He is so pretty. Kili's never seen anyone so soft before. Oh sure there'd been humans, and dwarfs he'd managed to squeeze in a corner of a tavern occasionally. But there'd never been anyone so soft. When he looked at the Halfling all he could imagine was burying his fingers in his curls and tugging him closer, drowning in smell and the sensation of right.

When Kili looked at Bilbo…Oh when he had a chance to properly take him in, drink his fill of the copper of his strands, the curve of his back, the smile. He got drunk. He got drunk, and he drank and drank, and couldn't stop. It's like there just wasn't enough. One more. One more smile. One more touch, burning his skin. One more caress of his fingers as they grazed his while passing him a bowl at dinner. Just one more, oh please.

He sees his uncle. So mighty and powerful. And so pathetic. Kili knows that Thorin wants the hobbit just as much if not more then him. But he does nothing about it. Even when Kili sees the other staring back at the older dwarf when his back is turned, expectation in his gaze. He doesn't even make an effort. He just glances and tears his eyes away moments, seconds later. Never lingering. Not like him. Not like Kili.

There is bravery and foolishness in young, and Kili is all of these things and more. He is foolish when he sits next to Bilbo bedroll at night, and runs his fingers across the soft skin ever so lightly. But he is brave at it, for no one else dares to do the same. They all see his looks. The warning in them. The words that say STAY AWAY! The hobbit is not theirs to touch.

When Kili finds out how old Bilbo is he is stunned. He though there was never a chance. Oh, he'd imagined it. Imagined a lot of things. But the blasted laws of his kin! One may not take a partner younger or older than 30 years of them. It was made by their ancestors when the land was still new, and the dwarf population small, and there were too many elves around. The elders did not want to interbreed with different species. And since no one would consider a human a right mate, and elves were all a lot older then any of them, this law took place. No older or younger they said. Well they fit just in. Fili was too old and too set on becoming a proper heir to his uncle. Ori was the right age, but too busy pining after Dwalin. But him! Kili was just there. A tight window of opportunity, but he was still within his right to claim.

So one night, a few days after the talk in front of the fire; Kili takes his bedroll and settles it next to Bilbo's. He looks into his brother's eyes and meets them with a raised brow. Fili just smiles and settles next to the Ri brothers, as nights are cold, and heat is precious. Kili then throws a glance over the rest of the company, meeting every stare. None oppose. Finally his gaze settles on Thorin, and for once in his life. For once. For the very first time, he is delighted to see anguish in his uncle's eyes. Because he too knows the laws. And he knows well enough that Kili is within his right to claim. And even without a kingdom a King must oversee the rules being followed. And so Kili meets the fierce eyes of one he respects most in this world. And smiles with a grin full of teeth.

Thorin looks away and Kili sits on the bedroll, waits for the Halfling to come back to his and waits. Soon he is rewarded by his patience with the sight of Bilbo with a cloth over his wet curls, coming back from washing up at the stream. He sees the confused look send to the Company and then smiles hesitantly towards Kili, sitting down.

"What's this then? Don't you usually settle next to Fili?" asks Bilbo with a little curve to his lip, as he continues to dry his hair.

"Not tonight." Answers Kili as he stares mesmerized at the hobbit's actions. He waits a heartbeat and then snatches the cloth away from him, and settles it around the hobbit's shoulders, placing his hands on top, and turning the other so he is facing him, with his back to the rest of the dwarves.

"Let me help you with that" He says

"Oh no! I couldn't" tries to protest Bilbo, but it is thwarted by the feeling of fingers in his hair, and the damp cloth running over it, slowly, gently drying him up.

Bilbo doesn't really understand what is happening, but he accepts the gesture and relaxes into the skilled hands of the young dwarf. Maybe he's being nice, thinks he. And it is. It is very very nice. Kili is gentle, but insistent to make sure that no hair is left dripping, and so it takes him a while to finish the process. And by then Bilbo is relaxed and content. He hadn't experienced a feeling like this in a very long time. Life as a bachelor had its downs that way, especially in a place like Shire. It really wasn't the most free-spirited place in regards to relations of such sort.

Slowly, so very slowly, he feels that the cloth was gone, and there were only the hard callused fingers running over his head. Smoothing down knots, untangling any messes, digging softly but unwaveringly into his scalp. Raising his eyes at Kili, Bilbo's breathe catches in his throat at the look of raw hunger in there. No one has ever looked at him like that. Not even those who had come to court him back in Hobbiton; and being the heir to Ban End and his not too shabby looks had ensured that there were plenty of those. And now here he is. Sitting on a beaten down bedroll, in the middle of nowhere, with fingers running through his curls, and eyes of molten russet staring at him. And as he stares back, unabashed, confused at the face of his own sudden bravado, Bilbo doesn't notice that the desire he had felt for Thorin is waning, and tittering, and is being pushed aside by the charge of emotion he is being faced with.

So deep is the glance, and relaxing the silence and comfort that the two are engaging in, that neither noticed a sorrow-filled glance Thorin throws in their direction, holds for a moment, and then yanks back hard, sealing it in, promising to never let if surface again. He catches Balin's eye and the old dwarf nods at him, approval shining through. For he is King. And a King must uphold the laws. Especially one of the oldest of them all.