Scars

Credit to fantasyinallforms

Scars to dwarves are like trophies. Great symbols of triumph and fortitude, and any dwarf that made it past 180 was likely to have their share of them. Thorin had more than most. His scars were memories of his trials, and not all of them were in battle. Many he had gained from working in the villages of men for over 40 years. Men who treated him like a greedy beggar. Who did everything they could to steal and cheat him until the only way to save his money was to sleep in the streets. He had wrapped so many stab wounds and cuts on his own body that he could put Oin's work to shame. So, unlike his kin, he did not appreciate or even like his scars. They were a sign of how low he had been forced to sink.

Those days of working like a dog for scraps were over. Never again would he need to lower himself to that kind of work. He lay on his opulent bed, king under the mountain, with his lovely half-naked hobbit consort curled lazily over his chest. Bilbo was tracing his tattoos as he normally did as they enjoyed the afterglow of an evening well spent. This time, however, his fingers seemed to wander away from the dark inked marks on his body and to the darker shadows of former wounds.

"How did you get these here?" Bilbo smoothed his fingers over the many raised lines on his arm.

"Men." The answer seemed apt enough for him, but Bilbo frowned.

"And what about these?" His hands ran over the three slashes on his chest, marked clearly by the lack of hair on his otherwise furry chest.

"Men." was his answer again. Bilbo's frown deepened, and Thorin didn't like the look of it. He rolled them over until Bilbo was under him, his curious hands pinned above his head. Bilbo would not be swayed from his line of questioning. Ever his curious hobbit.

"Y-you never really talk about, ahhh, your scars. I know others -" Another moan escaped him as Thorin doubled down on the soft skin of Bilbo's neck. "Thorin, please let me speak." Bilbo struggled under him, and he let go immediately. He sat up looking very flushed, with several new dark spots forming where his lips had just been. "Thank you. I mean to say that I notice others take great pride in showing off their scars. You couldn't get Kili to put a shirt on for months after he healed. You, however, are never without one. Not even when you're burning up in the forge. Not unless we're here. As special as I feel that I'm the only one who gets to see that part of you, I have to wonder why?" There was sincerity in Bilbo's voice, and it was endearing. He reached up to run his hands through those tawny curls and sighed.

"Because I'm ashamed of them. Others earned their scars in glorious deeds, perhaps even stupid ones, but not me. I couldn't even properly fight back against most of my assailants. Not if I wanted to make any money. These are symbols of how low I had to fall in the name of my people. They're ugly reminders." Thorin felt the sudden need to cover himself and grabbed for the blanket, but Bilbo would have none of it. There was a look of fierceness in his eyes. Then, to his shock, Bilbo leaned him back and started kissing along the scars on his chest. He took his time. Each kiss was feather light but sure as stone. When he was done with one scar, he moved on to the next, leaving Thorin nearly gasping for air out of love and lust but also an acceptance he didn't think he deserved until this moment. When he caught his breath again, he cradled Bilbo's head in his hands.

"It's my turn to show appreciation." He kissed the scar that ran from Bilbo's cheek all the way under his jaw. The physical manifestation of what Bilbo had been willing to give up when he threw himself into Azog only to be swatted away. He kissed every inch of that beautiful mark in the same manner that Bilbo had done his.

"What a pair we make." Bilbo breathed.