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Bofur announced himself with an overly-loud cough, picking his way through the underbrush to where Thorin sat, glaring quietly at the forests of the Shire. Having made his presence aware, he approached the seated dwarf and casually placed a hand on the back of his neck, threading his fingers through the curly locks to massage gently at the muscle beneath. Thorin exhaled softly.
“I don't know what Gandalf was thinking, trying to recruit a hobbit of all people.” He huffed out his distaste. Bofur worked his fingers against his neck in response. “No fighting experience, no burgling experience…how exactly was he supposed to help? Perhaps with nervous laughter and his family's silver?”
With a smile, Bofur lowered himself beside the other dwarf, keeping his hand in place. “Well, for what it's worth, Mr. Bilbo is the nicest hobbit I've ever met. Not that I've met more than one, of course.” Thorin did not crack a smile. Unphased, Bofur smiled for the both of them. “We will just have to find a burglar to round out our company elsewhere,” he added optimistically, and experimentally moved his fingers along the other dwarf's scalp. Thorin closed his eyes in response, and Bofur waited for his next words.
“Our company…” He exhaled miserably. “If I asked it, would you leave the group?”
“If you wished it, if you didn't trust my skills in battle, I would. But since I know that's not the case…” Bofur trailed off with a wry smile. He knew how this conversation went.
Thorin let out a pained chuckle. “And if I wished it because you were-“
Bofur cut him off. “Now, now, if you tell me I'm your weakness again my ego simply won't be able to handle it. I am here to support you in your quest, and if other, more pleasant activities come of that, the better for me. And if not, well, you know I'll follow you anyway.”
“I won't…use you like that,” Thorin protested, finally turning to look directly at the other dwarf.
“And I won't be used like that,” Bofur agreed seriously. “But let me be the judge of that.” His smile became mischievous. “Besides, you have need of my hammer.” When Thorin didn't react, he waggled his eyebrows and leered. “My…hammer,” he repeated for emphasis. “One could say I am very proficient with it!” The waggling became more and more excessive until finally Thorin cracked, letting out a genuine snicker and shaking his head at his companion's antics.
Pleased with his success, Bofur leaned in, lips brushing the wavy hair that framed Thorin's face. He wasn't affectionate with the other dwarf at all in public, and especially not in front of the rest of the company, but since they were all asleep… “I am going to go tuck myself in. And since the weather is so fine, and the Shire so safe, I do think I will sleep clad as nature intended! When you're finished brooding, you're welcome to join me.” He stood, dropping his hand from Thorin's hair. “Good night, Thorin Oakenshield.”
***
Nestled into his bedroll, Bofur was soon rewarded with the clinking sound of a heavy mail shirt discarded unceremoniously. This was soon followed by several softer rustlings, and then Thorin was pushing back the blankets. Bofur made room, grinning widely in unconcealed delight.
Wasting no time, Thorin pressed himself against Bofur head to foot, lips already nipping here, sucking there. His hands delved lower, pressing strong fingers into Bofur's broad back. There was always something hurried, something desperate about Thorin's lovemaking, but Bofur was content to respond in kind. He fully intended to take his sweet time in return before the sun rose.
With a grunt, Thorin tipped himself over Bofur, sliding a thigh between his legs. Bofur sighed happily against Thorin's cheek, took two great fistfuls of his hair, and tugged the dwarf's face closer against his neck.
Lips still working the smooth skin where neck met shoulder, Thorin's hand closed around them both. Bofur groaned appreciatively, pushing up against the hips pinning him in place. Thorin worked them both with strong, slow pulls. Bofur let one hand drift down to the back of a thigh, using it to hitch the other dwarf closer. This was rewarded with a small groan, and Bofur used his other hand to guide Thorin's lips against his own to better capture it.
Thorin increased the pace, mouth furiously worrying at Bofur's bottom lip. Bofur encouraged him by hooking an ankle around his legs, the better to pull his hips closer. They rocked against each other, mouths clumsily sliding against one another, until Thorin shuddered, lips frozen in a desperate O as he climaxed helplessly against his lover. Bofur's hand joined Thorin's, giving him the one, two, three quick strokes he needed to join the other dwarf in ecstasy.
They clung to each other as their heartbeats gradually slowed and their breathing quieted. Then, Bofur rustled around, finally producing a spare handkerchief which he used to clean up the worst of the mess.
"You couldn't have known that I would join you," Thorin said, watching Bofur carefully fold the ruined handkerchief to be washed later.
Bofur snorted. "Of course I knew." He slipped his hand back under the blankets, trailing it down a hairy chest to finally rest on a muscled hip. "You'd have to be mad not to take advantage of a perfect opportunity such as this."
Thorin tugged at his braids, pulling their foreheads together. "Who knows how many more opportunities for this there will be?" he murmured softly.
"Whether there are or not, I'll be here by your side all the same," Bofur replied sincerely.
For a moment, they simply lay together, breathing each other's breath. Around them, the Company slept, adding their snores to the peaceful quiet of the Shire. Thorin nuzzled his forehead against Bofur's, finally noticing the unexpected rasp of fur and leather.
"Bofur, are you still wearing your hat?"
***
Bofur woke some time later, curled comfortably around a dozing Thorin. Eyeing the horizon, he determined that there would be plenty of time for another round before they would need to be presentable. He tightened his arms around Thorin and pressed his lips to the back of the other dwarf's neck, slowly drawing him from sleep. This was met with a small grumble, and then Thorin was turning lazily, eyes still closed, to wrap his arms around Bofur.
"I'm sorry to wake you," Bofur murmured, pressing slow kisses against Thorin's ear and jaw.
Thorin responded with little more than a half-asleep sigh, but his hands began to move restlessly against Bofur's back.
"You're right," Bofur agreed, drawing his nose through the other dwarf's beard. "I'm not all that sorry." It did not take much encouragement for him to settle himself comfortably above Thorin, lazily pressing their hips together while his lips worried a particularly interesting burn on Thorin's right shoulder. His hands found a familiar set of raised scar tissue along his ribs.
Eyes still closed, Thorin ran his hands over everything he could reach, moving from back, to shoulders, to neck, as Bofur made his way leisurely down his body. With a frustrated grunt, Thorin finally pulled off his hat, causing Bofur to chuckle against his navel.
Finally, mouth replaced hands between Thorin's legs, and he fisted his hands in Bofur's hair, trying unsuccessfully not to tug insistently on his braids. Bofur simply hummed in response, already expecting the resulting thrust against him. He continued his slow ministrations, relishing every soft gasp and tiny tremble from the dwarf beneath him. He knew it was nearly finished when Thorin became completely silent, only his hands communicating urgency in the way they kneaded his shoulders.
When the biggest of the shocks had subsided, Bofur kissed both thighs, followed by both hipbones, and then made his way up, counting each rib. He was interrupted just before the collarbones, as Thorin seized him by the ears in order to crush their mouths together.
Still licking the taste from his mouth, Thorin wrapped a hand around Bofur and began to stroke him with a calloused palm. Bofur joined him with one hand, using the other to grip the back of Thorin's neck. Now that Thorin was more awake, his resulting enthusiasm for the task made quick work of it. Soon, Bofur was gasping into his mouth, only barely remembering to keep quiet.
The faint lightness on the horizon warned of the coming sunrise. For too-short moments, they clung to each other, squeezing hard enough to make bones creak. Bofur peppered Thorin's cheeks with slow, open-mouthed kisses before pressing one last chaste kiss against his lips.
Thorin tipped them over, burying his face into the crook of Bofur's neck to breathe deeply. Then, with a small sigh, he clambered out of the bedroll, gathering his clothes and the used handkerchief. With one last glance at Bofur, he went to go wash.
Bofur snuggled down into his blankets to wait his turn, feeling thoroughly debauched and very satisfied with himself. That would make for a very comforting memory on the long road ahead, although it would be a crying shame if there were no more opportunities for a repeat performance. He dozed, grinning in his sleep, until he heard Thorin return and begin to quietly pack his things.
Bofur washed alone, then returned to the camp just as the horizon was lightening from pale blue to fiery pink. Thorin was already moodily tending the fire. Bofur set about his typical morning routine: rousing the company, delegating the morning cooking and cleaning, and loading the horses. Soon they could be on their way, and even though they were departing sans burglar, Bofur had a good feeling about the journey.