
“Just a bit of fun, darling,” she murmured to him as he gave her a chastising look.
“Another time,” he warned, his tone unrelenting.
“Hmph,” Dwalin grunted, turning his attention back to his axe. “Keep a leash on your lover.”
That stung more than Bilba could have anticipated. She abruptly froze, feeling the shock of insult sink beneath her skin, and briefly scrambled for some idea of what to do. What she did, of course, was not the result of any great amount of thought, but rather, overwhelming instinct.
Shooting Dwalin a sharp look as she climbed into Thorin’s lap, she straddled his waist and kissed him hard on the lips for all the dwarves to see. She felt him tense immediately beneath her, his body frozen as he worked out what was happening, but he was helpless to the passion of her kiss. Rather than try to pull away as she anticipated, after a moment his hands hesitantly found their way to her hips, and though he did not reciprocate the kiss with quite so much force, his tongue slid shy and tender against her skin.
When she broke the kiss and took a deep, shuddering breath, she looked straight at Dwalin and gave him her most withering glare. “I’m not the sort one keeps on a leash,” she said levelly before pushing herself off of Thorin. The dwarves were so shocked by the unprecedented display of raw, sexualized affection that for a moment none of them moved—then at long last, Ori’s face split into a grin.
“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” he said pleasantly, earning an incredulous look from Dori.
Gradually, the dwarves began shuffling around and muttering amongst themselves. A few shook their heads in disapproval, but for the most part, they didn’t seem to know what to make of the scene they had just witnessed. Dwalin, Bofur, and Nori looked properly cowed—Fili and Kili were exchanging confused looks as they tried to work out what they’d walked into.
Bilba glanced back at Thorin with reluctance as the attention of the Company shifted away from her. She was terrified that he might be upset with her after his warning, but to her surprise, he was tracing his fingertips over his lips with the hint of a smile.
“Your clothes should be dry soon,” he said, his expression bemused as he looked up at her. “I suggest you take them and go, before you start a riot.”