Written for the hobbit kink meme: "Kili/Bilbo: Literally anything. Perhaps Kili was especially impressed with Bilbo after the whole mountain troll situation." Thanks, anon for the lovely, wide open prompt!

Rivendell is a dream of a place. Bilbo thinks that he could walk the bridges and the halls and the yards of soft grass until he's gray and never grow tired of them. It does not remind him of his home. It's too otherworldly for that, and the scented breeze carries aromas that are alien to him. The homey smell of baking bread is overtaken by the many heady incenses burned by the Elves and he is in Rivendell even with his toes in the grass and his eyes firmly shut.

"You seem to be having the most awful daydream," says a familiar voice close beside him. "Or you're trying not to be sick."

Bilbo sighs and opens an eye, meeting the friendly gaze of Kíli with one sideways glance. The young dwarf is clean and hale again, his brown hair shining and neatly brushed. He has a smile on his face that he's worn quite a bit lately. If Rivendell is making Bilbo homesick it seems to be making Kíli into a bit of a fool. He chats with anyone who will listen, though not about politics, and he eats and drinks and sings freely with the Elves.

"I was playing at being back home. Only the smells were getting in the way of it," Bilbo admits, closing his eye again. Kíli doesn't answer but, after a moment has gone by, Bilbo opens both eyes to find him still standing there, watching.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow.

"The singing too," Kíli says after a pause. He looks away from Bilbo and watches the swaying grasses instead, his expression more bemused than Bilbo is accustomed to. "It sounds like it doesn't even belong in this world and it's all so sad. They can't even sing a drinking song without referring to some lost maiden. I wouldn't say it's bad to listen to, mind," he adds, waving around Bilbo at a passing she-elf with a sardonic look on her face. "Perfectly lovely, of course."

Bilbo does not smile but it takes some effort on his part. "Was there anything you needed?"

A curious cloud passes over Kíli's face and then is gone before Bilbo can identify it. Kíli's wide grin is back. "I was thinking we could teach you a bit about that troll's sword we found. It's a fine weapon and will serve you well if you know what fighting is about." Bilbo's confusion must be evident in his face because Kíli quickly begins elaborating. "I'm making assumptions, I suppose. You might be the finest sword arm in the Shire. We don't hear many tales of halfling swordsmen, is all, or halfling wars and I thought you might appreciate a bit of instruction from the finest swordsman in the company."

Feeling ever so slightly sassy at this interruption to his alone time, Bilbo answers, "and which one of you is that supposed to be? Your brother? Master Thorin?"

Kíli laughs and clutches his heart as though Bilbo's words have cut him there. "Well, you may have to settle for third best. Fourth, fifth..." He waves the matter away with a flick of his hand.

Bilbo feels an unanticipated rush of affection for the young dwarf. It isn't long before they are circling each other in the yard, equipped with sticks. Kíli moves with a compact sort of grace that Bilbo finds impossible to mimic but he makes a worthy effort, he thinks. He only manages to block one of Kíli's blows during the lesson but he comes through the experience unscathed and by the time the dwarf is satisfied they are both sweating in the crisp autumn air. He laughs at Bilbo's jokes and does not try to make him feel like a fool for his lackluster skills with a blade. Or stick.

Bilbo still thinks this expedition is a fool's errand and curses himself for rash decisions made early in the morning, but it's not so bad to have made a friend.

Kíli and his brother are nearly inseparable so Bilbo finds himself oddly pleased when the young dwarf chooses to engage him instead. He is, in general, a chatty, friendly sort but Bilbo can't help but notice the hours that Kíli seems to fill with Bilbo alone. Or as close as they ever get to it on the road. Sometimes he will walk nearly elbow to elbow with the hobbit and they will confide in each other woes over blistered feet and aching legs, or some amusing observation. Bilbo teaches him the names of birds and the uses for the plants they pass. Kíli discusses the finer points of archery and swordsmanship or teaches him old dwarven tales that often sound made up. Bilbo cannot bring himself to speak of the Shire most of the time. Remembering soft feather mattresses while anticipating a night on the rocky ground, or thinking of warm bread with nothing in his pack to eat is nearly painful.

As his knowledge of the flora around them grows, Kíli will occasionally snag a fresh sprig of mint, or some sweet flower for the two of them to chew on. It's nothing like dinner but it stops Bilbo's mouth from tasting so empty and dirty.

"This is an incredible plant," Kíli says during one of these interludes. Most of the party is several paces ahead of the pair of them and Bombur is several paces behind. He seems to speak more freely in moments like these that feel private even if they really are not. They are licking beads of sweet nectar from the white snowshroud flowers, clustered on a broken branch hanging from Kíli's belt. "If we could find one with the patience to harvest the stuff, I'd wager he could sell it as a drink."

"I'm certainly not him," Bilbo answers, reaching out to pluck one of the white flowers from the branch. He carefully pinches the green end until the delicate skin there breaks and leaks a tiny drop of clear, sweet liquid. "I imagine we could brew a lovely tea, though, if we gathered a few more."

"No sugar, no cream," Kíli laments.

Bilbo is attempting to come up with an answer or some solution that will make him look witty, or maybe pull that happy laugh from Kíli, but he doesn't get the chance to, anyway.

"Brother! Come tell Master Gandalf that tale about grandfather's water clock. He says he's never heard it."

"I can't believe it," Kíli answers, laughing, and quickens his pace to catch up with his brother and the wizard. Bilbo considers joining them.

He's not entirely sure why he ends up falling back with Bombur instead. Bombur isn't interested in licking snowshroud flowers and when Bilbo complains about the stitch in his back, the heavy set dwarf gives him a withering look and continues plodding along behind the company.

"There were only three babes born to my village this last year," Kíli says, one day, while Bilbo is telling him about the expectations placed on young male hobbits. Namely the marrying and the making of babies because he's generally all right with most of the rest of it.

"Really?" Bilbo can't imagine it. He can't count the number of children born in Hobbiton last season on both hands.

"Well, there aren't as many women, you see. All three of the babes I told you about were lads."

They're walking elbow to elbow again. Bilbo can feel Kíli's gaze on him as he considers this information and its implications. His head loads up with embarrassing questions and he spends a moment trying to figure out how he will ask them without embarrassing the dwarf as well.

"So... Not all dwarves get to... get married," is what he ends up saying.

Kíli gives him a funny look. "No," he says, slow and deliberate. "A lot of us don't... get married. To women."

Bilbo stops walking altogether. "What, really? So do you marry other dwarf men?"

Kíli's new expression is flabbergasted. "What? No. We just..." He stops and frowns and then leans in close and half whispers, "I thought we were speaking in metaphors!"

"Oh," Bilbo says. "I was going to try to but I hadn't come up with any yet." He goes over their conversation again in this new context. "Oh," he says again. "Are these... the... kind of metaphors I'm thinking of?"

"Well, now I'm so embarrassed I might ought to say no."

"No!" Bilbo's answer carries more urgency than either of them seem to have expected. Kíli gives Bilbo a long and searching look and Bilbo looks back into his warm brown eyes and hopes that the dwarf sees what it is he's searching for. Bilbo isn't sure what it is or what any of this means, but he hopes it's there for reasons that he doesn't have time to consider.

"Burglar!" Whatever is going on between the two of them is interrupted by a shout from Fíli, many paces ahead. Even Bombur has passed them by now. "Absconding with my little brother, are you?"

"I'm not," Bilbo shouts back, even though he suspects the question is rhetorical. "We're coming along directly."

They don't speak again while traveling that day. Bilbo feels awkward and it's rather obvious that Kíli does as well. Bilbo is reminded of why he's never cared for courting. The ones that he's interested in aren't proper and the ones that are proper aren't interesting.

The awkwardness seems gone by the next day. Kíli is relaxed and Bilbo relaxes. Things pass quietly until Bilbo wonders if that long, breathless moment had been nothing but a misunderstanding on his part. They had been speaking in metaphors, after all. Perhaps he had been implying only that... Bilbo can't even think of anything else and it frustrates him sometimes in the dark of night, that one moment waiting, unresolved, right at the edges of his thought.

Mirkwood drives any such worries from his mind. The forest is cloying and heavy to be in and there is no room between the anxiety and the fear for thoughts of incomplete moments or the curious fascination Bilbo feels for the young dwarf.

Sleeping in this place is impossible, as well, with his mind so full. It's utterly pitch black but it is not restful here. Bilbo has long since forced himself to stop staring back at the eyes gleaming in the trees around him and to stop jumping at every rustle of grass or leaves. That only means that he is doubly surprised when the rustling doesn't stop but instead grows closer and closer until it is right behind him. Bilbo's heart thumps in his chest and he's rather close to springing up and whipping out his elvish blade when he hears a quiet, familiar whisper.

"Bilbo?"

He doesn't turn over but, to his credit, Bilbo's voice is entirely calm when he responds. "Yes, Kíli?"

"Can you sleep?"

"Not if you're talking to me, I can't."

There is a pause. Bilbo wishes he could see the look on the young dwarf's face. "Did I wake you," Kíli wants to know, his voice apologetic..

"No," Bilbo says, finally rolling toward the sound of Kíli's voice. It is too dark in the woods to make out his features clearly even though Kíli is so close that Bilbo can smell him and feel the warmth of his body. "I couldn't sleep even without you talking to me."

Kíli shifts and Bilbo realizes that he's laying down beside him. His heart begins to thump again and he has to remind himself not to hold his breath.

"Is this all right," Kíli wants to know, his voice very close now, his breath warm in the space between them. Bilbo nods his head without even taking the time to consult himself.

"Yes," he whispers back. He will not remember later who initiated the contact, but they link their fingers together and, for a moment, that is enough. Kíli's hands are larger than his own and rough from years with the sword and the bow but they feel gentle in Bilbo's own smaller hands and the knowledge of what they are doing, however simple, sits like a warm fire in the pit of Bilbo's belly.

"I've wanted to kiss you for some time, now" Kíli admits, quietly, and Bilbo's breath catches in his throat, his fingers squeeze Kíli's just a little bit tighter.

"Well," he says after a moment, hoping that it'll sound witty and clever and maybe even make Kíli laugh, 'maybe you'd better get on with it, then."

Even if it isn't witty or clever, Kíli does laugh a bit, and he does actually get on with Bilbo's kiss. Bilbo supposes that'll have to be good enough for now.