Chapter Text
Dawn found the two of them curled up in front of the dying fire, on the floor. Bofur's hat had somehow ended up on top of Thorin's left foot and he had no idea where his shirt had gone or why Bofur was using his own shirt as a pillow. Yet despite the pounding headache that had woken him to begin with Thorin felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. He stretched and felt soreness there, his back no longer used to having to sleep on the cold, hard ground after more than a year in his nice, soft bed. Thorin kicked lightly at Bofur, nudging him with the foot that had Bofur's hat draped over it just as a knock came at the door.
They both let out groans of protest at the sound and Thorin was incredibly thankful that today was his rest day. If he had to listen to any of his advisors drone on in this condition he would probably end up having the lot of them put to death. The knock came again, this time a little louder with a bit of an evil chuckle to it.
"Who is it?" Thorin growled in the general direction of the door.
"Balin," came the answer that sounded far too amused for Thorin's liking. He attempted to sit up to get to the door, but decided very quickly not to bother trying when he his head swam and his stomach threatened him with something not at all dignified.
"Come in," he whisper-growled at the door.
"But be quiet!" his companion in misery pleaded softly. Bofur rolled onto his stomach and pretended he was dead as the door opened and his top advisor entered, Arri in his arms. Balin cast one look over the pair of them and covered a laugh with his hand. He poked his head back into the hall to call for a pair of hangover remedies and then sat down on the sofa Thorin was sure the two of them had started out on.
Everything after the fifth drink he'd had in his chambers with Bofur was all a bit fuzzy. He remembered being too warm and taking his socks and tunic off. He dimly remembered his feet getting cold later and Bofur flopping his hat over one because neither of them could be bothered to reach for his socks. What had happened beyond that?
"I don't suppose you remember that you offered to watch Arri today, do you, laddie?" Balin offered Thorin his free hand, and he accepted the help to sit up. His head throbbed and his mouth was so dry. A servant brought in two cups of tea quickly, as though she had known in advance it would be required, much to Thorin's dislike. The tea was some blend Dori had concocted ages ago when Nori had first started coming home in the wee hours of the morning, three sheets to the wind with not a care in the world. It smelled bad and somehow tasted worse, probably intentionally made that way as a punishment to the hungover.
The tea worked, though, and he knew it from experience, so he leaned against the sofa and sipped at it slowly. After a few minutes of Balin chuckling to himself at the state of them Thorin felt well enough to lean forward enough to pluck the hat off his foot and launch it at its owner. There was a groan of protest, but he pulled himself into a sitting position at Thorin's side and accepted the tea offered to him anyway.
Balin let them sit in silence until they were done with the tea and seemed capable of moving without dying again. "Now then. Are you both feeling better?" he asked.
That they were capable of nodding in response was a good sign. Balin suppressed another laugh at their expense. "Do you still feel capable of minding Arri for the day?"
"Aye," Thorin said after a moment's thought. It wasn't like she was a fussy baby. He'd heard her fuss just long enough to let her parents know she was upset about something and was all coos and the very beginnings of a smile when she wasn't asleep.
"Good," Balin said, and handed her over. "Dori, Ori, and I should be back from Dale before nightfall. She's just been fed and shouldn't need any milk again for another three hours. Mind you don't bounce her too much, she's had a wee bit of an upset tummy the last couple of days."
Thorin made a face. That he would definitely remember. He had been puked on enough when his nephews were little to know to exercise caution. "Thank you for the warning," he said as Balin clapped him on the shoulder and stood. Bofur and Thorin bid him farewell, then turned to look at each other once the doors were closed.
Bofur pulled his hat off his head and took a careful whiff that had him making faces. "Did this end up on your foot last night or was that a dream?"
"You were concerned about my feet being too cold, if my memory serves. You thought I was going to catch my death?" Thorin wasn't sure. Bofur shrugged and didn't seem that concerned about why it had happened. His hat he chucked into the armchair across the way and reached up to undo his braids that were in sore need of fixing.
The hair was fairly tangled, and Thorin stood to go fetch his own comb. He settled on the sofa behind Bofur, and handed Arri off to him. She looked up at Bofur with her beautiful blue eyes and he stopped his protest instantly. "My, but you are the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. Look at those eyes," he murmured.
Thorin drew his fingers and the comb through Bofur's hair, smiling slightly over the peacefulness of the scene and the joy that being close to this particular dwarrow brought. Carefully he worked through the tangles, then separated Bofur's alluringly dark hair into sections before braiding it into his customary braids. Bofur leaned into his touch more often than not, but Thorin was amused to see that it barely distracted him from cooing at the infant in his arms. He had slipped a finger into Arri's grip and didn't seem to mind being slightly slobbered on as she put it in her mouth.
As he finished, Thorin decided that Bofur looked good like that, as though holding a baby came perfectly naturally to him and he hadn't had to awkwardly learn the skill as Thorin had. Bofur did have all those nieces, and Thorin knew he was a favorite babysitter for his brother to call when help was needed. The comb was set aside so he could unclasp his own braids, which likely looked a fright. He set the beads on the couch next to the comb and worked his fingers through his hair first, undoing the braids.
Or at least, that head been his intention until Bofur turned and stopped him by plopping Arri in his lap as a distraction. Thorin looked down at her - and could hardly resist the very beginnings of a smile when she cooed at him - and then looked up at Bofur to ask what he was doing when his friend's hands batted his own away from his hair. Bofur stood and moved behind the sofa, bending to pick up the comb.
"What did I say about you relaxing?" he scolded lightly. Thorin opened his mouth to protest through slightly injured pride that he could manage his own hair, thank you, but Bofur beat him to the punch. He pressed his fingertips into Thorin's scalp, lightly massaging to shut him up.
It worked too. Thorin let out a low groan at the mostly foreign sensation, but his protest died on his tongue. "Now that's better," Bofur muttered. "Honestly, you're just as bad as Dori, always giving, giving, giving, never letting anybody fuss over you for a change. You probably deserved to be pampered more than the rest of us, what with those crazy hours you work, but getting you to give in is a right pain in the ass!"
"You're lucky she's not old enough to understand you," Thorin said to Bofur. "Dori would give you a beating for swearing in her most esteemed presence."
Another gurgling coo came from the baby as Arri stared at his face. "That's right," Thorin murmured to her. "Mother Dori would kill both of us if he'd heard that. We can't be sullying your adorable ears, can we?"
"Like she'll remember it in five minutes," Bofur laughed, and picked up the comb. Thorin played with her as Bofur worked, trying to get a smile out of her. She stuffed her fist in her mouth instead and dozed off, something Thorin was leaning toward doing himself. The younger dwarrow's hands felt so good, so right somehow, in his hair. It had been a very long time since he had permitted anyone to touch him like this, and his body yearned for Bofur's comforting touch. He let himself close his eyes and bask in the sensations, trusting Bofur not to tell a soul this had passed between them. Here, in his rooms with a friend, he was safe enough to drop his guard slightly. No one would be expecting anything of him until tomorrow, no one would be bursting in and judging him for the way the touch of Bofur's fingers on the back of his neck made him shiver.
It was exactly what he had needed, and as arousing as the odd touch here or there was, the act of it all was more relaxing than erotic. As he drifted off to sleep, Thorin resolved to take Bofur's council more often, and to definitely drag him home for drinks on a regular basis, if this was to be the result.
---
Thorin woke up on his back on the couch to the familiar feeling of an infant asleep on his chest and a blanket draped over them both. He turned his head to his left to look for Bofur and found him reviewing documents in his armchair, the hat in its proper place atop his head once again. Under the mountain there were no windows in any of the private chambers, and so Bofur was reading by fire and candlelight.
The Administrator of the Royal Mines was too distracted to notice yet that Thorin was no longer sleeping, and he took the opportunity to study the way the firelight glinted off Bofur's skin and darkened his hair by contrast. Tired enough still to see nothing wrong with outright admiring him, Thorin studied the way the shadows made Bofur look, how they drew attention to just the right parts of his handsome face, for once not lit with a smile. Seeing a serious expression on his ever-smiling face was always a slight surprise to Thorin, so used to only seeing that look in battle or in serious discussion. It was different, but not necessarily unpleasant to look at. The serious expression made Bofur look closer to Thorin's age, which wasn't a bad thing at all. It was attractive in its own way, though he still preferred the smile.
"What are you reading that has brought such a dour look to your face?" Thorin asked softly. He placed a hand on Arri's back so he could safely shift into a more comfortable position without disturbing her.
"Reports from the scouts I sent into the mines a few days ago. There are still quite a few unsafe passages that need a lot of work," Bofur answered. There was a small smile on his face as he looked over at Thorin and the baby. "But that's news for you for tomorrow. I haven't finished reading or sorting through all of it yet and you're supposed to be butting out of official business for one day out of the week, remember?"
Thorin chuckled. "You all keep reminding me, yes. Let's discuss something not at all official then."
Bofur raised an eyebrow at him and set the reports down on the low table between the sofa and the armchair. "What did you have in mind? It's nearly lunch. I hope you're thinking about eating." Thorin rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond -
A small fussing sound came from his chest and Thorin moved a little again to free his right arm so he could rub her back in slow soothing circles. "Could you hand me one of her burp clothes, just in case?" he asked, not particularly wanting to be puked on.
It was passed to him, and Thorin gently tucked it under her before returning his attention to Bofur. "You stayed," he said simply. It wasn't a big deal, nor was he at all upset about it. The company had been pleasant and it was nice not to wake up alone with a dwarrow Thorin knew for some time now he was more than just fond of.
"Is it a problem?" Bofur asked in a tone that told Thorin he knew it wasn't.
"No. I was just curious."
Bofur studied him for a moment, clearly considering his answer. Thorin didn't begrudge him the time, content to wait patiently and secretly enjoy having the weight of the baby on him. "You know, I don't know," Bofur finally responded. "I have plenty of other things I ought to be doing and likely I have subordinates worrying because they can't find me, but I can't be bothered to care. I just feel so... relaxed, I suppose. Content might be the better word."
The words both relieved and warmed Thorin in a way he hadn't felt since before Erebor fell and he'd been courting a distant cousin he quite fancied. The part of him that could enjoy hearing someone way they were perfectly content to just be in his presence was something he thought had died long ago. It was good to hear Bofur felt the same. It was something less to have to wonder about, if this contented feeling was one-sided and imagined, or it it was mutual and very much real.
"You didn't throw me out," Bofur pointed out when Thorin was slow to respond. He got a small smile out of his King for it, and Thorin shrugged slightly.
"I suppose that is because I feel the same. Content is a good word for it. Your presence soothes me." It was a strange thing to him, learning to be open about his feelings, but now that he had Erebor back and had begun healing from his deep, emotional wounds, the trick of it had started to come to him. The key for himself wasn't to feel obliged to reveal more than he was comfortable with, so Thorin left his own feelings at that and just let himself enjoy Bofur's reaction.
The slightly gaping mouth revealed to Thorin that he had managed to catch Bofur off guard with his admission, and he politely hid his amusement. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Gathering his wits about his again, Bofur swallowed - somewhat nervously, Thorin happily noted for what that implied - and nodded. "I'm glad to hear it," he responded, though his voice shook slightly.
Thorin sat up carefully, not wanted to disturb his small charge, and laid her on a blanket on the floor where she would be safe from falling off the sofa. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and looked into Bofur's eyes. "As am I," he said softly.
Denying that he was attracted to Bofur was pointless now when he was certain that Bofur wanted him as well. All of the signs of their compatibility pointed to something he had read about before - had heard about often enough from Gloin - but had never experienced. Neither he nor Bofur had on gloves, and the touch of hand on hand ought to tell Thorin what he needed to know, or so all the books and housewives said. He reached out for Bofur's hand, careful all the while to keep an eye on his face for any signs that Bofur was uncomfortable with it, and clasped his right hand with both of his own.
The sensation he felt was incredible and nearly overwhelming. First it felt like there were hundreds of tiny little bees buzzing over his skin. Next came a chill that went straight down his spine and right to his cock, then an odd sort of warmth that filled him from head to toe, swelling especially in his chest, as though the molten fires of Erebor's forges had somehow been poured directly into his blood.nBofur's eyes filled first with shock, then he seemed to marvel over the feeling as Thorin did. It was awhile before either of them could speak.
"Oh," Bofur said softly. "So that's what it feels like."
"Indeed," Thorin murmured, then smiled just a little, just for him.
It was quite a bit later in his life than he had ever hoped for, but Thorin had finally found his One.