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localgrem1in · 11 days

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For the kiss prompt, maybe 10 or 30?

Hihi!!! I think I'll do a mix of the two because they're mix and matchable. like legos Comfort + Desperate, An Outlaw Called Wyrm TW: Period-Typical Gun Violence, Kind of Graphic Depictions of that gun violence

Word Count: 2570

Send me more kissy prompts!

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Bilbo barely paid any mind to the hotel when they entered. Through his exhaustion, he saw only flashes of warm brown and gold from oil lamps, and perhaps the blue of the deepest night through the windows Gandalf spoke with who he assumed was the owner. He didn't know who he would be shacked with that night but he didn't very much care- all that he cared about, truly, was getting that warm bath he had been promised upon riding into town and getting some shut-eye in a bed that wasn't either bug-infested or a sleeping mat on the hard ground. He stretched as he slowly followed the rest of the company, keeping his gaze down so as not to make eye contact with them. He had felt quite unable to speak to the rest of his party or even to meet their concerned glances for the entirety of the ride. Or, rather, the concerned glances that were also accompanied by the fleeting ire that seemed to be thrown his way every so often by the brooding outlaw riding at their helm. He sighed, feeling the new weight of the acquired revolver in its stolen holster. Not that the man he had taken it from would ever need it again, let alone report the theft. There was something about the presence of it that truly unsettled him; whenever he shifted a bit and felt it on his hip he shivered, remembering the events of dawn. Pulling the trigger had felt like the easiest thing in the world- the bullet had been right between the eyes. If you measured the distance between the brute's eyebrows and found the exact middle, there would be a bleeding hole where Bilbo's bullet had found its mark.

As he made it to the top of the stairs, he tried to banish the thoughts from his mind. The thoughts of that shocked, dead-eyed stare from the man he had killed before ever learning his name. Something about that didn't seem quite right, but he'd said nothing about it when Thorin found him lying there on the ground, propped up on his elbow and wide-eyed, blood spattered on his face like new freckles. He'd said nothing at all, really- Thorin's glares quieted anything he could say on the matter. Glóin murmured to tell him what room he'd be in and he simply nodded before heading down to the baths. The basin had been filled and Bofur had told him to take the first wash and Bilbo felt like he was being coddled, but for now he didn't care. He simply entered, stripped his sweat and blood-stained clothing, left it out in the hallway for one of the attendants to wash (as he'd been told they would) and sank into the basin with a heavy sigh, allowing the warm water to wash away the tension as well as the grime.

He felt a little bit more human the longer he stayed in the water. It had grown murky enough that he could not see below the surface; he pointedly ignored how, when he washed his face with the yellow sponge on the side-table, it came away a bit red. But this bath was something natural for him, something habitual. After the day he'd had... well. He rather thought he deserved a bath after all that. He looked down at the water and the thought came to his head that it was the same color as the eyes of the outlaw he'd killed. Bilbo had caught those eyes- they were almost hazel, but more specifically a sickly, light brown. Perhaps in his more innocent youth they might have sparkled in the sun and been called gold, but he'd grown into something of a monster with his two brothers and the gold had lost its luster. And he would grow no longer.

The redness on the sponge came back to him then. The blood that was not his own, shed by his hand. He had not killed before. He had not wanted to kill before. That had been the one contingency for his coming on this quest- he did not want to become a killer. He did not want to create the same evil that had taken his mother from him. But he had, and then had been encouraged to take a souvenir to remember the experience- a beautiful silver revolver that Gandalf told him would fit his palm. And the worst part about it was that it did- the weight was horrifyingly comfortable, the grip fitted just to his hand. It was yet another weapon of death that he had to carry- first, it was his mother's pistol. That, he had been alright to hold- most of the time he could pretend it was nothing more than a keepsake. But this? This was a gun that had been pointed to his head and the only reason it had not been the metaphorical executioner's ax was simply because Bilbo's finger had squeezed faster.

He felt his lungs heaving and he realized that his breath had been coming too quick, too shallow. He bent over himself in the bath, paying little mind to the water or its filth, and put his hands through his curls to grasp them, to try and focus on that instead of the guilt of stealing another's life; of the fear of nearly losing his own; of the horror of wiping someone else's blood from his face and trying to pretend that nothing was wrong with that. The panic put spots in his eyes, or maybe that was the lack of air. He tried to get a handle on himself but found that he could not. What was happening? His heart beat faster than it ever had, the blood in his ears too loud for him to hear the knocking at the washroom door. The edges of his vision went black- after all he had done to keep himself alive on that day, was he going to die to a heart attack in the bath? He felt like he was going to die.

"Bilbo?"

The one word, through the door, gave him pause. His breath hitched but he turned his head, hearing it again. The owner's identity came to him slowly through thoughts that mixed and melded, exhaustion and panic weighing heavily upon him; Thorin. It was Thorin. And Bilbo suddenly had the awful, aching urge to be held in the arms of the outlaw once more- just as they had in their bedrolls under the excuse of sharing warmth, just as they had in the last hotel, and for the first time in the one before that. Because Thorin's arms meant safety, despite the glares and the lack of conversation throughout the day. When night fell, he had come to realize, was when Thorin became how Bilbo knew him.

"Thorin," his voice was rough. "I'll- I'll be out in a moment."

There was a pause as if Thorin was considering something but simply called an affirmative. Bilbo, very shakily, stood and stepped out of the tub, pulling one of the hotel's robes off a hook and wrapping it around himself. He fumbled with the tie but was able to get it with some trial and error before taking a deep breath and stumbling toward the door. Everything about his body felt weak and useless. He felt like he had been the one shot rather than the dead man who now rotted in that clearing. He shook the image from his head as he put his hand on the doorknob, flinging water from his hair. No. He would not spiral again. He could not spiral again. All the emotion that was building in his chest would be gone come morning, he was sure- it would not do to show this weakness, especially to Thorin or the rest of the company. No, he had been enough of a drag on this journey- he would not saddle them with his own woes born from his inexperience.

He took another breath and opened the door. Expecting to see the hallway, you can understand his surprise when his eyes met the chest of Thorin Durinsen, who had, apparently, been waiting outside the washroom door.

"You waited," he said, though that was fairly evident by Thorin's presence. The outlaw peered down at him, his icy blue eyes no longer full of malice but rather concern and scrutiny. He was no longer wearing his coats and furs, stripped to a clean-looking linen shirt and trousers. His belt and holster remained- Bilbo had slept next to the man enough to know that the gun didn't come off until he was ready to get under the covers.

"And you look like shit," Thorin very astutely observed. Bilbo swallowed, not having the energy to make a quip in response.

"Yeah, well," Bilbo replied, his voice weak. He cleared his throat, but it did nothing. "What did you need me for?"

Thorin frowned, staring at him as if the answer to his question was obvious. "You've been in here an hour, Bilbo. I- We're worried."

"Worried?" Bilbo croaked, though he tried his very hardest not to croak. "Why would you be worried? I was- I was simply taking a long bath. It's been a while since- since I've had one, you know."

"Aye, this is true," Thorin said, "but you also killed a man for the first time today."

Bilbo blanched, feeling his forced easy expression falling. Thorin's brows twitched in response.

"And what of it?" Bilbo asked, feeling that panic rise once more in his chest. "I- what of it, Thorin?"

The outlaw's frown deepened. "Are... you alright?"

Stirring in his chest, the grief and anger and fear and panic created something of a perfect storm in him. One that was too much to reach his face beyond his eyes, and one that overwhelmed him so much that he needed something to stop it. Some balm that would freeze time and allow him to burn away some of it before it burned him first.

So, on little more than reflex, he reached out, grabbed Thorin's collar, and pulled him down into a kiss.

Kissing was nothing they hadn't done before. Sure, Bilbo had been rather shocked by the notion at first -- two men, he had been told, were not suited for such an act, but the way Thorin had pulled him close that first time made him think otherwise -- but in time he had come around to it. But this was something different. This was something urgent, something pleading, something desperate. He pulled Thorin closer and overbalanced himself, stumbling backward, but Thorin's hands were on his shoulders to steady him, then they were on his neck, in his damp curls.

It wasn't pretty- it was all clacking teeth and uncomfortable angles, but it had the desired effect. For a few blissful seconds as Thorin's hands found their way to Bilbo's hips, his mind went blank of any of the day's horrors. As his hands let go of Thorin's collar and found their way to his chest, Bilbo found he could think of nothing else but Thorin's lips. He couldn't breathe- he didn't want to breathe. But then Thorin's hands were on his shoulders again and he was pulling back; Bilbo whined and chased his lips, needing the calm that kissing Thorin provided. But Thorin pushed him away before Bilbo could nip his lower lip back and stared down at him, slightly panting, with the most concern he had ever seen in his eyes.

"Bilbo, talk to me."

A hand reached up to caress his face and a thumb swiped under his eye- it was then that Bilbo realized he had started crying, the tears rushing down his face in rivers.

"Oh," was all Bilbo could say before his breath hitched, he sniffed once, and then sobbed, curling in on himself. Thorin made a small noise and pulled him close, his hand on the back of Bilbo's head as the smaller man cried into Thorin's shoulder.

"I know," Thorin murmured. "I know."

And Bilbo didn't feel like Thorin was lying when he said that. Thorin did know. He knew what it was like to take a life for the first time, how it felt, what went through one's mind.

"I don't want to-"

"Shh," Thorin whispered into Bilbo's hair. "I know." The smaller man choked on another sob.

After awhile, Bilbo's cries abated and he pulled back, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He sniffed, and Thorin caressed his cheek again, causing Bilbo to drop his hands and look up.

"What's going through your mind, ghivashel?"

And there was one of those words that Bilbo didn't know the meaning of but loved all the same because of the tenderness with which they were said. He sighed shakily, leaning into Thorin's hand.

"I can't"- he swallowed thickly -"Can't we wait to speak on it? I don't think I..."

"I understand," Thorin said gently, rubbing his thumb along Bilbo's soft cheekbone. Bilbo sighed again, feeling the exhaustion catch up with him as he let his eyes flutter shut against the warmth of Thorin's palm. "You're dead on your feet. Let's go upstairs."

Bilbo nodded but felt cold as Thorin pulled his hand away. Still, he unsteadily followed his leader up the stairs and to the farthest room at the end of the hall, slightly away from the others. It seemed that it was Bilbo and Thorin together again that night. Not that Bilbo was complaining.

Thorin sat on the bed and pulled Bilbo to him, and with a gaze illuminated only by the high moon outside the window, he put his hands on either side of Bilbo's face and brought him down for a gentle kiss. One of tenderness and comfort. It was not a balm or something to wipe away the thoughts of the day- no, this was something that soothed them, a comfort not in the absence of his despair but in concern for it. It was like a damp, cool towel on a blisteringly hot day; like a mother holding a child through a thunderstorm, teaching them to count the time between a peal of thunder and the lightning that followed, listening as it traveled far away.

They did not talk any more that night. The next day, they would hang back in the hotel and speak in hushed tones as the rest of the company no doubt dined or went about their day of rest before they had to embark once more. Bilbo would tell Thorin of his plights, Thorin would relate and tell him that it got easier with time, though Bilbo had a hard time believing that. He would ask why Thorin glared at him the day before and Thorin would, rather bashfully, admit that the anger had been borne from worry. "I thought I'd lost you," he'd said, suddenly hoarse. Bilbo kissed the sorrow away as Thorin had done the night before.

But it was still night, and none of that had yet happened. Bilbo still sat on Thorin's lap, and the gentleness that gripped them in the darkness was necessary. Thorin's hands were kind, his lips upon Bilbo's were slow, and in spite of how the world had seemed to crash down around him, he felt at peace enough to lay within Thorin's arms and sleep.

#absolutely OBSESSED with the writing on this #the emotions are so SO good #thank you op 🙏#literally in love with this au already #the hobbit #thilbo #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #bagginshield fic #rb #reblog #not mine

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