Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.


291. The Hobbit 1

~It doesn’t help when Bofur leans just that little bit extra over the side of the Elven fountain, purring, “C’mon, it’s nice and warm.” He wiggles his eyebrows in mock invitation, teasing, like they all are, though the effect is quite different than his jests in other situations.
For one, he’s naked. Even his hat’s gone, though the single-tooth earring still dangles beneath one braid, his mustached quaffed just so to perfectly bracket his smile. His skin glistens in the morning sun, bright and beautiful, his arm outstretched towards her. All slick and wet. He looks like something out of one of her dirty fantasies, the kind that only started up after this ludicrous quest began, and Bilbo realized just how off the beaten track her mind can really go. The sort of thing most hobbits prefer in romance is flowers, food, and sweet kisses under popular trees. She’s got an eyeful of a hoard of drenched dwarves, all hard muscles and exotic ink and artistic clips of metal, beckoning her to join.
Bilbo mutters something non-committal and shuffles her shoulders, strategically more than an arm’s length away so none of them can pull her inside. Bofur just slumps over the brim, watching her fondly, like she’ll give in if he just tempts her enough. She probably will. They clearly find her prudishness amusing, but the irony is that it’s one of the few areas where their cultures aren’t so very different. Bathing is a pure act. It’s completely acceptable to bathe with others, publicly or otherwise. ...It’s just less acceptable to become so wholly aroused by an innocent group of friends, and she fears if she joins them she won’t be able to resist crawling into someone’s lap.
“The water is quite pleasant,” Ori tries, more genuinely helpful than playful.
Thorin interjects, “Oh, leave him alone.” He’s got a bit of a grumble to his voice that says he’s the most done of all with her antics, which makes Bilbo shift her feet uncomfortably. With his rugged charm and his gorgeous body, Thorin would be the least safe from her.
But in the end, Nori and Bofur’s open call breaks her down. Nori comes up to Bofur’s side to send a splash of water after her, and she doesn’t step back in time to save the front of her waistcoat. They both laugh after like it’s a marvelous joke, and a few others look over with grins.
Finally, Bilbo sighs, and makes a show of muttering, “Oh, all right.” Nori makes a triumphant noise, and Bofur drifts away from the edge to give her room.
Their clothes are already strewn everywhere, some thrown to hang in trees and others in puddles on the grass. Bilbo strips her waistcoat, tunic, and shorts off with a bit more grace, folding them all to stack on a nearby bench. She looks down the whole time. It isn’t that she’s particularly shy or ashamed of her body. It’s just that they’re rather different than her in many ways, and thus far, when they’ve stopped in streams, she’s usually found some coverage to avoid awkward conversations. But this is the first time they’ve really lured her in, and finally she tells herself that if she can journey this far on a wild pony with a mass of wild dwarves, she can handle a little bathing shenanigans away from home.
She slips right into the water between Bofur and Nori, and they’re right: it’s warm and lovely. It comes right up to her small breasts, lapping gently against her tired skin, with the pleasant, soothing sensation that comes with most of Rivendell’s gifts. She slumps against the stone brim a little deeper, until the water’s reached her collarbone, just short of her honey curls, though most of the dwarves only have it midway up their chest. It’s then that she notices they’ve all fallen quiet. Every last dwarf, even Fíli and Kíli, has dropped what they were doing to gape at her, and it makes her face stain far redder than her own fretting did.
When no one offers an explanation, Bilbo asks, “What?”
From all the way on the other side of the fountain, Glóin answers, in the same blunt way he usually does, “We just didn’t know you were transgender.”
Bilbo’s mouth falls into a little ‘o,’ and she just blinks in response, shocked, at first, that they could tell. She was quick about getting in, and surely they didn’t stare that much. Then the confusion ebbs in about how they would even know—she didn’t think dwarves had more than one gender. Then his comment makes sense, and she blurts, “No, I’m not—well, yes, I am—but not like that—I’m a trans woman—”
“You’re a woman?” Fíli repeats loudly, looking incredibly taken aback.
Wrinkling her nose, Bilbo says, “Of course.”
Directly before her in the second tier of the fountain, Dori hisses, “Stop staring,” at Ori, who immediately averts his wide eyes to his knees and huddles his legs self-consciously together, clearly trying to hide his body. Dori’s also clamped his knees together, and Bilbo notices several other dwarves around her shifting.
Bofur asks, “Why’d you get in the fountain?”
He sounds genuinely confused, but Bilbo still can’t help answering a little crossly, “You told me to—”
“But we’ve been calling you a ‘he’ the whole way here!” Kíli blurts.
Bilbo turns back to him, explaining, “Well, I didn’t think you had another word—you all used it for yourselves—”
“You thought all dwarves were men?” Thorin jumps in. His usual aloofness has melted away, leaving him quite as shell-shocked as the rest of them.
Blushing and growing exasperated, Bilbo says, “Well, what are the odds I’d meet fourteen of you at once and you’re all the same thing? And then you just assumed with me, even though I’m quite sure I’ve had enough herbs and therapy by now to dispel such utter surety—you should’ve at least been mildly hesitant, but you just decided on your own—”
“Does Gandalf know?”
“Of course he knows—he’s helping me with my transition—”
“He played us for fools,” Dwalin hisses, looking suddenly away and curling one fist above the waterline. “He let us go on saying ‘he,’ and meanwhile he was having a nice little laugh to himself!”
Bilbo doesn’t counter that, because once she showed it didn’t bother her, a laugh at the dwarves’ expense does seem oddly in character for Gandalf. At least, in a withholding information sense. He often encourages others to find their own answers, even when these dwarves, once again, proved too headstrong and stubborn.
As the dwarves continue to alternatively cover themselves and cast sidelong looks at her, Bilbo attempts to ignore them and just enjoy the water. But she soon finds herself sighing, “Look, does it matter? I’m the same person I was five minutes ago.”
No one argues, but they don’t answer, either. The boisterous laughter doesn’t resume. It’s become so quiet that she can actually hear an Elven harp in the distance, which is very unusual for her rowdy dwarves.
Finally, Nori breaks that near-silence to ask, “So... are you single?”
“Nori!” Dori exclaims, lifting a hand even though he’s too far away to slap Nori, though Nori moves away from the second tier anyway. Bofur snorts, and it sets off a chain of movement, the most of which comes from her right—Bilbo finds herself eyeing Thorin and Dwalin, who start to stretch with exaggerated groans, clearly trying to be inconspicuous, though she can immediately tell that they’re trying to flex their muscles. And it could only be for her benefit. Dwalin curls in his bicep and splashes water over it, while Thorin lifts water into his hair and majestically arches his body. None of the dwarves seemed particularly interested in actually washing up before this, but now several start making a show of it. It would be comical if it weren’t so painfully attractive.
“Bilbo,” Ori asks, flushed as pink as her with a slight tremor in his voice, “we should talk some more about writing, I was thinking—”
But she doesn’t hear the rest, because Bofur sends a wave of water at her. It hits her right in the face, flattening her hair, and she has to shake it out, spluttering, before she laughs and sends one right back. In the corner of her eye, she can see Fíli and Kíli looking at one another, then donning twin grins.
Then they come forward to join in, looking just as interested as she feels.

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