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Bilbo sighs softly, eyes half closed and lounging against the pillows. He has almost completely drifted off to sleep when he hears the low rumbling of his mate humming at his side, and opens one eye to find Thorin cradling their new son against his chest.
Thorin was oblivious to Bilbo's gaze, eyes on the babe in his arms, thick fingers tracing over the tiny face and dark hair already beginning to curl, nestling him protectively in the crook of his arm and curled against his chest. The rolling hum reverberating through his chest formed slowly into a song, one is Khuzdul that he faintly remembers ringing through the halls when Frerin and Dís were born so long ago.
Bilbo watches his mate and his son and smiles softly, huddling a little closer to the furnace that is Thorin Oakenshield, feeling the alpha wrap his free arm around the hobbit's shoulders and cradles his treasures in his arms, away from the cold and the dark of the world.