Under Surveillance
Bilbo is quite comfortable in his new job as a night guard. It's just the break from constant sitting behind a desk the doctor suggested for his aching back, with minimum personal risks and large amounts of quiet time for drinking tea involved in a quiet office building. That is, until a daring burglar breaks into the Brothers Ri, Inc. headquarters and turns Bilbo's pleasant nightly routines entirely upside-down - repeatedly and permanently.
Originally released January 8th 2015.
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Chapter 3
The bus ride back home next morning passed in a blur. Bilbo dozed in his seat, blinking blearily in the hazy early morning light, yawning while wondering whether he’d have the energy to stay up long enough to have breakfast or if he’d just go straight into bed.
If there was something to be said about night shifts, it was that one avoided the nasty early wakings that everyone hated, though in Bilbo’s case he never managed to reach his bed before dawn anyway, so there wasn’t much of a difference there. He got off the bus on the street outside his apartment building, glared at the sign that declared the lift was out of order and slowly stumbled up the stairs, feeling the long night all the way in his bones. His doormat was curiously empty and Bilbo stared at the space that the morning paper usually occupied, trying to trip him up whenever he came home and usually succeeding. “Need to call the delivery company again,” he muttered drowsily, deciding to leave it until he had managed a good, long nap first.
“Good morning, world,” Bilbo bade to himself as he scrambled towards the kitchenette.
“Good morning,” said the couch right back at him, sounding just as tired as he felt.
He was already over the threshold when his sleep-clogged brain realised that his furniture had never contributed to conversation before and he spun around, taking in what appeared to be heap of wrinkled clothes and black hair on his couch.
“How the hell did you get in?” Bilbo exclaimed shrilly.
Thorin turned around slowly, his hair in terrible disarray that suggested he had been sleeping for quite a while already. “Do you usually talk to yourself?”
“Don’t change the subject! How did you get inside my apartment?”
Thorin yawned, settling back on the couch more comfortably. “Your front door has the weakest lock I’ve ever seen. I’d suggest getting a new one, unless you’re looking forward to burglars.”
“Did you pick my lock?”
“My company specialises in home security,” Thorin muttered, his eyes closed. “I know a thing or two about locks, and yours is past its expiration date by a century.”
“That’s for the housing company to worry about,” Bilbo pointed out irritably. He did not fancy discussing locks or home security this early in the morning, and even less before he’d had the chance to sample breakfast. “Where did you even get my address, for that matter?”
“Called the number service and asked which address your mobile number was registered to.”
Bilbo swore under his breath, retreating to the kitchenette and busying himself with the kettle. Thorin pushed himself into a sitting position, his jaw cracking alarmingly as he yawned. He could hear the bubbling of water and the faint clinking china, suggesting that cups and saucers were being laid out. A small cloud of steam rose from behind the doorway.
“You'll have a cup of tea now that you're all comfortable over there, won't you?” Bilbo's voice asked from the kitchenette.
“I'd love that,” Thorin said truthfully. His back felt unpleasantly stiff from sleeping on the couch, but he wasn't at all sure that Bilbo wouldn't have strangled him had he crashed on his bed instead.
It wasn't much later that Bilbo reappeared in the living room with a small tray in his hands. “You’d better get up if you want breakfast. You are not eating on my couch.” He laid the tray on a small round table beside the window, watching Thorin expectantly until he rose.
“You didn’t have to trouble yourself,” Thorin muttered even as his stomach let out an appreciative growl. His platter was heaped with fried eggs, bacon and sausages, a stack of perfectly toasted bread begging for the attentions of the butter and blackberry jam. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was until now. Bilbo had been watching for his reaction closely, a smug smile upon his face.
“Says the man who looks ready to eat a horse. I know it’s not much, but help yourself,” he said, already slathering his own piece of toast liberally with jam.
“Not much?” Thorin asked, eyeing the teetering pile of toast next to his tea. “How much do you eat normally?”
“If someone hadn’t decided to show up unannounced, I could have prepared something else than just simple stir fry and toast,” Bilbo said touch irritably.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Thorin said quietly, looking away from him.
“Why did you even come here? Don’t you have a place of your own?”
“My sister and her sons live with me. I did not want to risk waking the boys by going home in the middle of the night when they have to wake up so early to begin with.”
“How old are they, your nephews?” Bilbo asked, curious.
“Five and six,” Thorin said, his beard twitching as his mouth curled into a small smile. “Fíli has just started school and Kíli has been throwing tantrums every morning ever since. He says he wants to go to school with his brother.”
Bilbo laughed, only too easily imagining the very scene in his head. “Oh dear. I expect they are very close?”
“Very,” Thorin admitted. “Kíli follows his big brother everywhere, babbling nonstop. It’s nothing short of heart breaking to tell him he cannot go to school until next year when he’s bawling like a foghorn and clutching onto Fee’s legs.”
Bilbo shook his head, chortling. ‘Family man’ was not exactly on par with the image he had constructed of Thorin in his head and trying to imagine a pair of little ones calling him ‘uncle’ as he tied their shoe laces was decidedly odd. He had expected something more like a three-bedroom bachelor hideout in the heart of the city with wide screen televisions, black leather arm chairs, an army of lovers and probably rent twice the amount of Bilbo’s monthly salary.
Though, Bilbo thought as he considered the sleep crumpled state of Thorin’s once-neat suit, perhaps cute little nephews went with this new visual better than he had expected.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any sugar, would you?” Thorin asked, scanning the table for a sugar bowl.
“I already sweetened your tea if that’s what you’re after. Two cubes, no milk, right?” Bilbo answered matter-of-factly. Thorin blinked once, slowly, then lifted his cup and took a careful sip. He looked dumbstruck.
“Not even my sister remembers how I take my tea,” he mumbled, decidedly avoiding Bilbo’s eyes. Bilbo coughed loudly, heat rising to his face.
“Well,” he began, lost for words. “It’s hardly that strange. I mean, I don’t usually get visitors in the middle of the night, you’d think I’d remember something like that.”
“I suppose,” Thorin said.
“I mean, it’s a bit irregular, you have to admit—“
But Thorin wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed over Bilbo’s shoulder and his cheeks had gained a slightly rosy colour.
“The card.”
“Pardon?”
“My card. It’s on your fridge door.” Thorin’s voice sounded oddly strained all of a sudden.
“Oh, that.” Bilbo cleared his throat before hastily sipping his tea again. “It, well, I thought it was amusing. I mean, you used your own business card—“
“I was going to buy a proper card,” Thorin said with a sigh, looking very much ready to punch himself. “But I found out about your birthday much too late and all I had available were my own business cards.”
“How did you even find out in the first place?”
“Nori’s a friend of mine and he decided to inform me about it,” Thorin said, getting started on the sausages.
“Nori?” Bilbo blinked. “Nori? Not our IT and Access Control manager, that Nori?” Thorin nodded. Bilbo dropped his fork with a clatter, cooking oil staining the table cloth. “So this is how you’ve been entering the building unauthorized all this time. Oh, I am going to kill him!”
“Well, technically I have been entering fully authorized—“
“Going to murder him,” Bilbo muttered and shot offended glares at Thorin. His tea splashed over the rim of the cup as he stirred furiously. “Going to murder you both and dump your remains into several dumpsters.”
He looked so genuinely bothered that Thorin laughed, which earned him a kick to his shin.
“I cannot believe the two of you,” Bilbo huffed. “What the hell did he do, give you your own keys?”
“He made me a copy of his brother’s keycard.”
“For crying out loud…”
“I’ve known him and his brothers since high school,” Thorin said, shrugging. “He can be useful when he wants to – or at least if you have enough money to afford it.”
“I hope it cost you a fortune, you absolute git.”
Thorin only hummed contently as he turned his attention to the eggs and bacon. He chewed slowly, using a napkin between each mouthful, and Bilbo couldn’t help finding his appreciation for such a simple course just a little bit endearing.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in comfortable silence, utensils tinkling lightly. Sun was rolling higher and higher and Bilbo was getting steadily more and more sleepy, thinking longingly of his bed and the three consecutive days off work that awaited him. He rather looked forward to starting his first day of freedom with a good, long nap or two, only interrupted briefly for a spot of lunch and afternoon tea in-between. Finally, he stretched back on his chair, yawning his exhaustion.
“Perhaps you ought to get some rest,” Thorin pointed out, getting up slowly. “I’ve been keeping you up far too long already.”
Bilbo rubbed his eyes. “I daresay you have, indeed.”
“I’m sorry about crashing here without permission.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, yawning again. “It was nice to have company over breakfast for once, truth to be told. Only, don’t make this a habit, I’m not going to promise I won’t call the police next time.”
Thorin smiled, gathering their dirty dishes and carrying them to the kitchenette. “Shall I put these in the dishwasher?”
“Please,” Bilbo replied, and tried not to stare too long as Thorin crouched on his floor. He turned around hastily, mentally shaking himself. Stay focused, he told himself firmly, you haven’t even gone out with him yet.
It was a very nice backside, though, he had to admit that. Not that he’d looked that closely, of course. But based on quick observation…
“I’ll let you get some rest now,” Thorin said, closing the dishwasher.
“I’d appreciate that,” Bilbo replied, but the sarcasm couldn’t quite hide his grin. “So, when are you taking me out on that date you promised?”
Thorin very nearly stumbled on his way to the front door. “I…”
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already.”
Thorin cleared his throat, running a hand through his already messy mop of hair. “Well, when are you free?”
“I have tomorrow off. Are you available?”
“I’ll make it so that I am,” he replied. “Dinner at seven o’clock? I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Seven’s fine, but just tell me the address and I’ll be there.”
Thorin frowned. “Are you sure? I could pick you up just the same.”
“Absolutely sure,” Bilbo said, smirking. “Gracious as you are, we are not at the picking up stage just yet.”
“How prudent of you.”
“What can I say, I’m old-fashioned.”
“I’ll text you later once I’ve confirmed they have vacancy for tomorrow night, does that sound good to you?”
“Yes, that should be alright. Also…”
Bilbo held out his hand expectantly.
“I’ll be taking those keys, thank you very much.”
Nori’s desk was the very epitome of organisation skills, which was to say it was something only a well-trained eye could have seen. When one entered his office – which was located right next to the less used staff exit and a lift leading directly to the underground staff parking area in case of hasty and undetected departure – one would have been blown away by the disorderliness of the room. Stacks of paper and pieces of machinery filled all surfaces, seemingly haphazardly placed wherever it had happened to fit at the moment. All of this was planned; he knew exactly where everything was. The catch was, no one else ever did, and that alone made sure everything of value was well hidden.
His desk drawers were close to bursting with documents and CD-ROMs innocently titled with names like “Ori’s birthday 2005”, “College graduation party” and “Best of Suburban Techno 2010”, which contained cleverly encrypted copies of the company database that would have probably installed at least ten different viruses and melted the mother drive if opened on any other computer than Nori’s own. The disc disguised as an amateur porn collection was protected by five different bi-monthly changing passwords and contained the prime minister’s private home number, the coordinates to a remote cottage in Alaska and the number of Nori’s secondary bank account, which was on the Cayman Islands.
The actual porn was elsewhere. It probably looked like a Queen album.
Nori was firing away on his laptop; black, super slim and with undetectable browsing history. “No, Dori, that meeting you can handle all by yourself, I don’t care what you’ve told the press but I’m not coming,” he grunted to his cell phone, never ceasing in his typing. “I’ve told you, I’m not attending any meetings with this level of publicity, you know they film these things and last time getting my hands on the recordings took weeks! That’s a damn lot of my time and money wasted right there.”
Another phone on the desk rung, vibrating angrily.
“Hang on, I’ve got another call coming through.” He switched phones, putting his brother on hold midsentence. “Yeah? Yo, Dwalin! The hell did you get this number? Oh.” He frowned, rapping the desk with his fingers. “Don’t tell me honeyboy Thorin’s gone missing again. Nah, haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
A sharp knock made him look up from the computer screen. “Wait, someone’s at the door,” Nori said, reaching for the camera monitor on his desk and enlargening recording number four. He stared at the footage, well-trimmed eyebrows raised in surprise. “Huh. Sorry pal, looks like security wants to have a word with me.”
His fingers practically danced across the keyboard and he called, “come in!” as the computer locked itself.
The door opened and Bilbo stepped in, closing the door after himself. He wasn’t wearing his work uniform, and Nori thought he looked odd in his corduroy trousers and knitted sweater. “I am sorry to interrupt you,” he said with a smart little bow, stepping closer.
Nori willed himself to smile broadly, gesturing him to come closer. “Not at all, Baggins. How can I help you? I thought you weren’t working today.”
“I’m not here on work business,” Bilbo returned the smile, but there was definitely something rather stony about it. “I needed to discuss something with you.”
”What can I do for you, in that case?”
He smiled even wider still, dug something out of his pocket and dumped a set of keys on the cluttered desk. “Thorin Durin,” Bilbo said, and he didn’t look even the slightest bit amused anymore. “You probably think this was a really smart prank to play on me, don’t you? I’d love to have a little chat with your elder brother and let him know you’ve given illegal company keys to an outsider, helping him break into the premises multiple times.”
Nori stared up at him, thinking very fast. “Well, well. I guess the secret is out, then.”
“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?”
“To be honest, I didn’t think Thorin would have the guts to admit what he’s been doing,” he said, regaining his business-like tone. “He’s awful at things like these. I think his longest relationship lasted eight months, and even that was a bloody miracle with his social skills.”
“I admit his social skills need a bit of work, but he’s not entirely as bad as you think,” Bilbo said coldly, crossing his arms. “You’d better see to it that those keys get destroyed, or it’s your brother I’m consulting next. I don’t think he’d be too happy to hear about this little side business you’re running here, family or not.”
A moment of stunned silence passed between them, and Nori broke into raucous cackles. “Straight into business, eh? Thorin’s got himself a handful right there!” He pocketed the keys, still chuckling. “So tell me, how’s the romance? Please let me know it was worth my troubles or the flash bastard owes me another round.”
“He’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow, if you must know,” Bilbo replied, still glaring daggers at him.
“Indeed? Well, congratulations, in that case.”
“Are you congratulating me or just your own interference?”
Nori grinned. “A little bit of both, mate, if I’m being perfectly honest.”
Bilbo sighed, shaking his head as though to say he had expected nothing less. “To think you’d have the audacity to abuse your position like this…”
“It’s good fun.”
“You’d better go and find yourself another form of entertainment, in that case.”
Nori considered him for a while, spinning the keys in the air so much like a very loud yo-yo. He winked at the guard, features twisting into a lop-sided grin. “Duly noted, good sir. I’d hate to have the security tailing my every move.”
“I really don’t trust you,” Bilbo said wryly, hand already on the door knob.
The brown-haired man grinned wider. “Probably for the best.”
To: Bilbo
Subject: Dinner
Reserved a table for 7.30 at the Grande Palazzo.
On the eastern piazza facing Iron Hills Station.
Italian okay with you?
Sent: 13:41
To: Thorin
Subject: Re:Dinner
Italian sounds wonderful. Meet you around 7:20
before the restaurant?
Sent: 13:47
To: Bilbo
Subject: Re:Dinner
Sounds good. You know the place?
Sent: 13:48
To: Thorin
Subject: Re:Dinner
Yeah, I’ve been in the area a couple times before. I’ll
see you later.
Sent: 13:54
To: Bilbo
Subject: Re:Dinner
You sure you don’t need a lift?
Sent: 13:56
To: Thorin
Subject: Re:Dinner
Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Meet you there later.
Sent: 13:58
Thorin could hardly have chosen a fancier place, thought Bilbo standing outside Palazzo, eyes watering in the cold wind. Iron Hills was one of the wealthiest areas in town, with wide, picturesque alleys and spacious piazzas, all surrounded by old stone buildings whose walls were decorated with flowing art nouveau carvings. A large fountain of white stone stood outside the restaurant, the sounds of the bubbling water nearly drowning out the sounds of traffic.
Bilbo kept glancing at his watch every few minutes. He had come much too early, he knew it, but he’d woken up from his nap abruptly to stare at the ceiling until he couldn’t lie still without thinking about the dinner and what he was going to wear and whether he’d have to persuade Thorin into splitting the bill. He most likely would have to, he thought wryly. The man had an aura of completely unwarranted chivalry about him; paying for the dinner himself without even thinking about it sounded like a thing he would do.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. ‘One new message’ flashed across the screen and Bilbo tapped it open, finding himself reading another message from Thorin. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he read out loud, though no one could have heard him over the sound of running water. His fingers hovered over the keypad uncertainly, until he stowed the phone back into his pocket. He didn’t feel like telling Thorin he’d been there almost thirty minutes early and risk making an even bigger fool of himself. It was already bad enough that the other man kept sending him text messages that Bilbo didn’t know how to respond to without falling into small, crumbling pieces.
The day before, after their unscheduled breakfast date, Bilbo had woken up from his nap to find a message on his phone.
“I’m really sorry for the earlier. Thanks for the breakfast, it was wonderful. I hope you managed to get some rest. I’ll be in a meeting until 10pm, so I’m wishing you goodnight already.”
A part of Bilbo had wanted to text him back ‘goodnight’ and ‘don’t mention it’, a part which was lost under all the different possibilities that he couldn’t seem to control. He’d clutched the phone in his hand, staring at the keypad while he tried to figure out if a simple ‘see you tomorrow’ would be too blunt, too little, and if taking his reply a bit further would be crossing some invisible border that they hadn’t discussed yet. He’d typed and erased an answering message ten times, without managing to send a single one of them. Bilbo had wanted to ask if he’d ever told his sister he wouldn’t be coming home for the night and whether she had been angry with him, had wondered anxiously whether Thorin worked all the way until 10pm often and had nearly asked him if he himself had managed any manner of rest at all beyond sleeping briefly in Bilbo’s living room. He’d typed so much that his phone had converted the text into a multimedia message before Bilbo had changed his mind and erased the whole thing, deciding it was too much and too sudden, and he didn’t want to pry.
Deciding, however, was not quite enough to quell his curiousity, even if it stifled the flood of questions attempting to escape him. He hoped Thorin had managed to sneak away from his duties for long enough to steal a short nap; he had looked tired upon leaving Bilbo’s apartment. And unwilling thought he was to admit it, there was something thrilling about the idea of Thorin fast asleep on his couch, on his couch, of all places, and he’d managed to miss it in his sleepy state of mind. He wondered whether he would have found it as endearing if he’d found Thorin asleep in his bed instead. Bilbo pictured him sprawled across his bed cover, sleeping away his exhaustion, all limbs and mussed hair, as though someone had run their fingers repeatedly through it, and…
Bilbo swallowed, mentally shaking himself. You are not going to bed him, he told himself sternly, this is a simple dinner date and you are not inviting him to your bedroom afterwards. He stole another glance at his watch, hoping Thorin would show up soon and save him from his churning thoughts.
Of course his car had to break down in the morning traffic, making him not only embarrassingly late for his own breakfast meeting, but also forced him to ask for a ride from Dwalin to make it to the date. Dwalin had been throwing him suspicious glares all week long – he rather suspected he’d been in touch with Nori – and it had almost taken a wrestle to make Dwalin drop him off two blocks away from the restaurant. As valuable as he was as best friend and colleague, Thorin did not much fancy introducing him to his date so early on, not when Dwalin’s idea of a proper wooing was the bloodiest action movie available accompanied by as much beer as you one could carry from the store.
He hurried along the street, hardly paying attention to the traffic as he stole a quick glance at his watch. It was only fifteen past but he had pictured himself arriving early, getting his hair in order and applying a bit of cologne before Bilbo arrived. When he arrived on the piazza he quickly spotted the guard standing by the fountain, watching the people exiting Palazzo. Thorin cursed inwardly. So much for fixing his appearance, then.
“Bilbo,” he called as he got closer, and the shorter man turned around. Thorin had never seen him out of his working uniform before, and he decided immediately that the guard’s attire did not flatter him; he was undeniably handsome in his deep brown jacket and burgundy waistcoat, both cut to be comfortable rather than tight. He looked utterly relaxed, the complete opposite of how Thorin was feeling.
“Good evening,” Bilbo said, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Did you walk here?”
“No, I just had something to take care of around here. You haven’t been waiting for long, have you?” he asked, frowning.
“I took an early train to make sure I’d get here on time, you can never know about the traffic,” Bilbo shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You’ve picked us a fancy place for tonight, it seems.”
Thorin smiled. “I’ve dined here a few times before, but I’d like to associate the place with something other than just business.”
“I bet. You sounded like you’ve been busy lately.”
“A little too busy, if you ask me,” Thorin sighed, running a hand through his already windswept hair. “Well, shall we go in?”
“Can I get a kiss first?” Bilbo’s voice was light, playful, and Thorin felt like air was slowly being squeezed out of his lungs. You can get anything you want, he thought, hoping that he wouldn’t sound as breathless as he felt.
“Of course,” he managed, forcing himself to meet Bilbo’s eyes. The shorter man smiled, and instead of standing on tiptoe he grabbed Thorin’s collar with both hands and pulled him downwards for a loud, smacking kiss.
I should have brushed my teeth, was the first, hazy thought that flashed through his dumbstruck mind, and he was just starting to marvel at the softness of Bilbo’s mouth when he drew back, grinning broadly.
“Well then, I think we’re all set now,” he said brightly, hooking his arm with Thorin’s as though accompanying him to a movie gala instead of dinner. “You lead the way, this is my first time here.”
“Right,” Thorin said, trying to regain the control of his legs, and they entered the reception.
Where the restaurant looked and sounded expensive on the outside, Bilbo soon found out that it had been decorated to a more traditional style indoors. A spacious dining hall with two dozen family size tables took up most of the space in the middle, but many more smaller, more intimate tables had been pushed to both sides. It was towards one of these that a waiter led them; a large window on their left revealed a view of the dusky city and a pillar to the right concealed their table just enough to grant them some privacy.
“I'll be back soon with your menus, gentlemen,” the waiter told them, bowing slightly as they sat down.
Bilbo raised his eyebrows, watching him scurry away from them. “You really have brought me to an expensive place, haven't you?”
Thorin shifted in his seat, adjusting his tie and hoping that he looked more collected and calm than felt. “Sorry,” he said. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”
“Oh no, that's not what I meant,” Bilbo grinned. He leaned back in his chair, apparently enjoying himself as he drank in the scene. “I've done my fair share of wining and dining before you came along, believe me, but this is the first time I've seen a waiter in an Italian restaurant bow at customers. In my experience, they tend to be more relaxed, family style dining places and not as formal as this.”
“That's probably because I'm here,” Thorin said. “We've had so many business dinners here that the staff knows me a little too well. I just picked this place because the food is good, and it's easier to get a table if you're a regular.”
“It probably doesn't hurt that they know who you are, either.”
“No, it probably doesn't. They've seen enough of me to know that I can pay the bill without being threatened into washing dishes.”
Bilbo laughed. “I'm pretty sure the dishwashing thing is just a myth.”
“If you're curious, we could bail out on the bill and test the theory.”
“I doubt that's necessary... Oh, excellent, I'm famished,” Bilbo trilled as the waiter returned with a carafe of water, drinking glasses and their menus. He picked up his copy eagerly, starting to leaf through the starters. “Oh, they have a nice selection of seafood antipasti here.”
Thorin took a sip of his water. He wasn't thirsty as much as he just wanted something to do with his hands. “Previous experience says that if you order the antipasti, you'll be full before you've touched your second course.”
“Perhaps,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “But eating well is the entire point if you're going out to dine in style! Let's see... Would it be possible to order one platter of each antipasto from the seafood selection to share between the two of us?” he asked the waiter, who was gazing at them expectantly.
“Certainly, sir.”
“We'll have those, then. And let's see, Tagliatelle ai funghi porcini sounds tempting for the first course, mushrooms are in the season right now.”
“Excellent choice, sir,” the waiter smiled. “The mushrooms have been especially fine this year. Anything for your second course?”
“I quite fancy something with meat tonight, so I'll go with Filetto alla griglia con pomodori gratinati. And perhaps pannacotta for dessert.”
Thorin stared at him.
“And what would you like, sir?” the waiter asked, turning towards him, pen at the ready.
“I'll just have my usual, thank you. And could you bring us a bottle of the house wine?”
The waiter bowed, leaving them alone once again.
“'The usual',” Bilbo grinned, sounding amused. “That was a very boring order just now.”
Thorin shrugged, emptying his glass. “I can't pronounce Italian to save my life, unlike someone else here. Where have you learned to speak it?”
“I took a few courses in university long ago,” he said. “And I wouldn't really say that I can speak it, beyond restaurant vocabulary, which is the sole reason why I took those lessons in the first place.”
“You're putting that knowledge to good use, certainly. How on earth are you planning to survive all that food?”
“It's not a proper Italian dinner without primos and secondos,” Bilbo replied cheerfully. “And if I can't move after finishing the dessert, you'll be a gentleman and order me a taxi, won't you?”
“If you eat yourself into oblivion, you should be prepared to face the consequences and walk yourself home,” Thorin said dryly. The smaller man laughed.
“You must eat out a lot if you already have your own 'usuals'.”
“It's either that or eat microwaveable meals.”
“You must be kidding me.”
“I'm hardly ever home early enough to actually cook something,” Thorin said nonchalantly and poured them both more water. “And according to my sister, it's for the best. I'm not a very good cook, if you want to know the truth.”
“You can't be that bad. I mean, as long as you have the basic survival skills to make something edible...”
“If by 'survival skills' you mean nearly burning down the kitchen when boiling eggs, I guess you're right.”
Bilbo choked on his water, looking nothing short of scandalised. “I am never leaving you in the kitchen alone after that piece of information.”
“That's probably wise.”
Their waiter was back with a basket of freshly baked bread and bread sticks, which he laid down on the table between them. Bilbo's hand immediately reached for the sticks and gathered a handful of them. “I love these things,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I could eat them by the box.”
“You can have them,” Thorin chuckled. “I'm not all that fond of them, personally.”
Bilbo did not need to be told twice, and soon he had stolen the entire bread basket onto his side of the table. “I'm guessing your job keeps you quite busy if you're never home for a proper dinner? I've seen you leave from your meetings at ungodly hours more often than not.”
“Management level positions are not as glamourous as they seem,” Thorin said. “I never wanted to inherit the company in the first place, but it's family business and my siblings bailed out on the duty, so there was no one else left to do the job.”
“My condolescences,” Bilbo said with a small grimace. “My father runs a small bakery back in the Shire but he never insisted I continue in his footsteps.”
“You're from the Shire?” Thorin asked, surprised. “That's quite a long way off.”
“I came here to study and ended up staying,” he shrugged. “My parents complain that I'm living much too far away now for their tastes but I do try to visit them as often as possible. My family's pretty tight knit, see, they're not used to people moving any further away than the next street.”
“It must have come as quite a shock to them when you moved out for studies.”
“Oh, my mother thought it would do good for me, but my father was a different story entirely...” They were interrupted by the arrival of their starters – seven platters in total, all of them crammed with different sea creatures, swimming in delicious sauces or fried in oil for a perfectly crispy texture. Thorin eyed the sheer amount of food in disbelief. He was perfectly certain they'd both be more than full after finishing the antipasti and the bread, and secretly wondered if Bilbo seriously believed he could stuff two entire courses and a dessert into his belly after all this food. The guard was so small. Perhaps he should consider calling a doctor in advance.
Oblivious to his concerns, Bilbo was already scooping up some red, buttery sauce with a piece of bread. He ate it with apparent relish, closing his eyes and smacking his lips appreciately afterwards. In any other company, Thorin might have found it comical; instead, he felt rather warm in the face and tried to remember how to breathe.
I am in so much trouble, he thought with no little amount of desperation.
“You should really try this,” Bilbo said, pushing the platter closer to him. Thorin swallowed, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight when the smaller man brought his thumb to his mouth and licked the butter and sauce off, looking entirely unabashed. Thorin opened his mouth to speak but the only sound he managed was a strangled grunt.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Bilbo said, hastily grabbing a napkin. “Excuse my table manners, I didn't consider where we were.”
“That's....” Thorin began hoarsely. He coughed, taking another sip of water to settle his dry throat. “That's fine. Most of the starters are finger food, after all.”
“Oh, they are,” he agreed. “But my old da would have given my ear a twist if he'd seen that.”
“So is this why you're such a good cook? Learned from your father?”
“Partially that, partially just that I like food. If you can cook well, you can eat anything you want whenever you want, and I happen to appreciate that.”
“I can imagine that,” Thorin replied, forcing himself to smile. Don't make this weird, he told himself. Act natural.
Bilbo caught his eye and smirked. His smile was a little too knowing for Thorin's liking, and he tried very hard not to squirm in his seat. “Perhaps I should invite you over for dinner next time around, if homecooking is something you get to sample so rarely.”
God, I'd love that, he thought, and tried not to let his mind wander any further from a simple dinner and perhaps watching a movie. Perhaps sitting on the couch together, their knees might accidentally brush against one another... He might have his arm around Bilbo's shoulder, pulling him closer for a simple, innocent kiss... He coughed again, willing himself back on earth. “I wouldn't say no to that,” he managed finally.
Bilbo positively beamed. “Oh, do come over, won't you? I'll make some apple pie for dessert, it's my specialty.”
How on earth do you make even that sound so suggestive? Thorin wondered weakly, exceptionally thankful to see their first courses arriving. It might be a good idea to pop that bottle of wine soon or he would really make a fool of himself.
“I'm paying.”
“No, we're splitting. I'm not going to let you pay for my food, I ate twice as much as you.” Bilbo grabbed his wrist when he tried to offer his credit card to the waiter.
Thorin sighed, only barely managing not to roll his eyes. “I invited you out, remember? My treat.”
“Absolutely not, mister,” Bilbo said, thrusting his own card into the waiter's hand. “Here. Take the entire sum off my account before this idiot here interferes any further.”
The waiter shifted his weight from one foot to another awkwardly, giving a small bow and taking Bilbo's card with him. Thorin could only watch their bills disappear behind the counter. The wine had definitely softened his brain. He was about to protest further when Bilbo's hands closed on his collar again and he found his breath taken away by a kiss. He could have sworn his head was spinning when they broke apart, and he was certain it was not just the wine at work there.
“I thought you wanted to split the bill,” he said weakly, the other man's taste still in his mouth.
“I changed my mind,” Bilbo said warmly. “As thanks for the wonderful evening.”
“At least let me treat you next time, then.”
The smaller man smiled, his entire face lighting up. “Does this mean there will be a next time?”
“If you want to, absolutely,” Thorin said, leaning down to steal a kiss of his own. The liquid courage had not been a bad idea entirely, he had to admit that much. He felt his insides clench into a tight knot when Bilbo returned the kiss with eagerness.
“In that case you can buy the ingredients next time and I'll cook,” Bilbo replied, grinning from ear to ear. His eagerness made Thorin feel extremely thankful that he was taking a taxi home, for his legs seemed to have been turned into marshmallows and he didn't trust them to carry him all the way. “Homecooking next, alright?”
“Alright,” he said. His mouth felt like sandpaper again.
The waiter came back with a card reader, and the guard turned around to type in his code. Thorin vaguely wondered how he was supposed to survive an entire evening with Bilbo, alone in his apartment, without completely losing his head, but he'd had just enough alcohol to push the worry off his mind for now. Perhaps he should talk to Dís and try to persuade her into helping him. She could be very helpful when she wanted to, granted she'd stop laughing for long enough to actually come up with any ideas.
Bilbo slipped the receipt into his wallet and bade the waiter goodnight. “All done. Shall we get going?”
Thorin nodded and the smaller man hooked their arms together once more.
“Will you be commuting home?” he asked when they stepped outside. The wind hadn't died down one bit and Thorin felt himself shivering in his suit.
“Yes, I rather fancy walking home from the station. Clear my head a bit before bedtime, you know,” Bilbo answered, giving his arm a squeeze. “How about you? Have your own driver waiting for you in here somewhere?”
“I told him to go home. Wouldn't be fair to make him waste his entire evening waiting for me.”
“Need me to call you a taxi? I see you're still not dressed up properly for the season.”
Thorin smiled. “I think I can manage it myself this time, thank you very much. There's a taxi queue right on the other side of the piazza.”
They had reached the fountain. There were much more people outside now and the streetlights had been lit up. Neon signs were flashing on the streets lining the square. Thorin found Bilbo looking up at him, still firmly grasping his arm.
“Do you have any meetings coming up at Brothers Ri?”
“Not in the next week or two, at least. We're discussing a fusion with Ironfoot, Ltd. – my cousin's company – and the meetings will probably take all my attention for a while.”
“I see,” Bilbo said, squeezing his arm tighter. “You don't mind if I text you every now and then, at least?”
“I won't mind,” Thorin replied quietly. “I know I'm difficult to reach sometimes, but I'll let you know immediately when I'm available for that dinner.”
“You better.”
“I promise I will.”
It had taken every ounce of Thorin's patience and several direct threats from Dwalin not to cancel all of his meetings with Dain. Had anyone asked him – and remarkably often no one did despite his being the top of the corporate ladder – he would have told everyone to pack their things and go home at four, but his cousin was a business enthusiast if he had ever seen one. Quite apart from spending all his evenings simply shuffling papers and in meetings with serious men in suits, his calendar had been crammed full with business dinners, family meetings and, on one occasion, a private golf session with the management of both Erebor, Inc. and Ironfoot, Ltd.
It had been very well received by everyone involved, except for Thorin himself.
In Thorin's opinion, there was only one true entrepreneur in this family, and that was Dain. He had all those qualities that were universally accepted as marking real business spirit; idealism, enthusiasm, leadership skills and no small amount of insanity. Dwalin agreed that all Thorin possessed of those qualities was the latter and privately, he almost agreed. He wished dearly the rest of the company would one day see this, too, and just let him clock out early for once in his life.
To: Bilbo
Subject: Send help
This meeting is taking forever. Am dying
of boredom.
Sent: 18:53
To: Thorin
Subject: Re:Send help
I forbid you from dying before you've
tried my apple pie. Had anything to eat
today?
Sent: 19:10
To: Bilbo
Subject: Re:Send help
Had a dinner break an hour ago. You
at work yet?
Sent: 19:25
To: Thorin
Subject: Re:Send help
On the train right now. Starting at 8pm.
So, how about that apple pie?
Sent: 19:31
Thorin smiled when his phone buzzed again. He tried to type his reply as discreetly as possible, pretending to be watching the slideshow. Had he tried to tell Dain he just wanted to skive off the meetings for a date, his cousin would probably have lent him his own car, but he had a hunch Dwalin would have just carried him back and tied him to his chair to prevent him from escaping again.
To: Bilbo
Subject: Re:Send help
I'd love that. Do you have anything on
Thursday? This torment's finally ending
tomorrow.
Sent: 19:35
To: Thorin
Subject: Re:Send help
Thursday's fine. Meet you by the grocery store
near my place at 5pm? We need to do some
shopping.
Sent: 19:45
Early on Thursday morning, Bilbo got off the bus with a half-formed shopping list in his mind. Milk. Flour. Eggs. They'd need meat and cooking cream, certainly. He had spend a greater part of his night shift crossing out possible courses from the very long list he had assembled earlier, and he had come to one conclusion: he had no idea what Thorin liked, apart from the chocolate and sandwiches he'd destroyed earlier. He had never asked if he had a favourite food. He made a mental note to ask that at the first given opportunity.
He had just taken off his coat and wondered if he should make breakfast or just crawl to bed immediately when he noticed there was quite a lot more to his couch than usual. A large figure was sleeping there, curled in fetal position. Bilbo paused on the threshold, simply staring at him for a while. The git hasn't even bothered to drape the fleece quilt over himself, he thought. The thought was oddly endearing.
He approached the sleeping figure slowly, watching him quietly before grasping his shoulder and carefully shaking him. “Good morning, Thorin. How long have you been sleeping there?”
Thorin opened his eyes slowly, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness that had not been there when he’d dozed off. Bilbo was bending over him, his smile more amused than exasperated, and Thorin tried to focus his gaze on him. Bilbo’s eyes bore that glazed early morning look that told Thorin he had just come from work, and sure enough, he was still wearing his dress shirt, though with a lot more buttons open than would have been entirely appropriate for a security professional. His eyes flickered downwards, and somewhere in his drowsy brain he registered that Bilbo had discarded his belt.
He closed his eyes quickly, just to get an excuse to stop staring at his crotch. Seeing Bilbo only half-dressed in his uniform was much too exciting for such an early hour.
“Sleepyhead”, the shorter man chided. Thorin only grunted in answer, and to his surprise a hand snaked its way into his hair, ruffling it. The sudden touch made him start. The traces of sleep quickly depleted entirely from his brain, his insides twisting into a big, tangled ball of nerves.
“I’m sorry I came here again,” Thorin muttered, still refusing to open his eyes. He was sure he’d do something rash like pulling Bilbo on the couch with him if he looked straight at him; he didn’t feel in control of himself like he usually did, and it made him wonder why he’d come to his apartment in the first place.
“So why did you come, if you feel the need to apologise for it?” Bilbo asked, but didn’t withdraw his hand.
Thorin swallowed, but it didn’t make his mouth feel any less dry. “I wanted to tell you I missed you.”
“Why didn’t you just call me, then?”
“I tried to send you a text message,” he admitted. He’d written and rewritten it so many times that he’d lost count, clinging to each syllable until the words had stopped looking like words. ‘I miss you, I want to see you again.’ ‘I miss you, can I come over?’ ‘The dinner last week was fun, can we do it again?’ 'Are you busy? Can come over a little earlier?' It had sounded stupid and desperate even in his head no matter how he’d put it. “But I never did, and I no longer had the keys to your working place…”
“So you came here instead,” Bilbo said softly. There was a rustle of fabric, and the hand moved from his hair to his chin.
“Yes,” Thorin breathed.
“Thorin, look at me.” His voice was much closer than it had been before, and opening his eyes, Thorin found him crouching in front of the couch. Bilbo’s thumb was rubbing in circles under his chin, leaving all the places he’d touched feeling much too warm.
“I am looking at you,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had never noticed before just how pale Bilbo’s eyelashes were. Everything about him was strangely light – his hair looked golden in the morning sun, his brown eyes almost translucent.
“Good,” he breathed against Thorin’s mouth and then he was kissing him, his lips moving so softly against Thorin’s that it shouldn’t have made his head spin like it did. Bilbo’s hand had wandered back into his hair, gently stroking at his scalp, his ears, as though unconscious of even doing so. It was soft and tender and much, much too innocent to make his blood pound in his ears, which was precisely what it did.
Thorin could almost hear him smiling when they broke apart. “Come on, get up. If you’re going to sleep, you might as well sleep on the bed.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, even as he let Bilbo pull him to his feet and lead him towards the one room he had never been to before.
“I am,” Bilbo said, sitting down on the bed and lifting the covers just enough to slip underneath them. Thorin had hardly registered that his feet were bare before they had vanished from sight. “I was going to take a nap, anyway. Just come and join me, you big idiot. Your back is going to hurt something awful if you keep sleeping on couches.”
He was watching him expectantly and Thorin gave in, slowly walking towards the bed and laying down next to him. He was too busy admiring the way Bilbo's curls fell across the pillows to care that he was still wearing his suit – it felt quite unimportant when the other man was just lying there, half a foot from him, with his eyes half-open and most of his buttons undone. He could just make out a sliver of bare chest under the cloth, and he had to fight back the urge to slip his hand there.
Bilbo was watching him, too, and whatever he’d just told him, there was nothing sleepy in his expression. His face was one of rapt attention, alert and full of keen interest. Thorin wondered if he had always been watching him that way, even seated behind his desk.
“Are you still sleepy?” Bilbo asked, reaching out to touch Thorin's cheek.
“No,” he replied truthfully. He had never felt less like sleeping. “Not anymore.”
“Good.”
And before he knew it, Bilbo had rolled closer to him, taking his face between his hands and kissing him full on the mouth again, without a hint of hesitation.
For such a short person, Bilbo was all limbs. His hands never stayed still; they seemed to be everywhere at once, roaming slowly over his chest and to his sides, carefully caressing him through his clothes. Thorin could only wrap his arms around him and tilt back his head to allow Bilbo to deepen the angle of their kisses, too disarmed by the other man’s eagerness to do more than allow him to take the lead.
“Do you want this?” the guard whispered against his lips. Thorin smiled, placing his palm at the nape of his neck and tangling his fingers in his hair in turn.
“I thought you were going to take a nap.”
Bilbo’s eyes were bright, sunlight hitting the top of his head so that he almost looked like he had a halo. “I changed my mind when I saw what you looked like against my pillows.”
His lips were already kiss-swollen and lovely, and Thorin could not resist tracing a thumb across him bottom lip. “And what do I look like?”
“Like I’m not going to let you go anytime soon.”
“Am I to understand that I’m under arrest?”
“Oh, yes,” Bilbo replied, giving his thumb a small nibble. “Breaking and entering again, weren’t we?”
“Are you going to call the police?”
“I think I can handle you alone this time.” His hands cupped around Thorin’s face as he kissed again, hard, driving all sense out of his mind. A tongue flicked against his lips, licking its way into his mouth and Thorin opened his mouth obediently, savouring the mind numbing sensation of Bilbo’s tongue sliding against his.
Bilbo broke away just enough to mutter against his lips, his mouth still a temptation. “You’ll ruin your suit at this rate.”
“Should I take it off, in that case?” came the answering whisper, and Bilbo grinned.
“I think you’d better,” he replied, smoothing the front of Thorin’s shirt and thoroughly enjoying how the other trembled under his touch. He continued stealing fervent little kisses, demanding the attention of his lips all the while Thorin sat up and eased himself out of his jacket and shirt. Together they made a quick work of the buttons and Bilbo’s hands were free to roam over his warm chest, catching lightly at the hair there and making the other man wriggle under his touch. He dug his fingers into Thorin’s hair and pulled once, lightly, and warmth pooled at the bottom of his stomach at the drawn out moan that slipped from Thorin’s lips.
“My, aren’t you needy,” Bilbo said, smiling. Thorin looked slightly disoriented to find the smaller man straddling him.
“I never even dared to dream that you’d agree to go out with me,” he confessed, his breathing uneven. “And even less that you’d want anything… more.”
“For someone so adamant to break about a hundred different laws, you’re awfully unsure of yourself.”
Thorin’s fingers played lightly across his neckline, tracing patterns where the skin was thinnest. For a while he said nothing, only dragged his forefinger over his jugular and pressed soft, almost hesitant kisses there until Bilbo was squirming against him.
“Oh, you're a tease...”
“You're one to talk,” Thorin replied, his teeth closing on the other's earlobe and pulling lightly.
Bilbo sighed, grabbing a fistful of Thorin's hair for support. “Am I to take it that you want to keep going?”
“I'd think you'd be able to tell from where you're sitting that I do.”
“I can,” Bilbo answered, smiling slightly. “But that alone doesn't necessarily mean you'd consent to go any further.”
Thorin's mouth closed around Bilbo's earlobe, giving it a light tug. “Well, I do. I do want this – want you – and I'm willing to go as far as you want.”
There was something positively feral in the look Bilbo gave him, and it sent a wave of thrilling excitement down Thorin's spine.
“In that case,” the guard smirked, “, there are condoms and lube in the bottom drawer, should we need them.”
The sun was much higher in the sky when Thorin rolled over to his side and sleepily draped his arm over the smaller man's sleeping form. Bilbo yawned, stretching slowly and fully enjoying the feeling of a strong, warm body pressed against his back.
“Slept well?” he asked. He received a noncommittal grumble in reply and the arm around him tightened. “Thought as much.”
“Sorry I came here so early,” Thorin mumbled sleepily. “I know we were supposed to meet up at five.”
Bilbo laughed. “I guess it's too much to hope that you went to the store before coming here?”
“Sorry.”
“Ah, well, I suppose we will have to get up eventually and go buy something if we want to have that dinner.” His stomach grumbled loudly, and Thorin lazily reached out to pat it. “Or breakfast, for that matter. We didn't eat anything earlier, did we?”
It was almost a shame, he thought, to interrupt such a fine day with something so cumbersome as grocery shopping. The clock on the bedside table reminded him that they had been laying down for the past six hours, wonderful, blissful six hours, and had it not been for the demands of his stomach, he would have gladly spent the rest of the day in similar manner.
Adult world was a cruel place, however, and Bilbo knew he would eventually have to admit his defeat.
He gently nudged the man behind him, untangling from his arm. “I need to use the bathroom. I'll get some tea ready for us, okay?” Thorin didn't answer. He had already burrowed back under the blankets, head pushed firmly under a pillow to hide from daylight. Had Bilbo not known better, he would have assumed some large, strange sea creature had made its nest in his bed.
Coming out of the bathroom, he picked up a strange buzzing noise coming from the coat rack. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be coming from a black leather jacket that he had never seen before, and he assumed it must be Thorin's. The pocket vibrated angrily and he extracted a cell phone from it; the caller ID read 'sis', and Bilbo tapped it open. He quite suspected Thorin would not be coherent enough for discussion anytime soon, and they had probably caused the poor woman enough worry already as it was.
“Hello?”
“About time you picked up, you complete arse!” The voice at the other end of the line exploded with the force of dynamite and Bilbo had to hold out the phone several feet from his ear. “I've been trying to reach you for hours! Where the hell are you? The boys have been sick with worry, I called Dain this morning when you hadn't shown up and he said the meeting ended around eleven last night, you were supposed to come home right afterwards according to him! I'm skinning you alive if—”
“Excuse me, lady,” Bilbo intervened. “You would be Thorin's sister, right? Your brother is still fast asleep, I'm afraid, he had left his phone on mute and I only just now noticed you had tried to call.”
There was a moment of silence, and suddenly, the woman burst into a fit of cackles. “Oh, dear god,” she said. “Are you the poor soul whose ass my brother has been chasing? I heard from Nori that there's some guy he's set his eyes upon and I was just waiting when we'd be getting a call from your lawyer or something.”
Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well, yes, we're going out, as a matter of fact. I'm afraid I'll be keeping him a while longer, we had plans to have dinner together tonight...”
“You're going out with him?” the woman said sceptically. “I was so sure he'd get his ass arrested chasing after some poor pansy again.”
“Again?”
“He's not exactly the most suave guy when it comes to dating people, you know. Instead of admitting right upfront that he's interested, he'll sit around staring at you and following you around like a creeper, desperately hoping you'll come and talk to him instead. You can probably see why that rubs most people the wrong way. He's been mistaken for a stalker before.”
Bilbo groaned. It was much too easy to see that in his head, now that she mentioned it. “Oh, he truly has terrible people skills, hasn't he?”
“So you really don't find him creepy?”
“Well, he's not very good at making first moves but he's not a bad guy,” Bilbo admitted. “I mean, I admit he looks a bit intimidating at first glance, alright, but....”
The woman laughed again, but this time it sounded much friendlier. “Oh yeah, that glower thing he does? Looks permanently like he hates everyone in the room?”
“Yeah, that thing.” Bilbo couldn't help laughing with her; the description was too spot on, and he quite pitied Thorin for it.
“Yeah, I've heard that he terrifies everyone with his presence. He just doesn't have that sort of aura that says 'approach me, I want to be your friend'. Smiling every now and then might help,” she added sarcastically. “I'm Dís, by the way.”
“Bilbo,” he replied. “I'm sorry if we've caused you and your boys such worry, I should have asked Thorin if he'd informed you where he was.”
“Don't mention it,” she said warmly. “So, Bilbo, you'll be keeping him for dinner tonight, huh? Should I expect him home later or do you want to keep him over the night, too?”
Something about her tone of voice made Bilbo feel quite warm in the face and he was very glad they were not speaking face to face. “I... well, if he's not wanted at the office early tomorrow, I guess I don't mind if he stays.”
“Oh, I'm sure we can arrange it so that he's not needed,” Dís said. “I guess he deserves a break every now and then, despite the gray hairs he keeps giving me. And, Bilbo, was it?”
“Yes?”
He thought he could almost hear her grinning. “Family dinner's at six on Saturday. Tell Thorin he'd better be bringing you along or he's grounded.”
