Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins was dreaming.
That was the only explanation he had for the continued sensation of being wrapped in hard, strong arms, with leather and fur and soft hair underneath his fingertips.
"I could not have been more wrong," The regal voice whispered, almost seductively, into his ear, and the hobbit slid from sleep to wakefulness in a smooth moment, eyes wide, breath coming fast as he stared into the hard darkness of the room he was sharing with Fíli and Kíli in...in...Gandalf's friend's home.
The details of their journey, since being deposited on the craggy peak by the eagles, rushed back into Bilbo' s mind, causing the burglar to relax back into his pillows.
Of course, the return of his dream to the forefront of his mind caused him to blush hotly, pulling the covers over his face. He could only hope he hadn't spoken aloud while dreaming, as he had oft done when he was a wee little hobbit.
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Bilbo woke again mere hours later, roused from his sleep by Fíli and Kíli's voices, in a tone that dwarves considered to be 'hushed'. To Bilbo's surprise, a third voice, deeper in baritone, joined their conversation.
The Hobbit immediately tuned out the words that were being sad because Thorin. Thorin and that (dare he admit it!) seductive, sexy voice.
It all came crashing down on him. The hobbit had no idea how it happened, or how it had crept up on him unnoticed, but...
Sometime after he had left the Shire for a wild and nearly hopeless quest of reclaiming a kingdom long lost, Bilbo Baggins, former ordinary hobbit, and now-burglar, had developed intense feelings for Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King of Dwarves. The hug after Bilbo had saved Thorin's life had only insured that these feelings were not going anywhere.
Of course, his feelings took no notice of the fact that Thorin was, most likely, not interested in him. At all.
And why should he be? Bilbo was just a hobbit, a regular, mostly-sensible hobbit while Thorin was a Prince, majestic and strong.
There was no doubt in Bilbo's mind that Thorin had room in his heart for Bilbo as only a friend.
The thought caused a deep ache in his chest, and Bilbo rolled over on his side, eyes still tightly closed.
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The sky was bright when the hobbit dared open his eyes, the voices long gone. No doubt the dwarves were enjoying a hearty breakfast while Bilbo continued to play at sleeping. Sooner or later, though, if Bilbo did not appear at the table, Thorin would send someone in to rouse him, and that was the last thing the small hobbit wanted.
The faux-burglar rose from his bed, pulling on his proper-clothes and made his way to the raucous laughter of the dwarves, dreading every single step that brought him closer-
"Burglar!" Kíli shouted, and the rest of the dwarves chorused his name, dragging him over to the table, food and merriment flying over his head.
The hobbit stubbornly refused to glance Thorin's way, which was a hard thing to do with the Dwarven Prince's gaze digging into his back.
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Two days later, Thorin's company finally left the home of Beorn, making their way to the Mirkwood. Tingles ran up and down Bilbo' s spine, but he said nothing, huddling deeper in the cloak Gandalf had magically appropriated from absolutely no where, fingers digging into his pocket to grasp at the ring briefly.
He pulled his hands from his pockets when Bofur strode up to him, beginning to tell a tale that present company had heard at least five times in the past month. As the more rambunctious dwarves began to complain, quite loudly, with even Ori joining in, the hobbit said not a single word.
Thorin's gaze continued to dig painfully into his back for the remainder of the day.
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By the time they make camp at the edge of the forest,Bilbo has not said more then five sentences. All the dwarves have picked up on it, by now, and if Bilbo wasn't in the middle of an emotional crisis, he would find the antics the dwarves have adopted to rouse him from his inner melancholy, both amusing and heartwarming.
But alas, the burglar kept his mouth sealed. His words must be watched like a hawk, because he cannot burden Thorin with these one-sided feelings. Perhaps once Erebor had been reclaimed, Bilbo would let the words spill forth from his mouth. Until then, he would sit, and suffer slowly, in silence.
When Kíli walked towards him, a bowl dangling in front of Bilbo an obvious offer, the hobbit managed a half-smile in response to the young dwarf's own, and grabbed the bowl by both sides.
As he ate, the hobbit continued to ignore the heavy gaze of Thorin on his back, wishing silently he could wipe the feeling of Thorin's arms around him from his mind.