Unknotting Lipstickcat

Summary:It turns out that Bilbo is rather talented with his hands, and Thorin gets to enjoy his first ever massage. Bilbo would enjoy it more if the rest of the company weren't gathered around taking notes, though.

Dwarves, it transpired, knew nothing of the art of massage. It wasn’t so much surprising news to Bilbo to learn that a folk that happily went without simple comforts such as handkerchiefs and second breakfast, while seeming to take some pride in battle won scars and bruises, would consider stiffness and aches all part of their well earned lot.

Hobbits were by no stretch experts themselves, though the aforementioned comforts were important to them and there was no good reason why anyone should be expected to suffer after spending considerable time tending a vegetable plot or caring for livestock. There were those hobbits that had some small degree of training in the Shire.

Bilbo wasn’t one of them. Of what he knew, he had gleamed from his books and he certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if he’d known this was where it was as like to lead. However, after the ordeals of the journey so far, and even with Gandalf’s aid, Thorin moved so stiffly and slowly after a night’s sleep at the foot of the carrock that the eagles had dropped them at. It wouldn’t do. They could make little progress on foot while their leader was so incapacitated.

And so, Bilbo had opened his mouth, which was amply big enough to fit his foot in, and to his surprise Thorin agreed to something he hadn’t even technically offered.

That was enough really; the fact that the dwarves all seemed sufficiently interested in his very meagre skills to gather and watch was quite embarrassing. Ori even managed to scrape up a quill and parchment to make notes. Surely his now valuable remaining supplies would be better saved for the adventure yet to come?

The early morning sun cast a warm light down into the clearing that they set down to rest in. Truly, they hadn’t gotten far as the top of the rock they had climbed down from was still visible above the trees. It wasn’t enough that Bilbo had already once made a suggestion this morning that he came to regret, he then felt the overwhelming urge to point out that Thorin would need to undress to benefit from the massage. The hobbit had to wonder if he was the only one that felt a lump in his throat as he watched the King Under the Mountain strip out of his coat, belt, mail and undershirts, right there in a ridiculously convenient shaft of sunlight.

The lump only got bigger as Thorin continued to follow his direction and lay down, as Bilbo suggested, facedown on his fur lined coat. He could feel his face heating up, just looking at the way the soft light fell over the other’s broad and muscular back, and he was absurdly grateful, though he could not and would not put his finger on why, that Thorin’s clothes remained below the waist.

With a resigned huff, Bilbo got to his knees beside Thorin and carefully reached over him to gather up the fall of his hair from over his back and around his shoulders. As he pushed it over the opposite shoulder he caught Thorin’s eye. The dwarf was watching him with an inscrutable look on his dark and heavy brow. Bilbo would have called it vulnerability, if he didn’t know better, which he did. He was glad, though, when Thorin elected to turn his head away and face in the opposite direction instead.

He placed his hands on the dwarf’s back, not really knowing exactly where he should start. His flesh was hotter than he expected and a little clammy, but Bilbo was sure they didn’t need to worry that it was a sign of sickness, rather the result of being bundled up under all those heavy layers for so long. The thought did occur to him though that as pleasant as the morning sun was warming his own face and caressing the curls in his hair, the air was cool and on such damp skin that might be much more noticeable.

“Are you cold?” He asked. Out of the corner of his eye Ori smiled as he scribbled something down on his parchment.

Thorin shook his head into the thick fur. A moment later, his voice murmured huskily. “Hot.”

Bilbo tried to clear his throat as discretely as possible.

“Hmm. Good.” Bilbo pressed his mouth together in a thin line and resolved himself to get this over and done with.

He leaned further forwards, putting some of his weight behind his hands. If he’d been trying this with a fellow hobbit he would have worried about hurting them, but with Thorin he suspected that he could have taken a morning stroll over his back and not bothered him much with his full weight. However, as he tried to remember the information and diagrams in his books that showed how he should move his hands, he found that Thorin’s flesh was in turn clammy or dry, and neither made it very easy for him to make his actions smooth.

“This would work better if I had some oils.” He expected. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he remembered reading how a lubricant could help.

With a small clearing of his throat, Oin stepped forward, already searching his pockets. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

He produced a bottle of his ointment, and Bilbo felt less pleased for the helpfulness of the healer and more aware that if even the hardest of hearing could hear what he was saying, all the dwarves were paying him far more attention than he was entirely comfortable with. Only because it gave him performance anxiety, of course. Nevertheless, he thanked Oin politely and directed him in applying the ointment to Thorin’s skin, which at least doubled as an excuse to treat the scattering of cuts and bruises that he sported as well.

There was still some difficulty, though, even if now Bilbo’s hands slid over the curves of Thorin’s slick back with almost alarming ease. From this position, he could only really work on one side of his body at a time and really he should be in a position to reach over and massage both sides simultaneously. Having his hands in sync, so to speak, so that he could compare the paired muscles and pay extra attention to any areas that needed it.

Of course, it was all in theory, but if he was going to have to carry this out, Bilbo wanted to do it right.

The troubled expression on his face must have been clear as he tried to decide how best to carry this out, for Fili drew closer and asked if there was something amiss.

“No. No, not amiss…” He certainly couldn’t kneel on the ground in front of the King’s head; that would be most improper. Bilbo made a slightly frustrated sigh. “I need to be over him really, to conduct the massage properly. But standing straddled over him, bent down, its… well, it’s ungainly, to be frank.”

Kili, close on the heels of his brother, failed to see any problem though. “Sit on him!”

“I am no pony!” Thorin roared, though there was plenty of amusement to be had all around them. Bilbo had to quell a strange urge to give the dwarf a soothing pat on the shoulder.

“No, but you are too big for poor Bilbo’s little legs and arms. You should let him tend to you properly. The sooner you are mobile again, the better for us all,” Fili reasoned. One day he would make a fine king.

Bilbo could see the tensing of muscles across Thorin’s shoulders and neck, and winced. This wasn’t much helping matters. However, Thorin adjusted his head, his cheek still against the fur lining and nodded slightly.

“Very well. Get it done with.”

It was with a degree of trepidation not that much unlike he’d felt when first mounting a pony that Bilbo stood and, as carefully as possible, straddled the dwarf’s back. He really didn’t want to be shifting around much in his seat, or saddle himself in an inappropriate place, so he took a moment to decide exactly where to sit. Finally, he brought himself to rest below the small of the other’s back, sitting on the rise of his tailbone so that he was able to reach all the way up to his shoulders and right down to the broad valley of his waist.

It was at the waist that Bilbo started now. Leaning forwards, he spread his hands wide against Thorin’s back and pressed his thumbs, so that they touched, on either side of the other’s spine. Slowly, he rocked his weight forwards, pushing his hands up Thorin’s back in a smooth, firm motion, thanks to Oin’s ointment. He could feel the silken glide of flesh beneath his fingers, the compact muscles, even the bumps of his spine beneath the pads of his thumbs. His thumbs parted and his palms glided outwards in a natural movement, following the shape of Thorin’s back. For a moment, Bilbo was reminded of the synchronicity of a flock of birds wheeling in a dusk sky, before he curved them around the thick muscle beneath his shoulder blades, and then drew them back together.

Sitting back, Bilbo repeated the movement; starting at the base and dragging his hands up Thorin’s back again. His eyes were fixed on his hands; the track his thumbs dug in the muscle that hugged the dwarf’s spine, the gleam of the sunlight on the oiled skin, and how his own touch shifted the light and shade in the plains of his flesh.

He soon fell into a rhythm, his body rocking back and forth against Thorin as he leaned his weight against him, then pulled back to repeat the task. Before long he had forgotten just how many eyes were on him, he was so absorbed.

Sometimes when he rocked back, he felt Thorin shift beneath him, his hips rolling and pushing up to meet him as he straightened.

After a few more repetitions, Bilbo decided that it was time to move on. He stretched forwards to lay his hands over Thorin’s shoulders, close to his neck. Thorin instantly tensed.

“Try to relax,” Bilbo murmured, though it felt that he may as well have advised the dwarf to start to juggle with his feet. Relaxation was clearly not something Thorin experienced regularly. Still, he felt the slight nod of his head, though Thorin resisted opening his eyes to glance back at the hobbit now hovering over him.

He moved his thumbs in small circles at the base of his neck, while his fingertips kneaded along his shoulders. There was, Bilbo was sure, some degree to which the resistance began to ease, although the muscles remained dense under his hands in general. If he didn’t pay attention to what he was doing, it was easy for Bilbo’s attention to drift to the profile of Thorin’s face. Staring at him wasn’t so frightening when he had his eyes closed, and Bilbo found himself admiring the slope of his nose quite a bit.

He might not have even heard the soft moan if he hadn’t been looking at his mouth at that moment. But he was, and even partially obscured by the hair that he had removed from his shoulders earlier, Bilbo could see how his lips parted in a sigh and felt the low rumble with his fingers close to Thorin’s throat.

That did funny things to the hobbit, things that he recognised and did not entirely dislike, if only the situation were different. Now though was not the time for the shooting sensation through his core, the quickening of his heart and the stirrings in an area pressed so intimately to the small of Thorin’s back. The hobbit’s hands faltered, perspiration springing to his brow. He would dearly like to repeat the action that caused a moment of pure… pure… relaxation in the King Under the Mountain, but now Bilbo remembered so many onlookers around them.

Taking a deep and calming breath, he moved his hands away as steadily as he possibly could. Shifting his position, he took care to reduce the friction between his thighs as he sat up a little bit straighter. Glancing around he found that interest in what he was doing had at least diminished somewhat since the last time he had looked up. Several of the company were now occupied with caring for their blades, others engaged in conversation. Even Ori seemed to be distracted with sketching something on his parchment now, rather than the intense gaze and sporadic writing that had been directed at them previously.

When Bilbo put his hands back down on Thorin’s flesh, he realized that it was warmer than he had expected it would get, having been bared to the morning air after being bundled up under so many layers for so long. Perhaps it was warmed by the pleasant sun, or by the friction of his hands, or maybe it was flushed by the embarrassment of having a slightly aroused hobbit sitting on his back. Nevertheless, Bilbo was nearly done, he need only tackle the part that he was least sure of now. The book had made it seem like a torturous affair, and how that could help relieve pained muscles, Bilbo couldn’t imagine.

This time, he concentrated his efforts on the muscles around Thorin’s shoulder blades. He worked each side to begin, kneading with his fingers, thumbs and palm, until he quickly found what he was sure he was looking for; a hard, misplaced area in amongst the muscle, a knot, Bilbo believed. He transferred both hands to the area and pressed down.

It was impossible to miss the noise Thorin made this time, deep and pained. Bilbo looked up in time to see the dwarf king close his eyes tighter, the corner of his jaw clenching.

“I’m sorry. I hurt you. I’ll stop now.” He pulled his hands away and held them up. “I said I wasn’t an expert in this practice by any measure and I should have refused straight away. I’m-”

“-Don’t stop.” Thorin’s voice was a low grumble, but commanding all the same. “Finish the job properly.”

Bilbo blinked. His heart had migrated and was now beating hard in his throat. He didn’t want to anger Thorin, not now, not when he was finally accepted and trusted.

“It’ll hurt more.”

“I’ve taken worse.”

How bad could it be? No one would ask for something that really hurt them, would they? Not even a stubborn dwarf with too much pride for his own good.

Well, Bilbo was less sure about that, but he did believe that Thorin had suffered far worse, especially recently. He summoned up the courage that on a daily basis he was finding he had more of than he had ever anticipated, and returned his hands to the knot to keep on working on it.

At first, he didn’t lean all his weight into the knotty mass, and still Thorin winced. His shoulders squared as if he was shielding himself against the attack, his head even lifted a little as he surely bit down another groan. Bilbo pressed on, determined to see this through to the end, even if it was his end. As he continued to work, pressing and rolling his fingers over the area, Thorin would shift awkwardly, sometimes his face would screw up or his hips would buck a little, and a noise would slip out despite his best resistances. However, Bilbo wasn’t being thrown off him, nor was he feeling all that threatened. In fact, he felt stronger for being allowed to cause this weakness in such a strong warrior, and as he started to put more weight and pressure into kneading the spot, he was sure that he could feel the tendons slowly unknitting beneath his fingers.

Soon, the rapidly increasing groans seemed encouraging to his ears; confirmation that he was hitting the right spot. Each time Thorin bucked, Bilbo thought that he rode him admirably, keeping both his balance and concentration without halting his attentions on the muscle. Whenever Thorin ground down with his hips, his back arching up into his hands, Bilbo smiled to himself and moved with him. After a time the click-click-click feeling of the knot under his fingertips grew faint and then finally, disappointingly, vanished. Bilbo sat back, pleased with himself. For a moment as he put his hands behind himself to lean back and admire his handiwork, his hands slapped down onto another pair of firm and rounded muscles. Hurriedly, Bilbo sat upright and pulled his hands away again.

“How does that feel now?”

Thorin pushed himself up on his elbows and rolled his shoulder, then twisted and turned his head from one side to the other. Some of his dark hair pulled loose from over his shoulder with the movement and fell over his back.

“Much better. I see you are more than just a burglar.”

Bilbo had just enough time to smile and allow a little self satisfaction to sink in before the body beneath him started to move without warning. Perhaps he should have gotten up sooner, but now he seemed to have no choice in the matter as he lost his balance and fell forwards. At the same time, Thorin twisted around to recline on his back, and Bilbo found himself face first in his beard and hair. He scrambled back, his hands all over his chest and torso, as the dwarf enquired whether the hobbit needed to work on his front as well.

It sounded all very innocent, if embarrassing enough that he had fell and sprawled himself over Thorin in such an ungainly way, until Bilbo righted himself and sat back. Then, he was all too aware of the incredibly hard length that he was sitting on, and if that wasn’t enough, Thorin shifted his hips again and suddenly it was nestled right between his buttocks.

The dwarf continued to gaze up at him with a stony, unreadable face and Bilbo wasn’t even certain if he was aware of the sizable object prodding him. Surely he didn’t want that kneading as well? Bilbo could feel the blood rushing out of his face, he was sure that he must appear sickly pale by now. It wasn’t even that unwelcome, but still not something he wished to deal with when surrounded by the rest of the company. In a fit of panic, he glanced down at the body beneath him. Perhaps the rise and fall of Thorin’s chest was more pronounced than he might expect of someone otherwise recumbent, and that at least wouldn’t be obvious to the rest of the dwarves.

Otherwise, there were no visible clues as to what kind of moment Bilbo and Thorin were sharing at this particular time. Scanning over his chest, Bilbo became aware that Thorin had clearly taken far more damage from the front in recent battles. He was half shameful in how glad he felt in seeing so many cuts and bruises mottling the other’s chest and torso.

“I’m afraid you have far too many injuries to massage your front. I really will injure you if I repeat my actions now.” Bilbo paused, meeting Thorin’s eyes as he shifted slightly in his seat and ground down as subtly as he could. “However, if you return to me in a few days, when you have had time to recover somewhat, I will gladly finish what I’ve begun here.”

There was a gruff noise that Bilbo was certain only he could hear Thorin make, followed by a short nod, and the hobbit took that as his cue to carefully extricate himself and leave the dwarf king to the details of ensuring that he was presentable in front of the company.

While Thorin redressed Bilbo pulled his own coat around his front and tried his best to look his usual self. As it happened, Bilbo often found himself awkward when trying to make small talk with the rest of the dwarves, so that was fairly easy to achieve. His gaze fell upon Ori, who currently had Kili leaning over his shoulder, smiling and pointing at his leaves of parchment in his lap. Both dwarves seemed to make more of an effort to include him, perhaps because they were the youngest, and without a beard they took Bilbo to be of their generation, or younger, so he went to join them.

“Did you find that informative?” He asked as he sat beside Ori.

“Oh, yes, very.”

Kili snorted.

A few traces of suspicion crept into his mind, so Bilbo leaned to the side to look at Ori’s work for himself. This time, all his blood insisted on rushing to his cheeks and making them burn hotly, for the sketches that he’d last noted Ori to be working on were in fact several quick, but detailed, studies of him bent over Thorin, massaging him, and one of them both when Thorin had been facing him too.

They were flattering, and very accurate, but even though he was clearly dressed and Thorin mostly so, there was an element to them that bordered on the risqué. Or perhaps that was just Bilbo’s own interpretation, knowing the truth of it. Either way, he had to pull his jacket tighter shut.

Leaves crunched from behind them, and before Bilbo could even check who it was he recognised Fili’s voice. “You should probably not show Thorin them.”

Kili nodded in agreement, barely containing his mirth. Ori looked a little confused. Bilbo risked a glance in Thorin’s direction, and even though the King Under the Mountain was engaged in refastening his belt, Bilbo caught him looking over in their direction out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t know,” mused Bilbo. “Maybe you could show him once we have reached Gandalf’s friend’s home?” It might serve a good reminder that Bilbo had a massage to complete.