Distraction

Credit to Fantasyinallforms

Bilbo was sitting in his armchair. One hand was clutching the armrest. The other was squeezing Thorin's fingers. When he agreed to get a tattoo, he had VASTLY underestimated how much it would hurt. It ached, not at first but with every new tap to his previously unblemished skin. He had let Thorin and Dwalin talk him into getting a tattoo to commemorate the journey. All of the company had gotten something at this point except himself.

"Bilbo, will you sit still for Mahal's sake! We're almost done. And don't clench your fist; it tenses your shoulder."

"Dwalin, I've been sitting still for hours!" Bilbo complained. He relaxed his firsts as best he could.

He had agonized over what to get for weeks. It was his first tattoo, after all, and it would be very permanent, so it needed to be something he liked. He thought about a small red dragon, like Dwalin had gotten, but shivered at the thought. Dwalin had not faced down said dragon. He needed no permanent reminder of that.

He thought maybe a barrel like Dori and Nori had gotten. He thought better of that, too. He had no barrel of his own on that river and almost drowned, to boot. Not memories he wanted affixed to him.

He gave serious consideration to a likeness of the key that started the journey as Thorin himself had chosen but decided against that as well. It suited his handsome, wonderful dwarf very well, but it didn't mean the same thing to him as it did Thorin. He finally settled on the symbols that truly started his little adventure: three runic marks on his door: Burglar, Danger, Reward.

He shot Thorin an annoyed glare when he heard him try to stifle a snicker and pass it off as a cough. Thorin regarded him amusedly.

"What's so amusing then?" Bilbo huffed

"You've been sitting here for barely thirty-five minutes." He pointed out. Drat! Had so little time passed! Bilbo's nose twitched. The pain was messing with him. He had never had a very high pain tolerance, as this experience reminded him.

"Done!" Dwalin shouted. Bilbo looked over to admire his work, but Thorin's hand laid heavy on his chest.

"He has to disinfect it first, amral, so you don't get an infection." He watched Dwalin take a damp rag from a shallow, sweet-smelling bowl.

"This might... sting a bit, laddie," Dwalin warned. Bilbo tensed and braced, but all of that was swept away by the feeling of Thorin's lips on his. He barely noticed the sting of the cloth on his skin. All he cared about was that wonderful dwarven mouth on his. He was released a moment later, blinking in the afterglow of being so thoroughly snogged.

"I thought it might be a pleasant distraction." Thorin's eyes were full of affection, and it was always a joy to see.

"You should distract me like that again... right now." Bilbo cooed.

"At least let me get out of the room first," Dwain grumbled.