Disclaimer - Not for profit, just for fun.

Thorin had been truly obsessed with few things in life, none more so than seeing to the safety of his people and getting them home. The bit of sickness in the middle of all that didn't count, as far as he was concerned; it was something few would ever dare mention, and he preferred it that way. Few things rankled him more than feeling shame, and he had it in excess, in regard to the incident. He owned up to what had happened, had made amends with words if nothing else, and that was all that needed to be done. There was no reason to dwell.

Beyond the mountain and his people, his family was also an obsession, seeing the boys taught well and kept safe. And then, there was the burglar. He set fire to Thorin in ways the Dwarf king didn't think possible. From the moment they'd met, Bilbo had been on his mind. In the beginning, Thorin liked to think it was entirely because he felt burdened by the small creature's presence, but he knew that wasn't it. In hindsight, he knew the moment he'd laid eyes on the soft curls, creamy skin, and sparkling eyes, the Hobbit had grasped his attention and held to it as firmly as the most precious piece of treasure.

The farther they traveled, the more he came to realize his obsession with the Hobbit, his growing attraction. It served only to anger him more that someone that was supposed to be useful, and had yet to actually be, was proving to be so large a distraction. Of course, it was only fair to take his frustrations on the matter out on Bilbo, and in the moment he'd feel justified in making Bilbo twitch and cower. Then the guilt would hit him, and he'd get all the madder, at himself more than anything.

It had been a vicious cycle, one thing leading to another, to another, and back around again.

The king had been so relieved at seeing Bilbo safe after he'd foolishly saved Thorin's life, the life of a Dwarf that had been bordering on cruel to him from the offset and even so terribly more so when it came to the cursed stone. The visit had been brief, just long enough for Thorin to express how sorry he truly was, and then Oin was there working on his wounds, as was Thranduil, of all people, and Bilbo had been in the way.

With the battle won and his people coming home from the Blue Mountains, Thorin was free to give more attention to the one thing he simply could not get off his mind; Bilbo. If only he could find his little burglar.

Against Oin's strict instructions to stay in bed and rest, though it had been nigh on three weeks since the battle, Thorin had looked over half the camp site at the base of the mountain, then into some of the mountain itself. It was slow going, because of his injuries and the fact that so many people wanted to speak with him. He was more than relieved when Dwalin had started following him about and chasing the well-wishers and congratulators off.

He was beginning to fear Bilbo had decided to leave. They'd not had much time to speak since he'd lay nearly dying after the battle. When he asked after the Hobbit, most weren't sure where he was, or hadn't seen him recently. The king's search began to become frantic, and he was beginning to make plans on finding a pony and riding for the Shire, as reckless and ludicrous as it probably was, about like questing to kill a dragon and claim his birthright back.

Finally, Dwalin had to force him back to his tent to rest and eat. He was too tired and still too weak to put up much resistance, though he wished he wasn't when he caught sight of Oin and Balin standing just outside their king's tent looking rather put out. It wasn't good if the cousins were both wishing to give him an earful. They didn't seem to care that he was now their king, not just an exiled prince. Ignoring them both, he went into his tent and sat down on his small bed, gripping the edge as the world spun around him.

"I don't know what you were thinking," Oin told him as he walked in and over to check his wounds. "Was nearly dying not enough for you?" He gave the king a sour look, which Thorin met with a steely gaze of his own.

"He's looking for the Hobbit," Dwalin informed them, speaking loud enough for Oin to hear without his trumpet. He had come to stand just inside the tent, arms crossed and his brother at his side.

Oin tutted and poked at the only wound he'd gotten uncovered, earning a grunt of pain and an annoyed growl from Thorin. "I saw him a little while ago. He was sitting with Kili."

Thorin suddenly felt like an idiot. He'd not thought to look with his nephews. Of course Bilbo would be concerned about them. "Dwalin."

"Aye, I'll fetch him then." The large Dwarf lowered his arms and turned to leave the tent.

"It's nearing time to start preparing the evening meal. If he's not with the lads, check with Bombur," Balin told his younger brother.

Dwalin grunted softly and left them.

They were all silent as Oin undressed all of Thorin's injuries. "At least you didn't pull any of the remaining stitching," the healer said as he poked and prodded the king some more. "I have a tea I want you to drink and a poultice to put on these. For now, I want them to get a little air, so you may as well get comfortable for a bit." He moved away from Thorin to gather the tea pot that sat beside the bed and carry it outside to make the tea.

Thorin sighed and shifted to get comfortable, wincing as this or that pulled or ached.

"You should have just asked someone to fetch the lad, Thorin." Balin moved over to sit on the small stool that was beside the bed.

"Probably," he answered, scowling at himself for not thinking about it properly. Most of the people he'd asked had not seen the Hobbit, but he'd also not thought to ask those that knew Bilbo best and might know where to find him, those who Bilbo would interact with on a regular basis.

Balin chuckled. "Our burglar's had you mixed up in so many knots since the moment you walked into his little hole it's been rather amusing to observe." The other Dwarf smirked at him.

Thorin gave him an unamused scowl before sighing softly. "He has, hasn't he?" He shook his head. "I just… need to speak with him. I need him to know, before he goes home."

"Before you lose him," Balin translated what Thorin meant. "Gandalf's already left. Bilbo declined returning with him. One of the Elves volunteered to see him home, when he is ready."

Thorin looked up sharply. He was pleased that Bilbo had not left already, but he was equally upset that he still seemed to be planning on it as well as the fact that an Elf would be taking him. Before he could comment on the matter, however, Oin came back in with his tea. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of it.

"Don't make that face, lad. You need to drink it. It doesn't smell that bad." He handed the cup over to the king.

Thorin grunted and downed the tea quickly, hissing as it scalded his tongue.

Oin looked thoroughly unimpressed with his haste and not at all sympathetic as he took the cup back and set it aside. "A king should know patience," he told him before turning to pick up a jar with a pale green paste inside. He began to smear it over the wounds, touch gentler than he looked to be capable of. It took him several minutes to get them all, and he left some to the open air while covering the worst of them.

Just as Oin was finishing up, the tent was opened by a large tattooed hand and Bilbo was ushered through, Dwalin following after him. Thorin paid no more mind to the healer or Balin, or even Dwalin, as his eyes landed on the Hobbit. There he was, well and whole, looking sheepish and uncertain as he took hesitant steps toward the king. Thorin frowned.

"I will not bite, Master Baggins, lest it be Oin for forcing his horrid tea upon me." He offered a small smile to the Hobbit, who looked surprised at his joke.

Oin huffed, standing close enough to have heard him in the relative quiet of the tent. "I'll make you drink a pint more this moment if you don't stop complaining about it," he grumbled before stalking out of the tent.

Balin stood and followed after him, pulling Dwalin behind him. Thorin was both grateful for the privacy but also somewhat intimidated, and didn't that ruffle his feathers. It was Bilbo. He had nothing to fear from the Hobbit, he hoped.

Bilbo shuffled his feet a moment then walked over to sit where Balin had been. "You're feeling well?" He asked.

"Aye." Thorin gave a small nod. "You fare well?" He looked him over subtly, not seeing any lasting injury.

"The mithril coat saved me from anything bad." He gave a faint smile.

"Good." Thorin was relieved by that. "I would have had you not injured at all." He wished he could think of something clever to say, some way to tell Bilbo how he was feeling, thinking.

Bilbo looked up at him, worrying his lower lip between his even, white teeth. "Dwalin said you wore yourself out looking for me. I apologize for not coming to see you. I did not think… I mean…"

"I understand," Thorin cut him off, knowing what it was he thought. "It is alright, Bilbo. I do not fault you, but I also wished to see you. There is much I would say, if but I knew the words." He offered a faint smile of his own and they lapsed into silence for several minutes. Finally, one question could not stay unanswered. "Will you be leaving us for the Shire?"

"I… can't stay gone forever. There's my belongings and Bag End to consider." He looked down at his feet. "But… I do not wish to leave the company, either. I have grown quite fond of everyone, and the Shire is so terribly far from Erebor."

"I would have you stay." Thorin looked at him. "I know you must go back, but I would have you return, here, to the mountain, to your friends… to me." His voice was but a bare whisper as he added the last.

Bilbo looked up, startled. "To you?" His own voice was soft, hesitant.

"Aye, Burglar, to me. I would have you, however you would allow me, be it friend or… or something more." He swallowed, not use to these sorts of things. He was baring his very soul to the Hobbit, and it was frightening, more so than any battle.

The Hobbit sat silent, twitching slightly and clasping his hands together off and on. When he finally responded, it was to stand so suddenly Thorin jerked back in surprise and more than half expected Bilbo to flee from him. Instead, he found himself with a Hobbit between his knees and chapped yet soft lips pressed against his own.

It was like a spark to spilled oil. Thorin felt emotion race through his body but a split second before he pulled Bilbo tight to him and deepened the kiss, pouring pent up desire, frustration, fear, and joy into the kiss. He heard Bilbo squeak and pull back, and it was all he could do to control himself and allow the Hobbit to do so.

Flushed and dazed, Bilbo had scarcely looked more arousing. Thorin cupped his soft cheek in one rough, worn hand and grazed his thumb along the curve of a cheekbone. "You've no idea how badly I desire you, Bilbo. So much so it frightens me, and I have oft turned that fear against you cruelly."

Bilbo laid a hand over the one on his cheek and nuzzled into the king's palm. "If you will be patient with me, my king, I will give you everything you desire, but I was a respectable Hobbit, once upon a time, and I am not familiar with these sorts of things. You will need to ease me into it, teach me."

Thorin's brain quite literally stopped for a moment. He knew he didn't breathe, and he wouldn't have been surprised if his heart had skipped a beat or two as well. "You've never… with no one? Anything?"

"No. I never had interest. Oh, sure, when I was a wee lad, I'd chase the girls, because that's what all wee lads were supposed to do. I thought it was just a game until I was older, and then they were fussy things that were too much trouble. The lads weren't much better. So, I knew it would be a bachelor's life for me. At least until thirteen Dwarves wound up on my doorstep. All of them so strong and lively and… well…" He flushed darker than he had been. "In their own way, all of them are attractive, and don't think I didn't take a nice look at each while I was trying to save my mother's dishes. And then you walked in, all dark and mysterious and broody. I'm fairly sure I'd never seen anything so breathtaking in my life, at least until you opened your mouth."

Thorin groaned, remembering that moment. His eyes had locked onto Bilbo's hair and eyes, comparing them to gems and metals in his mind, and he'd had to do something, anything, to keep from making an utter fool of himself. "You are far from a grocer, my burglar." He gave him a chaste kiss. "And there are no words to describe how much I desire you, and not just for your comely looks." He didn't think that there was any way for his passion, his need for Bilbo to grow, but learning that no other had ever touched the Hobbit… He wanted to spirit Bilbo away, deep into the mountain, and keep him from all others.

The king knew that Bilbo would sooner slit Thorin's throat than allow that.

Flushed still, it didn't seem the Hobbit could stop, Bilbo leaned in and kissed the king. "I thank you for realizing."

"I realize a great many things, none more so than how terribly I want you. I have not felt passion like this for another ever before, but I will be patient, as you require. I think things will be all the better, in the end, for it." He rested his forehead to Bilbo's. "For now, though, I fear that Oin's horrid tea is making me drowsy. I should rest. You… will not disappear on me?" He felt weak for having to ask, but he had to know.

"No. I might be helping Bombur or looking in on your nephews, but I will not leave you." He smiled at Thorin before pulling away to help him to lie down. "And, I will sit with you until you sleep."

The king nodded and smiled, reclining on his bed and getting comfortable. He took Bilbo's hand as the Hobbit sat back on the stool, holding it in his own as he felt sleep begin to claim him, and thinking of all he planned to do to and share with his Hobbit, feeling rejuvenated as he thought of the future for them, and for all of his people.