#pastiche and persiflage

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Sugar and spice

My dear friend @lordoftherazzles has been good enough to submit a prompt.

As Razzy is a known and very skilled Bagginshielder, I have done my best to write a small treat for her with her blorbos.

I love you and I hope this makes you smile!

Words: 1,4 k

Warnings: Cursing and slight sexual innuendo

Characters: Bagginshield

Bilbo stared at his reflection in the mirror and decided that his cream-coloured button-down and the matching tan formal trousers were good enough for the ominous blind date he had been browbeaten into by his dear cousin Primula.

As far as he had understood the good woman – he had to admit that he had not entirely paid attention to her lengthy explanation – she and an unnamed friend of hers had organised what Primula was sure would turn out to be a very successful date.

With a deep sigh, Bilbo admitted that he loved his cousin more than he had ever told her and thus, he finally had agreed – not without putting up a little bit of a fight to keep things interesting, of course – to attend the proposed dinner in a shockingly expensive downtown restaurant that would be entirely financed by her magnanimous generosity.

Naturally, he found it incredibly insulting that she seemed so offended by his single status that she’d rope in not one but two other people to amend said circumstance, but he also knew that she meant well; moreover, he trusted her not to have chosen a complete dud. How bad could it be?

As soon as – upon arriving at the excessively upscale eatery – he informed the stuffy headwaiter of his arrival though and was consequently led to a secluded table – candles, cloth napkins, and the whole spiel in glaring evidence – he had to bite back a guffaw.

“Good evening Thorin,” he greeted casually and stretched out a jovial hand for the other man to shake.

“I should have known,” Thorin grinned with a boyish grimace that made his handsome face light up with mischief.

“I take it that the mysterious friend is Knitting-circle-Ori then,” Bilbo commented as he handed over his coat to the waiting server who did his best not to betray any kind of emotion.

Rifling through his hazy memories, Bilbo tried to recall the exact words Primula had used upon explaining how she had set up this romantic farce.

“You know him?” Thorin asked as he tapped his finger against his empty glass to signal his wish for another beer.

“We are in the same book club, yes,” Bilbo acquiesced without looking up from the wine menu; a dry white wine might do the trick, he thought, and promptly ordered a glass of crisp Pinot Gris from his favourite vineyard.

“He’s distant kin,” Thorin explained glumly. “Who is his co-conspirator?”

“My cousin Primula; she’s very close kin to me.” Bilbo couldn’t suppress his grin when Thorin’s face froze into a mask of shocked betrayal; apparently, Primula was known to him and he – like many a man before him – had been duped by her rosy complexion and her easy smiles.

“We met at a dart championship,” Thorin muttered morosely. “I’d never have thought her capable of such duplicity.”

He seemed visibly impressed with the devious machinations of two of the most placid and easy-going people in their lives, but Bilbo realised just as clearly that Primula and Ori had overlooked one crucial point: if they knew one another as well as their chosen victims, how on earth had they expected Bilbo and Thorin never to have met one another?

It was true that they had never spoken much, but – as two men past their prime who were interested in other men – they had necessarily crossed paths before.

“Well, you strike me as the kind of man who’d frequent this kind of establishment more often than me,” Thorin then said amiably, “so I defer to your wisdom. I cannot make head nor tail of half the things on the menu.”

As an avid foodie, Bilbo was in his element right away and they spent the next minutes sipping their drinks and philosophising about the truly awful names the wanna-be-trendy restaurant had slapped upon the most mundane of dishes.

When the much put-upon waiter finally had secured their orders, Bilbo leaned back in his chair and eyed Thorin with unabashed interest. He had believed himself past the age where bad boys in black shirts made his heart beat faster, but the quick wit and sparkling humour the man sitting across from him hid so masterfully under a thick layer of blasé pugnaciousness made his stomach clench with another kind of hunger.

Despite the silver streaks adorning that raven hair, Thorin could boast cheekbones one could cut cheese with and bright blue eyes that glinted with every word he spoke; he was a handsome man and moreover, surprisingly good company.

Indeed, the dinner ended up being – as predicted by a smug Primula – truly delightful. In truth, Bilbo generally dreaded overly formal settings and Thorin’s outspoken impatience with the pomp chased away much of the breathless, muted tension these establishments cultivated like precious fungi.

“Do you think they’ll check on us?” Thorin drawled, letting his eyes wander across the tastefully decorated room. Mindful of the potential scrutiny of the orchestrators of this date, they had decided to share a platter of miniature desserts – all of them delicious and disgracefully tiny – and were presently fighting discreetly for the last bite of mousse au chocolat.

He might have been an expert at throwing pointy things at cork boards, but Thorin was no match for Bilbo with a spoon and so he had to admit his defeat and withdraw, watching that gooey treasure disappear behind soft, plush lips.

The sound of sensual pleasure escaping Bilbo as he truly savoured his victory made Thorin’s skin tingle and he almost ordered another mousse just to hear it again; it had been some time since he had heard such bone-melting sounds fall like summer berries from the inviting, shapely mouth of another man who was neither an idiot nor a cold-blooded player.

“I guess that Primula will not be able to resist,” Bilbo finally replied, the tip of his tongue tracing his bottom lip slowly to make sure that he had not missed a single crumb of the sugary goodness they had just indulged in.

“Should we…” Thorin fell silent again, but he saw the echo of his own devious plan flare in those vivid, hazel eyes. A ferocious grin stretched across Bilbo’s soft, gentle face as he nodded ponderously.

“Yes,” he said, “yes, indeed, I think we should make them pay for their ill-advised idiocy!”

The restaurant sat at the end of a cul-de-sac like a plump housecat, but there were plenty of pubs and bars further up the street; it did not take long for the improbable couple to catch a glimpse of their respective tormentors, huddled by the front window of a cosy ice-cream parlour.

“What do you propose?” Bilbo asked, tilting up his face adoringly at Thorin while making sure that the yellowish light from the nearby streetlamp fell squarely on his soft features to make sure that his persiflage of an enamoured expression could easily be caught by the two knitting-needle-wielding fiends across the street.

“I don’t know,” Thorin replied without moving his mouth overmuch for fear that either one of their spectators would be able to read his lips. “How far are you willing to go?”

A small twitch of that button nose as Bilbo was pondering the question furiously made him lift his massive paw to cup Bilbo’s soft, beardless cheek and caress it with a lazy swirl of his cool thumb.

“Kiss me,” Bilbo then breathed, getting increasingly caught-up in a fantasy of his own making. “Do it as if you meant it!”

His eyes fluttered shut dramatically as Thorin bent down in slow-motion.

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Thorin muttered into the steadily diminishing space between his own lips and Bilbo’s. “I’ll get back that last bit of mousse yet!”

Before Bilbo could either laugh or protest, firm lips – warm and surprisingly tender – were pressed against his own; his fingers flew up to card through that unexpectedly soft beard while his other hand clawed itself into a solid, strong shoulder.

Who would have thought that playing darts against Primula gave one that kind of body?

As Thorin deepened the kiss, his own hands coming to rest possessively on the small of Bilbo’s back, every rational thought of retribution and vengeful pretence flew apart.

Suddenly, the very same indecently tremulous sound slipped out of Bilbo’s mouth and melted in a cloud of chocolate and sugar on Thorin’s tongue.

“Fuck them,” Thorin groaned, tightening his hold on Bilbo’s soft body. “They might well have been right, damn them!”

“Thorin?” Bilbo looked up almost shyly, his tongue darting out once more to check his lips for overlooked delicacies. “You’ll never guess what is sitting in my fridge.”

“Please say it’s a mousse,” Thorin begged; in truth, he didn’t care one bit. All he really wanted was for this fake date not to end just yet.

“It’s a blueberry one,” Bilbo, pulling himself up by slinging his arms around Thorin’s neck, purred seductively into his ear. “Interested?”

So, @fellowshipofthefics, this was the third for today. @sunnyrosewritesstuff, I'll get onto yours as soon as I'm up and about again tomorrow.

Lots of love from me <3

#og post #fotfics #january trope roulette #fellowship of the fics #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien #Modern!Au #Bagginshield #Thorin #Bilbo #Thilbo #Blind date #first kiss #mousse au chocolat #hints and references #pastiche and persiflage #I love you Razzy