Chapter Text
Impressing Thorin Durin was Bilbo’s key to survival. It had been an accident-he’d just come to check up on him at work when he’d seen what had happened. He knew it could have been worse, there was no doubt in his mind that Thorin could have done worse, but he still couldn’t get over the fact of what happened. His life had once been so simple-the life of a simple freelance writer. Only a few months ago he wasn’t watching the person closest to him scream at someone while holding him up against a door with a gun pointed to his head, forcing him into submission or else.
The man looked average enough, not too large but not too short, with hair the color of a walnut and a round, chubby face that contrasted with his otherwise rather thin features. He was clean shaven except for some stubble that meant he either needed to shave or was trying to grow a beard. His pale skin was turning pink, and he looked like he was counting down the seconds that he had left to live. His light green eyes flashed over to Bilbo, confused at who he was but hoping that he would give him hope. Bilbo just bit his lip in reply.
Thorin turned to face him, a look of shock crossing over his face. “Bilbo,” he said, lightening his grip on the man. “What are you doing here?”
“You said we were going to get dinner,” he said, his hands shaking, sweat forming at the back of his neck. Already his curls were getting sweaty, and soon he’d feel like he’d just taken a shower, except his odor certainly wouldn’t be gone.
“Oh,” Thorin said, “you are right about that. I should’ve notified you that something came up.” He quickly pulled the trigger as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then began to drag the body away with him from the side door of his office. He turned to face Bilbo, a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. “I’ll be out in a few minutes, just sit and relax, alright?”
Bilbo took a quick walk around Thorin’s office, checking to see if there was anything else suspicious about the place. All that he saw were pictures on his desk of him (and there were lots like that), his nephews and sister, and a picture of Frodo.
Frodo, Bilbo thought, remembering when he’d let him come see Thorin once. He was glad that he no longer lived on the same street as his young cousin, allowing him to be just a tiny bit farther from this madman. But the downside of it was that Bilbo was closer, closer than he now wished to be, with this person who killed as one would make a new pot of Earl Grey tea. He hadn’t even shown the slightest sign of regret. Why had he agreed to move in with Thorin?
Because you hadn’t seen this coming, said a little voice inside of his head. Why would you? He seemed normal because that’s what he wanted you to see.
~
They’d met casually, at a coffee shop of all places. Bilbo had been there typing away at his old laptop, writing what had been his latest story at the time, about a recent outbreak of murders in the cities, all totally unrelated. He’d drank about seven or eight cups of coffee while doing that, and Thorin had sat next to him busy on his own laptop. He only drank about two cups of coffee. Somewhere along the line the two had struck up a conversation, casual things such as why they were there and how much longer they would be.
“Work,” Thorin had said, not bothering to elaborate. Bilbo hadn’t asked any questions of it at the time, presuming that it just meant that he was a bit stressed out about what he was doing to talk about it. “And what are you doing? You can’t seem to stop tapping away at those keys.”
Bilbo had given him a weak laugh, then had taken another sip of his hot, bitter coffee. “I’m a writer,” he’d said. “I was hired to write about the recent murders around here. I’ll admit, I don’t normally do crime, but I need something to pass the time.”
“Did you take it because you needed the money?” Thorin asked. He had been quite well dressed, and just the clothes on him made him look like a king surrounded by mere peasants.
“No,” Bilbo said. “I am actually quite financially stable, and I’m in a good middle-class position, but I do get bored sometimes and take up various hired jobs. I’m just waiting for someone to buy a book series that I’ve been trying to sell.”
“You wrote a book?” His sapphire blue eyes widened.
“It’s a collection of poetry,” he said. “I was inspired by various greats, from the classic Whitman, to the darker Poe, to the both lighthearted and yet haunting Atwood, and even to various authors who I had never seen pull off poetry before. My mother, bless her dead soul, got me into it when I was a boy. She was an English teacher, and when I was just barely out of my diapers she was already reading me Dickenson to bed.” He chuckled, remembering her softly reading it to him as his eyes began to flutter in the dark. For just a moment he was thinking about his mother and not feeling sad or worn out, something he hadn’t felt since her passing a few years before, unexpectedly from stage three breast cancer; had it been diagnosed earlier she would likely still be alive and happy.
Thorin had looked throughout the entire thing as if he had no idea what he was saying. Bilbo imagined him wondering who Whitman, Poe, Atwood, and Dickenson were, and they were the more well-known poets. Had he mentioned more underground ones they probably would’ve gone right over Thorin’s head.
“You seem to be quite the coffee addict,” Thorin had commented when Bilbo had gotten his fourth cup. “Do you not plan on sleeping tonight?”
Bilbo had rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “I just need to keep my energy up.” The truth was, he had long since finished his project and emailed it to the current person hiring him, and had decided to stick around to speak with Thorin. Bilbo usually got nervous around people and didn’t naturally talk to many, but talking to Thorin was as natural to him as putting on a coat or tying his shoelaces.
Thorin took a sip of his own coffee, a rather short one.
Once Bilbo got his, he immediately began slurping it down. How good it tasted, and how it kept him going! If it weren’t for this then he’d be as worn out as his father had been after a long day of teaching at the University of the Shire when he was still alive, back when Bilbo had been but a late teenager, just a hair’s length away from being in his twenties.
Their conversation had changed from work and poetry from their personal lives, both admitting to be single but never imagining what those simple statements would end up causing. Next they’d discussed family, and Bilbo had mentioned little Frodo, who at the time hadn’t even had his fifth birthday yet. Thorin had mentioned his nephews, who he had casually referred to as his heirs, but Bilbo had thought it just had to do with the fact that he had no children of his own. They’d gone onto discuss crime in the city, back before Bilbo knew that Thorin was causing part of it and allowing even more of it to continue.
Bilbo had ordered another cup of coffee, his hands shaking in glee and because of caffeine as he took a sip of it.
“You’re addicted,” Thorin had joked, a twinkle in his eyes.
Bilbo smiled. “Well, what can I say?”
It had been hours, with Bilbo ordering cup after cup of coffee, the two continuing to speak. At the time it had seemed that they would never run out of conversation, and they jumped from one conversation to the other. In one moment Bilbo would be discussing the meanings behind each of his poems-some about feelings that he didn’t understand, others about grief including all of its stages that ripped him apart seemingly limb by limb, to the few happy poems put in here and there, though they were often overshadowed by the more depressing poems.
But eventually Thorin just gave him his phone number, a smile on his face. “I have to go,” he explained. “But thank you so much for this conversation; it was perhaps the most delightful thing to happen to me in a long, long time.”
Bilbo smiled up at him. “I return the same to you, Thorin Durin.”
That night, he went home and wrote the longest, happiest poem he ever had. When he asked a friend of his to look over it, they’d asked if it was a love poem, and if it was, who it was for. He’d replied that no, it was not a love poem, but deep down he knew that he was lying. At the very least it was a poem of infatuation, something he hadn’t felt in a long time because of most partners finding one reason or the other to leave him no matter how perfect he tried to be for them. Bilbo hadn’t had to act normal around Thorin, he just had to be himself, which was incredibly refreshing, and one of the best feelings that Bilbo had ever felt in his life.
~
Their first date had happened only three weeks after they became friends, but Bilbo had taken no hesitations when Thorin had asked for him to come. Donning his best clothes, he’d gone with Thorin to an Italian restaurant in town. Their meal had been fine, three different pastas with breadsticks, along with a delicious chocolate dessert, and finally some coffee to gulp everything down in. Thorin had jokingly aske d if he should order one for him and fifteen ti twenty for Bilbo.
“I do not drink that much!” Bilbo had defended.
Thorin had raised his dark eyebrow, the sparkle in his blue eyes returning. It always seemed to come to him whenever he was around Bilbo. And just like before they had a long, vivid conversation. Only one thing was rarely discussed, and that was Thorin’s job. He’d made a few comments about it, was always very quick and with as few words as possible. It had ended up leaving Bilbo even more confused than he’d been before he asked the questions.
That night, Bilbo had had his first kiss in a long time. It had been warm and passionate, everything that he had missed and everything that he had never been able to have until now. His heart sank when it ended.
Thorin had ran his thumb along Bilbo’s smooth cheek, which contrasted with Thorin’s bearded face. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he said. “It feels so strange, but I also feel like the happiest person in the world.”
Bilbo smiled. “Me too,” he said, “me too.”
And he wasn’t lying.
They’d done it again, and it was like their last one, except increased by ten percent. Bilbo felt like he had the entire world in his palms when that happened, and he knew that there was nothing else that he could ever want in his life.
And Thorin had showered him in gifts. At first Bilbo had marked it as something he did in hopes of keeping his affection, though he wondered why Thorin would think that he was losing him. His first gift had been a new laptop, one that must have cost him at least one-thousand and two-hundred dollars at the bare minimum. Bilbo had questioned why he’d given such an expensive object to him, and Thorin had responded with a shrug that he’d seen how old his old one had been and that he looked like he needed a new one. Next he’d gotten him a new smart phone, claiming that he’d done it just out of the kindness of his heart.
“Am I not allowed to do something kind for you?” the dwarf joked.
Bilbo smiled. “Thank you so much.”
Next they’d been things Bilbo could have never imagined being able to afford, such as caviar dinners or electronics only available only to those at the top of the economic food chain. Other times he’d simply gotten him books of poetry, claiming that it would help him as he thought about all of his poems. When Bilbo had asked about ways of repaying him, he’d just laughed and said that he’d like a kiss. Oh, and did he get quite a kiss. . .
Bilbo had guessed that his job had to do with working an office, probably a higher up position considering the kind of suits he wore. He knew it bothered Thorin to ask him about it, and as always he’d blamed it on work related stress, so of course he never mentioned it. Thorin always seemed to unwind around Bilbo, and on the rare times he saw him with others he could sense a tension between him and everyone else, as if they realized that his orders must be followed without a single complaint or question.
He’d met his nephews, two playful yet serious boys, Kili being about eighteen or nineteen and his older brother about twenty-one or twenty-two, who seemed to both admire and fear their uncle. His sister had been a rather smart woman, who had discussed economics with Bilbo for a good amount of time. His friends were all kind men, who also all were dressed in the finest suits around. He tried to not let his more kept together and strict side show to Bilbo, but he couldn’t hide it forever.
And then one day Bilbo had been asked to come live with Thorin.
“We’ve been dating,” he said, “and it just seems like the natural next step.”
Bilbo nodded. “I’d love that, so long as you don’t hog the covers like you normally do.”
He whispered into Bilbo’s ears, “When you move in the two of us won’t have a need for covers.”
Bilbo’s cheeks had turned hot and a bright tomato shade of red. “Oh,” he’d said, “that sounds delightful.”
Thorin had smirked. “It’ll be even better when you experience it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the two boys treat you fairly or they’ll regret ever being born.” At the time, Bilbo had seen the line as being nothing but a joke.
Thorin had helped Bilbo sell his home on Bag End Avenue, then helped him get all of the things he hadn’t given away or sold to his home. He had a spare room for himself, but it mainly held his material possessions. Thorin’s room was, for obvious reasons, where Bilbo slept. It was ten times as big as his room at Bag End had been, and it had been a rather nice house. Thorin seemed to have an endless flow of money, and as always, Bilbo never questioned it out of fear of making him angry.
His room smelled of his cologne, a sweet, musky smell. It was rather neat, and Bilbo easily found room to put his own dresser. The walls were painted a dark grey color, the floor a light color carpet, though it was hard to tell what color it was because it always seemed to change due to the lighting. It was nothing like his old room, which had been covered in paintings that he’d gotten at art shows to support artists that nearly were starving, but they still had kept doing what they did best because they loved it so much, and their art clearly showed it. He’d given those to Frodo because he’d always been amazed by them.
It had been a rather smooth transition from living on his own to with Thorin and his family. Bilbo and Dis became close friends, even to where she would read his poetry. He was lucky enough to get it published in multiple independent poetry magazines after she suggested he submit them. The paycheck hadn’t been much, but getting his work out there to the world was what made it worth it. Now perhaps when someone thought of poetry, they would think of a poem by Bilbo. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed the paycheck when he had Thorin, who seemed to sweat money.
Bilbo seemed to have many more ideas for poems now, and they tended to be happier, and on the now rare times when they were sad, they had a dash of hope thrown into them for the reader. He had rarely done that before.
He loved his new life. It was everything he’d never known that he’d wanted, but it was the greatest thing that he was sure that he’d ever encounter. His past relationships didn’t even come a tenth of the way to what he had with Thorin. It was warm and soft, and smelled like Thorin’s cologne. He couldn’t be sad about his parents’ deaths any longer because he knew that wherever they were, they were looking down at him and smiling, finally having gotten into a relationship. His mother had encouraged him to get into some years before, but like always they would leave Bilbo to pick up the pieces and wonder just what it was that he did wrong. After a while the relationships had happened less and less, and he’d kept his heart to himself, hoarding it where only he could find and get to it. But Thorin, oh Thorin, had broken through his shell and taken Bilbo’s heart with him, and Bilbo was more than happy to let him keep it. If anyone would care for it and treat it like the fragile object it was, it was Thorin.
Or at least that was how it used to be.
~
Bilbo tried to relax, he really did, but no matter what he did-deep breathing, thinking calm thoughts, and trying to get his thoughts back in order. Thorin was a murderer and from what Bilbo could tell he didn’t care if he robbed people of their lives.
He is never getting near Frodo again, Bilbo thought. Not while I’m still alive.
He didn’t want him anywhere near the poor boy, as if he’d somehow give his little cousin a virus that would make him grow up to be just like Thorin. He shivered, having a terrible image of Frodo like Fili and Kili in his mind.
When Thorin came back in, there was a genuine smile on his place. “I’m actually quite reassured about this,” he said, putting his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder and sitting down next to him. He gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. “I’ve been so sick and tired of lying to you about what I’ve been doing.”
“So you aren’t one of the top in a company?” Bilbo asked, a lump forming in his throat.
Thorin sighed. “Well, yes, I am, but I am also in the business of making other things happen. It’s nothing too big, just something that I do. Don’t worry about it.”
Bilbo nodded.
“Are you worried?” he asked. “That was why sometimes I needed you to have others with you, just to make sure nothing happened to you.”
Bilbo nodded, remembering the times when he’d make one of his friends stay close with him. “Yes, I understand. I’m not angry.” He gave him a rather weak smile. “It actually explains a lot.”
Thorin smiled, then patted Bilbo on the back before rubbing his hand through Bilbo’s thick head of caramel colored curls. “I knew that you’d understand, Bilbo.”
And Bilbo did understand. He couldn’t just leave, not now, not after he knew the truth. He had two choices: A) to continue acting as though he loved Thorin, though anything he felt for him had now disappeared, replaced by fear, or B) leave Thorin and have him or one of his men kill him and likely his family, even little Frodo. This was more binding than any marriage contract-it was something that really went throughout his entire life.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, then told him that he was glad that at least that secret was done with. “I’ll admit, I never expected that,” he said, “but I can’t say I really expected much of anything.”
And then Thorin kissed him, and it felt just like it had before, but it couldn’t make Bilbo happy. He was too busy worrying about what might happen to him unless he did everything in his power to keep on Thorin’s good side. Perhaps he could find a way to compromise. . . No, all he could do was keep the act up and hoped that it would last. If not, well, he didn't want to think about that.