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Birthdays, in Bilbo's opinion, were a tiresome business. Hobbits were never one to pass up good food and good drink, especially if someone else was footing the bill. The natural inclination for a hobbit to try and outdo their neighbours led to birthday parties of huge extravagance, and to break with tradition would cause gossip of such magnitude it would dog the family's name for generations.
Some had been known to bring themselves almost to the brink of destitution in their eagerness to celebrate, emptying their pantries and cellars and buying all the food in the marketplace. The land's plentiful bounty could support such festivities, and so the Shire lost itself to revelry.
No, celebrations like that were not for Bilbo. He was far happier with his books and his fireside, thank you very much. It all seemed like such an unnecessary fuss, and he grew into adulthood more than happy to let his birthday pass unobserved. He kept a tally of his years, and that was good enough for him. He bore occasional parties thrown by his parents with fortitude, but once they were gone, he couldn't find the energy to continue their traditions. So, wherever possible, he kept to his own, quiet ways.
Then, while on the quest for Erebor, there hadn't been time to think about such things. His birthday had dawned on their arrival in Laketown: Kili, pale with sweat and fever from his wound as the mountain loomed over them. Bilbo had acknowledged another year gone with a secret smile to himself, and then got on with the business of winning back a kingdom from a dragon.
How things had changed in just a year! Erebor belonged to the dwarves once more. The line of Durin had not perished, despite the best efforts of Azog and his kin. They had healed over the long hard winter as, inch-by-inch, the mountain healed with them. Spring passed in a flurry of activity as everyone threw themselves into the task of rebuilding Dale and the Lonely Mountain. It was a busy, hard, glorious time, and as the days melted into summer, Bilbo knew he had found a new home in this wild, wonderful land.
He had found his heart, as well. It had taken him and Thorin far too long to confess how they felt to one another. Yet eventually, simultaneously, they had cornered one another on Midsummer's Eve and their stumbling, awkward, conversation had dissolved into breathless kisses and trembling hope for their future together.
Now, as autumn unfurled and his fifty-second birthday dawned, he realised that he had known all his dwarf friends for over a year, and never once had a word been uttered about birthdays. There had been no gifts or feasts or even quiet felicitations that he had noticed.
Frowning up at the ceiling, he realised he could not, in fact, name the day any of them were born, including the dwarf who currently snuffled sleepily at his side.
Thorin's beard tickled as he brushed a kiss to Bilbo's temple, wrapping him in a warm, naked embrace and humming contentedly. 'I can hear you thinking,' he accused, and Bilbo grinned. He loved this time of the morning, before the duties of the mountain called them both into action. He adored having Thorin like this, lazy and comfortable, intimate and private. Just the two of them together with nothing else to get in their way.
Yet now his realisation had dawned upon him, he could not shake the guilt that, at some indeterminate point, he had missed the anniversary of Thorin's birth. It seemed unloving, somehow, and for the first time he wondered if maybe a hobbit's birthday was not so much about the hobbit in question, but about those around him simply being glad that they were still alive. Not that much ill could befall a hobbit as long as he stayed safe in the Shire, but it was a small triumph all the same.
Considering all that Thorin had been through in the past year, it seemed even more tragic that Bilbo had missed his chance.
'Do dwarves not celebrate their birthdays?' he asked, pulling the furs up to his shoulder. 'I just realised I saw nothing of the sort while we were on the road.'
Thorin cracked open one bright blue eye, his brow wrinkling in brief thought. 'We celebrate another year lived on Durin's Day.' He smiled, as if at the fondest of some far-off memory. 'A day of feasting and drinking and gifts made by loving friends and kin. It's a celebration not just of every dwarf as an individual, but the people. Every dwarfling born. All who are still with us, and those who have left us.' He sighed, his deep voice rumbling in Bilbo's ear. 'Though it has been many years since the people of Erebor have been able to celebrate Durin's Day in a way that befits it.'
'Well, we were a bit busy on the last one,' Bilbo pointed out with a smile. 'We'll have to make up for it this year.'
A lazy smile curled Thorin’s lips. 'Dori and Bombur has been planning for it for three months already,' he confessed. 'I suspect we shall not have seen its like before, by the time they are done.' He tightened his arm around Bilbo's waist, strong muscles pressing adoration into his skin. 'What of hobbits?'
'We celebrate each hobbit's birthday on the same day in each succeeding year, from cradle to grave.' He wrinkled his nose, already shaking his head when regret pinched Thorin's eyes. 'It's ridiculous. I have no notion how anything ever got done in the Shire. There would at least be a party among your kin, all of them, and at least once a month the whole town would be under the party tree, celebrating some big number or other.'
It was not like the Shire had a sparsity of hobbits, either. There were many faunts to turn thirty-three – always a big to-do – and then every decade thereafter was treated as a monumental achievement. 'I always did my best to avoid them. Not as a faunt, perhaps, but by the time I was a tween I realised that the exuberance was not for me.'
'We missed yours last year while on the road,' Thorin realised, that expressive face falling into a scowl. 'None of us even thought to ask.'
'Why would you?' Bilbo rolled fully onto his side, burying himself in Thorin's embrace and pressing himself against his broad chest. 'It's not a dwarf's way, and we were on a quest! There were more important things to consider. Besides, we did feast that day, after a fashion. We'd just got to Laketown.'
There was a moment of silence, and he could practically hear Thorin counting in his head. 'Today. Your birthday is today?'
Bilbo tried not to feel guilty. It was not as if he had intentionally kept it a secret, but at least this way if the dwarves wanted to make a fuss, they wouldn't have had much time to prepare anything before he had a chance to protest. 'Yes.'
Thorin's warm lips over his own, firm and loving and perfect, made Bilbo's toes curl, and he hummed his pleasure as he twined his arms around Thorin's neck, holding him close and allowing himself to be most thoroughly cherished.
The soft tickle of Thorin's beard against his jaw was a familiar, beloved feeling, and Bilbo's body fell blissfully lax as Thorin rolled them so he was on top, his weight a comforting burden that Bilbo bore with delight. The long, naked warmth of him made Bilbo's nerves sing, and he purred in pleasure to be the centre of his lover's devoted attention.
'You should have said something,' Thorin reproached quietly, his hair falling around them in a thick, dark curtain. 'Happy birthday.'
Bilbo grinned, his hand stroking up Thorin's side as he stretched up for another kiss.
'Yes,' he murmured, breathless and eager and happier than he ever thought he could possibly be. 'Yes, it is.'