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The Rarest Flower

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Bilbo and Thorin weren’t lovers. Not exactly. What they did and what they were to each other didn’t have a name or a label ascribed to it. They did not kiss in front of the company, and they did not profess their feelings aloud. What they shared between them was a quiet affair of fingers gently bumping together and quick kisses stolen under starlight, of secret caresses in the dark and soundless gasps. Even under the cover of night, Thorin's touches were shy and fumbling, completely at odds with the bold and heroic warrior Bilbo knew him to be.

He didn't want to be presumptuous, to assume he meant more to Thorin than he did. For all he knew their relationship was merely the product of excess adrenaline and the high from battle. Maybe Thorin needed an outlet for his frustration. Of course, Bilbo would hardly describe Thorin’s actions as frustrated. His touches were unfailingly gentle and tender, treating Bilbo as if he were something to be treasured rather than a convenient body to satisfy himself with.

Despite this, Thorin's temper could still be volatile. Sometimes Bilbo would catch him staring at him, and the dwarf's eyes would be filled with silent longing. Other times he was brisk and cold, as distant as the mountain they were trying to reach. Bilbo didn't know what to make of it, but he found that in the end he didn't care. If Thorin was going to spend half his time being a grump, then Bilbo would treasure the fleeting moments when he was not.

Like today, for instance. After losing most of their supplies in a confrontation with Orcs, the company split off to gather whatever supplies they could source from the forest.

“I'll stay with the hobbit,” Thorin announced. “Make sure he doesn't trip over any tree roots and accidentally give himself a concussion.”

Bilbo scowled when no one came to his defense. “Firstly, it's Bilbo, or Mister Baggins to you. Second, I may not have been as overly fond of the outdoors as other hobbits, but I can still manage just fine in the forest, thank you very much.”

His outburst earned him a few wayward smirks and muffled snickering from Fíli and Kíli, but Thorin didn't betray any sign he'd even been listening.

“Come,” he ordered, which was wholly unnecessary given how he proceeded to drag Bilbo into the copse of trees. “Gather up any edible plants you recognize. And non-poisonous moss. We could use moss for bandages if the need arises.”

“And just where will you be going?”

Thorin waved him off.

“I thought the point of partnering up was so that none of us were alone.”

“Do you trust me, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo swallowed tightly, taking a moment to measure his words. “With my life.”

A comely flush tinted Thorin’s cheeks. “Wait here. I'll return shortly.”

There wasn't much Bilbo could do other than resign himself to an untimely death. There were all manner of creatures in these parts, and surely some of them considered hobbit to be a rare delicacy. He surveyed his surroundings carefully before stooping to collect edible mushrooms and a variety of plants he recognized to be safe. His pack was almost overflowing when he heard the snap of a tree branch. He whirled around, but his panic dissolved at the sight of Thorin. Of course, once he determined what it was Thorin held in his hands, his panic returned, but for an entirely different reason.

Before Bilbo could utter a warning, Thorin thrust the carefully picked bundle in his face.

“I thought you might like them,” Thorin prattled on, oblivious to Bilbo's stricken expression. “You speak often of your garden at Bag End, and these are the nicest flowers I could find.”

Sweat beaded along the back of Bilbo’s neck while an urgent sort of heat dipped low in his gut. There were only two types of plant species Bilbo had heard of that were capable of eliciting such reactions. One was a mushroom that released a type of spore which often lead to be fatal. The other was the species of flower Thorin had just picked.

“Are they not to your liking?” Thorin asked. His face was so open and nervous, that any other time, Bilbo would have raised himself up on his tip toes and kissed him. Now he was tempted to drop to his knees and kiss him somewhere else.

“It’s—haah—the flower.” Bilbo had to gasp in a breath before he could finish his sentence. “When I smelled it—Thorin, don’t!”

Too late. Thorin inhaled the cloying scent himself, curiosity and confusion warring on his face. Oh, terrific. At least Bilbo wouldn’t be suffering alone. The transformation was almost comical in its swiftness. Thorin’s eyes became heavy-lidded, and the flush on his face darkened from the petal hue of nervousness to the bold crimson of arousal.

They reached for the other at roughly the same time, and the touch of Thorin’s flesh against his own was as soothing as a healing salve on an infected wound.

“I need you,” Thorin grunted, his voice low and rough. “Need to be inside you.”

Bilbo clamped down on his lower lip. He needed that too. He didn’t care what they did, he just needed to feel Thorin’s body—his hands, lips, tongue, cock—against him.

“Oh Thorin,” Bilbo’s voice came out reedy and thin. He tried to verbalize his need, but his tongue was useless and clumsy. He settled on a weak “please”.

Thorin’s cock fattened before his eyes, forming an obscene tent in his trousers. “Say it,” Thorin pleaded, his voice gruff with arousal. “Say I can have you.”

Was he an idiot? “Yes, yes of course,” Bilbo burst out.

Thorin’s mouth collided with his own, their teeth clacking loudly and their noses bumping. There was no finesse to the kiss. It was a firm, almost painful press of mouths, before Thorin captured Bilbo’s bottom lip between his own and gave a lewd suck that left him weak at the knees.

Thorin contented himself with sucking at Bilbo’s lip for a few moments longer, before thrusting his tongue in and out of Bilbo’s mouth. The act was so reminiscent of penetration, that the only apt description for what Thorin was doing was tongue-fucking.

All the oxygen seemed to have disappeared from the air. Bilbo felt deliciously lightheaded, nearly delirious from arousal. When they finally drew apart, it was to shed their clothes in a frenzy.

Their past encounters had never been like this. Their touches were always slow and timorous, exploratory and overly cautious, but now they were mired in urgency and lust. Bilbo found he quite liked witnessing Thorin unravel, seeing him as desperate, flushed, and sweat-slick now as he was in battle.

He’d never seen Thorin bare chested like this except when they bathed in the streams. He’d learned to explore Thorin’s chest at night by touch alone, but getting to see the hard planes of his chest and the contours of his stomach made his cock twitch in his trousers. He really was gorgeous.

Bilbo scrambled to rid himself of his now painfully tight trousers, even though the sight of his body was much less impressive than Thorin’s. His body was softer, rounded slightly from years of comfort and the luxury of home-cooked meals. Thorin’s body in contrast was muscular and firm—the product of a life spent rationing food and training to fight from dusk till dawn. Bilbo wanted to taste every inch of him with his tongue.

When Thorin finally stepped out of his trousers, Bilbo fixated immediately on his broad thighs and the heavy arousal that bobbed between. All he could think about was what a sweet, heavy mouthful that cock would make. He wanted to feel his lips stretch around the girth of Thorin, but he also needed the sweet ache of Thorin inside him.

Without waiting for confirmation, Bilbo threaded his fingers through Thorin’s hair, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he could reach, and rubbing his cheek along the rasp of Thorin’s beard. He felt impossibly hot all over, and he was certain his body temperature has risen by at least a few degrees.

“You’re burning up,” Thorin murmured, as if divining his thoughts.

“Mm, so are you.”

“We… we should do something. About it.”

Fevers were a common side-effect of the flower’s pollen, but from what Bilbo had read, the symptom wasn’t life-threatening. He was, however, quite certain he was going to die very soon if Thorin didn’t fuck him.

“Please tell me you have something with you.”

Thorin blinked slow and uncomprehending.

“Lubrication, Thorin,” Bilbo said shortly.

“I—oh. There’s oil in my burlap sack.” The dwarf’s fingers shook as he clumsily rooted around for the bottle of oil. Bilbo had put his mouth around Thorin before, had sucked him down and let him spend down his throat--and vice versa--but they’d never proceeded this far before.

“Please,” he urged him on. “I need you inside.”

Sucking in a tight breath, Thorin circled Bilbo’s entrance with a slick finger. They were both nearly vibrating with arousal, and it was all Bilbo could do not to sob when Thorin finally slid a finger inside him. Bilbo’s legs automatically spread wide to let Thorin push deeper, to touch him where his own fingers couldn’t quite reach.

“You’re so hot inside.”

Once Thorin’s comment penetrated the fog of lust shrouding Bilbo’s mind, the hobbit threw his head back and gave an entirely unabashed moan.

He thought having Thorin’s finger inside would make it better, would take the edge off his need, but it only made it worse. “More,” he gasped. “Now.”

Thorin didn’t waste any time working in a second finger and then a third. His fingers, so much longer and thicker than Bilbo’s own, reached deep inside him, dragging along his inner walls and circling the spot that made his entire body writhe with pleasure.

The movement of Thorin’s fingers soon went from tentative to intense, and he began to fuck him in earnest. Bilbo’s moans were so loud, he was probably creating quite a disturbance to the nearby wildlife, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to care.

Thorin dragged over that sensitive spot inside Bilbo, rubbing it mercilessly, until he was a gasping, spluttering mess.

Thorin’s scent filled Bilbo’s lungs--infusions of woodsmoke, leather, and pheromone-rich sweat, and he breathed him in greedily on every inhale, but even that wasn’t enough to get his fill.

“Now,” he urged. “Thorin, I’m ready.”

Thorin’s withdrew his fingertips, leaving a yawning, horrible emptiness in Bilbo’s body. Luckily, he wasted no time slicking his shaft with copious oil. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered shut as the blunt head of Thorin’s cock pressed against him, and, finding little resistance, began to sink inside.

Thorin guided himself in slowly, trembling with restraint, but that wasn’t at all what Bilbo wanted. He wanted the thick intrusion of Thorin’s cock to pound into him without reserve. Bilbo twined his fingers in Thorin’s long silver-streaked black hair and tugged him down until his full weight was on top of him. They both groaned at the sparks of sensation that went off from each point of contact. Thorin’s touch both electrified his senses, and soothed his skin like a balm.

“P-please,” Bilbo gasped, his tongue unable to articulate any further words. Already he felt like he was being incinerated. His skin was dewy with sweat, and the effects of the pollen made his body ache with need and arousal.

Thorin withdrew only a couple of inches, then shoved back in, and Bilbo’s breath was forced out of him.

“Need this,” Thorin grunted. “Need you.”

You have me, Bilbo’s brain instantly supplied, but he couldn’t translate the thought into words.

Thorin pumped in and out, tentatively at first, as if waiting for a sign to continue. When Bilbo merely threw his head back and moaned, Thorin increased his pace.

Thorin’s lips eventually returned to Bilbo’s skin, first simply breathing wet and open-mouthed against his neck, before latching onto Bilbo’s collarbone. The lewd sound of Thorin sucking at the juncture of his neck and shoulder filled the air, and was punctuated by the slap of their skin as they fucked.

Bilbo arched his neck under the assault. Thorin’s lips dropped lower to suck at Bilbo’s sensitive nipples, seemingly unable to detach his mouth even for a second.

Bilbo felt as if his brain was liquefying. The pleasure was incandescent, burning him up from the inside out.

”More,” he begged, even though he didn’t know if it was possible. “Harder.”

Thorin’s hips began deep undulations that made Bilbo feel the whole length of him. His cock dragged along the most sensitive parts of him, and Bilbo felt a responding flare between his legs.

It was too much. Too much, and not enough. His vision was blurring at the edges, and all he could make out was Thorin’s smudged form panting raggedly above him.

Bilbo’s hands scrabbled for purchase against the soil and tree roots. He yearned to get a hand around his own arousal, but he was shaking so thoroughly he doubted he’d be able to manage it at all. Still, he was so close. Close enough that his entire body was trembling in preparation of his release. Bilbo wasn’t aware of the high whimper he released until Thorin bid him to be quiet.

"I’ve got you little hobbit,” he assured in a gravel-rough voice. He wasted no time closing his large hand around Bilbo’s throbbing member, and giving it a few short tugs.

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as he came. He felt like he was exploding, the pollen’s aphrodisiacal effects heightening and prolonging everything--even the matter of his release. His cock jerked, splattering pulses of come between them as a wave of bliss crested over him.

Bilbo’s completion seemed to encourage Thorin, who gripped his hips with bruising strength and ground even deeper into him. It was too much, but so good, and even though Bilbo was oversensitive and overwhelmed, he never wanted it to stop. Their bodies fit so well together, and every thrust and movement of Thorin’s hips wrung even more pleasure from Bilbo’s exhausted body. Bilbo could tell Thorin’s own release was imminent when the dwarf went rigid. They moaned in unison as Thorin emptied deep inside Bilbo, filling him with pulses of warmth.

Thorin loosed a stream of curses, and it took Bilbo a second to realize the reason he couldn’t decipher them was because they were in Khuzdul.

“Mm,” he managed in response.

Sated and drugged on endorphins, the two fought to regain their breath. He could feel Thorin’s softening inside him. It was a strange sensation, and yet, he enjoyed the physical proof that they were still connected.

When Thorin eventually did pull away, Bilbo made a sound of such loss that the dwarf immediately tugged him against his chest. They stayed like that, entwined on the forest floor, chests so close that Thorin's heartbeat might as well be Bilbo’s own.

Thorin pressed his mouth into Bilbo's short, sweat-damp hair. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Bilbo dragged a languid hand through the mess of fluid on his naked torso. “I think what you do to me is quite obvious.”

Thorin huffed out a laugh. He sounded winded, as he did after a strenuous battle. “I may require further proof to be sure. Next time without the influence of those damned flowers.”

Bilbo tilted his head back to survey Thorin. “Why did you bring me those?”

Thorin’s entire body was covered in a sex flush, so it was difficult to tell, but Bilbo was almost certain he was blushing.

“I didn't know what they were!" he insisted.

"Oh really? So your plan wasn't to seduce me?"

"I’d never seen nor heard of those flowers before, but I wanted to gift you something rare and exotic, something you’d appreciate. As a gesture.”

"A romantic gesture?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin glared. "Yes, although I'm starting to question why."

Bilbo couldn't repress his smile any longer. He buried his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck, melding his lips to super-heated skin. “In the future, I'd settle for something more commonplace. Daisies, perhaps. Even dandelions.”

“I’ll endeavor to remember that,” Thorin vowed, before clutching him tighter.

“Or you could leave the flower picking to me,” Bilbo suggested.

“Ungrateful hobbit,” Thorin admonished, though Bilbo could hear the grin in his voice.

"Just being honest."

"Is that so?"

Even though he wanted nothing more than to stay curled up against Thorin on the forest floor, Bilbo forced himself upright and wordlessly plucked a tiny flower from a patch of wood sorrels. Thorin eyed him curiously, but did not protest when Bilbo tucked the delicate flower behind Thorin’s ear. “See? This one suits you perfectly. I'm much more suited to picking flowers.”

The colour on Thorin’s face deepened. Yes, Bilbo thought, he was definitely blushing.

“So ungrateful,” Thorin repeated softly, before pulling Bilbo down for another kiss.

When they returned to their encampment later that evening, the tiny flower was still in place behind Thorin’s ear. Bilbo wasn't sure if Thorin realized or not, but it was probably too much to hope it would become a permanent accessory for the dwarf. Even though it really did suit him.