Thank you to LizzieOakenshield for her insightful beta reading!

Bilbo and Thorin were walking together on the path winding up towards Bag End. It was their third day of being married, a hot day near the end of June, in the year 2942 of the Third Age. They were returning from their first walk around Hobbiton since arriving in the Shire for their honeymoon.

Thorin was smiling, more to himself, no doubt pleased with the attention he had received from the swarm of hobbitlings that had darted towards him from all corners of the farmers' market. They had positively ambushed him in a circle of gaping eyes and mouths. His stature and striking appearance made him stand out among Hobbits. All of them had been staring, some more cautiously than others. But the young ones had surely been attracted by his heroic air and the conspicuous sword that he still wore on his back. He had not been able to retreat without indulging a request from a particularly bright-eyed little boy to demonstrate his mastery of the blade by swinging it around at a few imaginary foes.

Bilbo, on the other hand, had met with less enthusiasm from his kin, and so he carried his basket of fresh vegetables in silence, his head slightly bowed. There had been a few friendly greetings directed at him, but most of the hobbits they had passed by on the road or met at the market had displayed a venomous rainbow of reactions, ranging from defensive suspicion to outright disdain. Even old farmer Grubb, who had offered his best greens with a smile, had thrown him a sour glance as Bilbo's gem-studded wedding ring had glinted wildly on his left hand extended to pay for the groceries. The general sentiment seemed to be that the formerly sensible Mr. Baggins had turned rotten and had made himself undesirable. It was not surprising, but it didn't hurt less because he had expected it. Bilbo was secretly glad of Thorin's playful show of swordsmanship. It might have dissuaded the hostile hobbits from ever putting their acrimony into words, at least in the presence of a big dwarf with a deadly weapon in his possession.

It was around lunch time when Bilbo opened his garden gate and stepped inside. Thorin went on to unlock the green round door of their home, and walked in. As Bilbo shut it behind him, Thorin hung his sword in the hanger near the entrance. Then he turned, his smile replaced by a simmering gaze. He came close, took the basket from the hobbit's hand and placed it on the floor. It was not hard to guess what he was planning.

Although Bilbo felt a little sick from the heat and especially from the unpleasant reunion with his fellow villagers, the memory of their very recent wedding night was still too fresh in his mind and body for him to pretend that he did not want to participate in that plan.

Thorin's hands slithered to his waist and began tugging his shirt out of his trousers. He started kissing his neck in slow, soft bites, his nose drawing in the scent of damp skin and hair.

"Thorin, I'm sweaty and disgusting," lamented Bilbo, bringing his hands up on the dwarf's forearms.

"You smell of heated grass," said Thorin. "I would hardly call that disgusting." His own voice sounded like something sweet left out in the sun to melt. Thorin stopped kissing and withdrew, giving Bilbo a soft look, hands steady on his hips. "Do not let them upset you," he said, lowering his forehead to the hobbit's. He took his left hand and clenched two fingers around his new wedding ring. "No being can break this, living or dead. This is sacred. You do know that."

"I do," said Bilbo, glancing up into his eyes, which were a quiet blue flame.

It had begun like this many times before, with them looking each other in the eye, Thorin struggling to rein in his passion, and Bilbo shying away from it. Things had changed, however. He was not afraid anymore, and he felt free to give to Thorin what he truly wanted. He could even let himself be thoroughly inflamed by the strong line of Thorin's nose and the thick dark beard covering his jawline and his recently washed hair, now damp from being out on a hot summer's day, and emanating an intoxicating scent of crushed almonds. He had been raised to believe that this was wrong and distasteful. He was surrounded by people who still believed that firmly. Yet, in reality, this was nothing but temptation in pure, unadulterated form, and it felt very right to give in to it.

If only it had not been for that heaviness in his stomach, which had now risen into his chest, in the guise of an ache much like what he would have felt if a spearhead had been trying to pierce through his bones. There was one way to kill the pain quickly and effectively. He kissed Thorin desperately. As his ears registered the clang of his door being locked on the world outside and its petty malice, Bilbo flung his arms over his head, allowing his shirt to be removed. Then he lowered them tightly around Thorin's neck, resuming the joining of their mouths as he was lifted from the ground.

The distance from the door to the main bedroom seemed to stretch as Thorin walked gingerly, entangled in Bilbo's arms, trying not to bump into anything. Arriving at last, Bilbo was deposited neatly on the bed, and his head plunged into a pillow. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The feeling of being laid on his back by Thorin filled him with a sudden current of impatience, but there was also a pool of tears gathering in his throat, constricting his breathing.

Fortunately, the tightness began to give way, and Bilbo opened his eyes again as he perceived Thorin crawling above him. He parted his legs, inviting him to rest his middle between them, and making himself into a willing prisoner under the dwarf's bulk. He even claimed his own hold on him by winding his legs around his hips. Thorin ground his groin into Bilbo as he settled between his closing thighs, in a gesture of brazen teasing which he had never performed openly before. Their marriage agreement of disclosing their deepest desires to one another seemed to have freed him of his own reserve. Bilbo was glad of it, and he felt the familiar excitement of stepping into new territory, but this time he was more than ready for the challenge. His heart fluttered again with that surging need to merge with Thorin as he sensed his definite arousal against him. He wanted to take his time, however, and Thorin himself appeared intent on lending his physique to patient exploration.

With trembling hands, Bilbo found the hem of his loose shirt and pulled it off of him slowly, revealing his upper body, shaped exquisitely by a lifetime of labour and fighting. The relics of not very old wounds were still visible here and there, as they always would have been, but Bilbo did not want to think of pain at that moment, of any kind. He only wanted to look, and touch, and smell. Thorin was sweaty too. The dark hair on his chest was clinging to his skin in small curls, but he didn't smell of anything disgusting either. His was an earthier scent, like dust after rain, and Bilbo drew in a deep breath, filling his nostrils with it and forgetting the balmy flavours of the market. As his hands and eyes glided down over the warm ripples of battle-hardened muscles, Thorin removed his trousers and underpants in one skilful move. Bilbo began to smile, as Thorin's rough palm grazed the length of his bare thigh. He also seemed interested in doing some patient exploration of his own, and Bilbo found that he did not feel at all ashamed to be naked in front of Thorin, even in daylight. It was a wonderfully tender touch, and he felt privileged by it.

Still, this was his turn to go where he had not gone before, and so his hands ventured to Thorin's trousers. He was about to do something he had wanted to do for a while, something that the people at the market would have found at least objectionable. Thorin smiled at him subtly as Bilbo unfastened the front of his trousers and moved his hands to the back. He pushed them down carefully and allowed himself time to savour the warm, firm roundness that they revealed. His fingers spread widely, and his arms stretched to their limit over the sloping lines of that deliciously fleshy part of Thorin's body, testing and delighting in its elasticity. As his hands travelled back up, he felt little sparks starting from his fingertips, rushing up his arms and dispersing into his entire body. Thorin lowered his forehead in challenging fashion. Without much hesitation, he reached to his back and slipped off his trousers, pushing them to the side.

With Thorin completely naked within his very grasp, Bilbo saw no more reasons to hold back the urge to discover that last but most tempting detail of his physical being. It would have surely damned him forever in the eyes of his kinsfolk, but the only permission that he still felt he needed was Thorin's own, and that was clear as crystal in his unwavering gaze. Taking another deep breath, his hand journeyed, curious and quivering, over the moist, hairy trail leading down from Thorin's belly button. Then it descended along his most intimate part, which Bilbo had never seen but which he had allowed to invade his body in exchange for a pleasure like no other. Now he wanted to inspect it before he let it invade him again. He found that it was just as sturdy and well-formed as the rest of Thorin. It was nicely full and firm and had a lovely velvety texture. It was so pleasing to the touch that he could not help stroking, an action which seemed to claim a grave toll on Thorin's composure. His chest heaved from a great intake of air, and he threw his head back with a satisfied smile, allowing himself to grow wholly rigid in Bilbo's hand. Bilbo felt his mouth water instantly, and his tongue snaked out on its own, wetting his lips. His fingers became bolder in their craving to hold and caress as they bore witness to that transformation, and they drove harder across the still silky surface, with special care around the ridges of blood veins swollen under the skin. Bilbo managed to muse briefly over the extraordinary nature of the situation and over his newfound courage. It was no small matter to be able to touch Thorin in that way. After all, he was a king, and the privacy of a king's body was something sacred, not to be disturbed except under very special circumstances. And yet, Bilbo felt that it was natural for him to do that because he loved Thorin so profoundly. He had earned his right to be the one to break his stoicism and fill his heart and body with a fire older and purer than the ill fever that he had carried inside for over a century.

There was a firestorm brewing indeed in Thorin's body, which contracted suddenly into what seemed like a version of himself carved in stone. He closed his eyes and moaned deeply, but he did not remove Bilbo's hand, even if it was clear from the occasional twitch of a wayward muscle that he was making a considerable effort to remain still. Instead, he lunged down at Bilbo and thrust his tongue into his mouth, delving for an immediate release of his impulse to react to the teasing of the hobbit's hand. Bilbo welcomed the utterly filthy kiss and the enticing scent coming from Thorin's damp hair by wrapping his own tongue around his. It did not feel at all filthy, however. This was the real Thorin, with his lustful dwarf nature, with fierce, earthly desires and not much qualm about indulging them. This was not wrong and it was not dirty. It was love in its raw state, unrestrained by conventions and rituals that made it less offensive to the world. As his tongue danced with Thorin's and his hand relished the hard, throbbing muscle between his legs, Bilbo thought only that it would have been foolish to let the beauty of this moment be tarnished by the ignorance of others. This was just between him and Thorin. It was their love and their right to seek bliss in one another.

And Thorin seemed to have reached the limit of his patience for finding it. The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started. He gave Bilbo a searing eye-to-eye as he shackled his wrist and pinned it to the bed, at his side. It hurt a bit, but Bilbo sustained his gaze as he made the necessary preparations, no longer ashamed of his eagerness. Not ashamed of the surge in his pulse, of his high-rising chest, or of the instinctive arching of his back.

He parted his legs wider and grinned in relief as Thorin eased himself inside of him, careful not to cause discomfort, but with enough confidence. He did not begin slowly and softly as he had done the previous night. His first incursion was a bold one, hitting that spot that made Bilbo lose grip on himself and knocking the air out of his lungs. His head dug into his pillow and his eyes rolled, losing clear sight. Thorin moved in sturdy thrusts, shooting bolts of unbridled sensation into his body, which felt more and more brittle. They had made love before, and it had always been delightful, but this, and the previous night were a different experience. He remembered Thorin's reassurance that their bond was sacred, with everything it implied. He had always thought of sacred things as immaterial notions beyond the grasp of worldly senses, but the part of Thorin's body that was burrowing inside of him now did not feel at all immaterial, and his senses were stretched to their most worldly end. His very bones were melting and every little hair on his body was pushed to stand erect and his skin was turning into a hot, molten surface. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was to keep gasping for air and murmur soft wails in between breaths.

"Goodness, Thorin," he said faintly, throwing am arm around the dwarf's shoulder as he leaned to kiss his neck. "Why have you been keeping this from me?"

"There had to be something left to discover on this special occasion," teased Thorin with a wicked grin that Bilbo sensed in the way his mouth widened over the skin of his neck.

The sassy retort was followed by an especially mighty push, which made Bilbo's head jerk back and his voice grow louder. If he had been more in control of himself, he would have returned an ironic glare, but it was impossible to react properly to Thorin's taunt at that moment.

He hung fluid as Thorin slipped a forearm under his back and lifted him slightly above the bed to ram his forehead into his chest. There was something even more overwhelming in being held like a rag doll by that powerful creature, and being entirely at his whim. The pleasure was now almost unbearable, but he managed to coax his hand into ascending to Thorin's head and into his hair. It was soaked at the roots. If he had had more of his wits about him, he would have worried about hurting him, as his fingers pulled like little iron springs, driven by the final overflow of his ecstasy. Thorin's head flung back with a deep groan, reaching completion a little earlier than he had planned, apparently. His body shook out of his control, and the arm supporting Bilbo gave way, letting him fall back against the bed, but staying attached and filling his lower half with a hot, liquid rush. Thorin remained suspended on his hands until his body stopped twitching and then collapsed on one side, taking Bilbo with him. He carefully drew out and then nestled his face into his chest again, his arms closing tightly around him.

"Sorry I pulled on your hair," whispered Bilbo, caressing the back of his head.

"Don't be," said Thorin, smiling and closing his eyes, settling more comfortably against Bilbo as if he had been a living pillow.

As Bilbo continued his caress, his ring sparkled again in the light of the early afternoon. The white sapphires and red rubies that were set into it looked particularly striking entangled in the dark of Thorin's hair.

They were both naked, their limbs entwined, sweat-covered, and sticky. They were both soiled by definition. And yet Bilbo felt oddly clean and light on the inside, all of his past worries washed clear.

Bilbo woke later to the sound of thunder and a biting chill. He opened his eyes and saw that Thorin was sleeping soundly, arms still relaxed around his waist, forehead still reclining against his chest. Bilbo's own arms were around the dwarf's back and his knee was wedged between his thighs. There was something endearing about having Thorin under his protection like that, although he was so much stronger and had even demonstrated his superior strength in what had essentially been a passionate attack on the integrity of Bilbo's body. But he had no intention to attack now. He had no intention at all, in fact, since he was not there in the waking world, where intentions existed. He was not even aware of his own strength at that moment and would have probably been late to react should someone have attacked him. He seemed to have entrusted Bilbo fully with his safety, and that made him feel very warm inside.

However, they were both bare, and the window of the bedroom was open, welcoming the nippy air of the storm inside. Bilbo raised his gaze to the window. Another round of thunder threatening to split the skies made him wince against himself. Thorin, on the other hand, continued to sleep undisturbed.

Bilbo removed himself as carefully as he could from his embrace and climbed out of bed. His first impulse was to put something on and close the window. Then he turned again to gaze at Thorin. He was lying on his side, one leg folded slightly over the other, the curves of his naked body waving in shadows and mounds of gleaming flesh under the dimmed light of the late afternoon. He was undoubtedly a beautiful sight to behold, and the thought of their recent passionate engagement still buzzed in Bilbo's brain, making him feel a bit woozy. Yet he looked so out of place, a beautiful, naked dwarf resting peacefully in Bilbo's old bed. It seemed like it was happening in another world and in another life, and certainly to another hobbit.

Reminded of Thorin's state of undress in the chilly room, Bilbo recollected his wits and went to his closet. He extracted a quilt and spread it over Thorin, although he suspected that he didn't really need it. The tilt of his head, however, drooping awkwardly against the bed, threatened to give him a sore neck upon waking up, so Bilbo lifted his head gently with his hand and pulled a small pillow underneath. Thorin still did not stir. He seemed quite content to remain asleep through thunder and mild fussing over his wellbeing.

Smiling to himself, Bilbo gathered that he was left on his own for a while. He proceeded to pick up their clothes from the floor and carried them into the bathroom, where he washed and dressed in a clean change of garments. Then he went to retrieve his basket from the door, where Thorin had left it. His groceries seemed to be intact. They were mostly vegetables, an item which would not have interested Thorin very much, but that Bilbo had been hungering for. The shade and the cool air from the rain had kept them from withering, so they were still good to eat. He collected the basket and trod into the kitchen, to enjoy its contents.

It was a few more hours before Thorin joined him again. Bilbo was outside on his bench, sitting quietly and smiling at the clearing horizon, a plate with two remaining sandwiches at his side. The door opened with a mild clang, and Thorin appeared in its frame, bowing his head as he stepped outside into the crisp evening air. He seemed slightly melancholic, or perhaps he was just drowsy. He was dressed in humble attire, and his hair was loose, except for his braided beard. Bilbo gestured for him to sit down, and he obliged, smiling sweetly.

"Hungry?" asked Bilbo, indicating the plate that was now between them.

Thorin gazed at him as if he had been transparent and his question had been mute. He lowered his eyes and took Bilbo's hand into both of his, then brought it up to his lips and kissed it. Something very serious was taking place there, and Bilbo's eyes grew with surprise. When Thorin looked back at him, still holding his hand with undeniable reverence, his eyes showed a mist of drowsiness.

He spoke softly. "I feel… clean, of anguish and madness. Because of you. I - "

Bilbo silenced him with a kiss, not caring one bit that little curious hobbit eyes were surely watching. He had to stop himself or both of them from bursting into tears. And he had something to say in response to Thorin's declaration, but words would not have presented themselves as needed, and it would have taken too many of them anyway. A caress of his furry jaw and a kiss seemed like the shorter, more eloquent route to telling Thorin that he also loved him more than he could have expressed in any verbal form. It was a very tender kiss and when it ended, their foreheads remained glued together for a while, until Bilbo remembered the plate of sandwiches between them.

He took it in his hand and presented it to Thorin, who smiled again, somewhat timidly. "Want one?" asked Bilbo, smiling back, encouraging. Thorin conceded that he had at least some trace of an appetite and collected one of the two remaining sandwiches. "I'll go make some more," said Bilbo, getting up as Thorin bit into the sandwich in his very undwarvish manner. With the plate in one hand, Bilbo kissed the top of his head, and then stepped inside.

His back to the door, Bilbo had to stand there and think for a while. What had just happened seemed unreal. If Thorin was feeling clean, Bilbo felt like the world was new. It always felt like that after a good summer storm, when the air was fresh and the grass washed clear of dirt, but now it was for deeper reasons. Remembering that Thorin was waiting with an empty dwarf stomach, in spite of his never yielding dignity in the face of that particular problem, Bilbo set his feet into moving towards the kitchen, to continue his stunned musings there. As he worked on the food, he almost expected everything that had happened to him since leaving home over a year earlier to have been a dream. He expected to walk out into his garden with a plateful of sandwiches, convinced that there was a very imposing dwarf there to whom he was actually married and who was a bit too important to be allowed to starve, only to discover that it had only been a wild and quite inappropriate fantasy, and that Thorin had of course vanished into the folds of reality.

Bilbo raised a shaking hand over the handle of his door, careful not to drop the plate. He wanted that fantasy, however wild and inappropriate, to be real, for he had lived in it long enough to know that it was better than anything so-called reality had to offer. Drawing a breath, he opened the door and peered outside. Thorin was still there, having long finished his sandwich. He was leaning against the back of the bench, his hands gathered in his lap, staring out into the distance. His material existence was further proven by the fact that he turned to the creak of the opening door. He smiled generously, giving credence to Bilbo's belief that they were very close with each other. He even accepted another sandwich with more enthusiasm than before and started chewing on it with more gusto, as Bilbo sat back down at his side.

Perhaps it was no fantasy at all, and perhaps even that wonderful, otherworldly experience that he had shared earlier with Thorin had been real. If anything was likely not of the same world that contained everything else he considered to be real, such as smoking pipe weed on one's porch, or having tea, or even the very concrete act of putting a sword through a giant spider's foul belly, it was that. As Bilbo relaxed against the back of the same bench that Thorin was occupying, he started to mellow into a growing confidence that the otherworldly wonder might happen again.