#drabble thoughts

Or getting your soft, pliable skin gently between his servos. Feeling the warmth of how he handles you, able to tug you and push you gently. Of course he'd never aim to harm you but feeling you unable to escape his grasp makes him feel so hot under his own metal.

"Easy Sweetspark," he'll whisper low against your ear so no one could hear, his servos pressing you against him.

When alone in the berthroom with him Optimus will let his walls down enough. Leaning down to kiss your audial fins or hold you securely in his arms.

He'll groan, if he's desperate, which doesn't happen too often he can't keep himself controlled; he'll rut himself against your back.

There's something that makes him tick about feeling his hot plating grinding against your spine or along the dip of your ass.

Hot steam radiating off him as he keeps you close to him.

Don't even get him started on the bulge. Fuck, he's glad you can buff yourself out because he won't go easy once he gets his spike inside you. He loves to feel his spike driving inside you, hearing the pangs of your metal on his. Feeling the metal of your abdomen and stomach shifting just slightly because his spike is so big for you.

Making you bulge and moan desperately for him to go a little slower. But it only gives him time to look down on his angel, seeing his spike pressing into your armor and denting it out. And yet you still take it.

"Look at you Sweetspark... You take it so well for me. So good..." He'll whisper, groaning from deep in his chest, remaining still with his servos clamped on your hips, feeling your weight easily manipulated in his arms.

You're so small you barely move as he pushes you up and down his spike. He loves how he can press you into the wall and have his back completely shielding you while his hips pound deep into you.

The way you turn into a moaning puddle and your circuits fry from his stretching you and manhandling you.

How his digits slip into your mouth to keep you silent or his servo wrapping around your throat, just enough he can keep you quiet so the others don't hear.

He loves when you get ambitious. Despite his size, you always drool over his spike, taking as much as you can in your intake, choking on it and drooling over the head.

Optimus loves it. Nearly loses his composure every time seeing you get so sloppy with his spike. Lubing it up so it can make the same tight stretch as always to fill your small valve.

The mountain had been eerily quiet since they had reclaimed it from Smuag's hold. It was freed---other than the lingering smell of dragon, of course. Bilbo walked through the dim halls, his feet curling every now and then against the uneasy coldness of the stone floor. Though the rest of him was kept warm by his coat, the tips of his ears were running a bit pink.

As he rounded the bend distant sounds of clinking gold ran through his ears, followed by pained groans of the rest of the company who were knee deep in search for the Arkenstone. He kept himself from reaching towards it as it lay hidden within his pocket. The bowl of lukewarm soup carried in his palms shook as he came to a quick stop, his steps echoing his arrival.

Across him stood Dori and Ori---halting their conversation with Thorin, a beat of silence hanging in the air between them. "Go." Growled Thorin, causing Ori to jump as his brother ushered him away. Dori gave Bilbo a cautious look as they passed him by, surely ordered to return to the search among the others. A slight chill drew down his spine as Thorin addressed him.

"Master Baggins, come."

He began to tread forward before he even had the time to think otherwise. He offered up the soup, in one of his many (failed) attempts to try and urge the dwarf to eat. "You should have this," He inched the bowl forward. "Surely you're hungry?"

Thorin took the bowl, though only spared the plainly thick liquid filling it a glance before he set it aside. "I will have the means to indulge once the Stone has been found." His armored boots clanked heavily over the stone as he stepped closer, his words carrying a ticking spark. "Until then, I wish to speak with you."

Bilbo's mouth ran dry, the dreadful weight of the Arkenstone tugging him downward. He cleared his throat to speak softly, eyeing the dwarf directly. "About what?"

Thorin gave no further inkling to his plans as his hand grazed the hobbit's back, not so much as only lightly grasping the tuff of his coat, guiding him to an alcove that hid along the corner. His heart ran faster than he could keep up with, planting his back against the wall and incredibly regretting not finding a more suitable place for the Stone. His fingers hovered over the pocket, tracing the rim of fabric while Thorin fished for something in his.

"Give me your hand." Thorin held out his own, though there was no demand in his ask compared to how he spoke to the others.

Overcoming his blink of hesitation, Bilbo laid his hand on his palm, gently flinching at its surprising warmth. Thorin traced along his fingers, feeling its softness, where then he slid a silver ring around one. Unlike those that Thorin donned himself or those of dwarven make, it glimmered of Elven finery; a single star shimmering in a blanket of dark, embroidered with elegance. The base of the ring weaved with intricate vines, while a single iridescent gem was bound in its center, much in appearance to the Arkenstone.

"It is a gift."

"Thorin, I..." Bilbo stumbled over his own tongue, retracting his hand, gaze dancing across the shine of the jewelry. "It's beautiful, but I can't accept this."

The dwarf grew a visible frown. "Is it not to your liking?"

"No, no! Of course not, it's wonderful. It's just, well... I'm a hobbit. Hardly the type worthy enough to honor such importance." He chuckled down the rest of his haywire emotions, which were a horrible mix of confusion and prickling flush that trailed up his neck and the bothersome thought of his hard made soup getting cold. "This should belong to someone else," As he went to remove the ring, Thorin's hands clasped his, stopping him halfway.

"I do not want to give it to anyone else." Said Thorin, a curious thumb brushing over the finger that held the ring. His gaze scaled up, meeting Bilbo's, who in turn did not flee from his touch.

"I'm afraid I don't have much to gift back." Bilbo fell to a whisper, watching the slow movements of their hands intertwining. When Thorin's eyes caught his he began to see a shift, a fade of the fiery burn that had set home inside him.

"I'm afraid you are all one could ever dream of having." Confessed Thorin, the two of them the closest they had been since the Carrock.

A smile worked up Bilbo, though he was convinced his heart would surely give out any moment at the speed it had itself going. "I could only hope that one would have me."

The air thickened, tighter than he'd felt at Smaug's very claws. Thorin slowly leaned his head lower, and though at first Bilbo shied from the sudden closeness, his seams untangled and his knees felt weak the moment the dwarf's hand cupped his cheek. When their lips had finally met it loosened the hefty floodgates between them that had stocked up ever since that first night in Bag End. It was slow to begin, a test of the waters, though it quickly started to boil with need.

Bilbo clung to the silky fur lining of Thorin's over coat, standing high up on his toes as greater hands kept his back to the wall. As they briefly parted and against stuttering breaths, Bilbo hardly expected to be confronted with two wonderfully dreaded words he so much had ruled out from his life till then. "Marry me." Grumbled Thorin, before capturing the hobbit's lips again.

Already in quite the daze, Bilbo hadn't fully realized his words till a good while past and broke away. "Pardon?" He practically squeaked like a mouse.

"Marry me." He repeated as he brought smaller kisses to the tops of Bilbo's ears.

Thorin's sudden warmth along his cold skin nearly took him to the floor and an early grave. Collecting himself, he shook his head and tried wriggling out from his hold to spare himself. "Thorin," He only managed a pant. "You don't know what you're saying. You---you aren't yourself."

Thorin made a noting hum. "You accepted my gifts."

"I didn't know they were those kinds of gifts!" Bilbo exclaimed. "If I had known I..." I still would have let you. He thought, head tilting back to rest on the hard stone behind him. "Something like... that takes time to consider!"

"Have we not waited long enough?" Thorin asked, words rumbling against his layers of curls. "From the beginning of our quest, I would have had you. And now that I do, I intend to keep it that way."

"I just---I need..." Bilbo couldn't think, fighting with his own frazzled thoughts of what he wanted and what he should do. For whatever utterly foolish and selfish desire drove into him, he ached to accept Thorin, greatly so. Yet the voice that shouted at him with reason held him back. For the love of all that was green and good, he was a Baggins of Bag End! He belonged in a hole in the ground, not in great halls. Thorin should dedicate his affection to some other noble, even if the very thought caused Bilbo's heart to tug painfully.

He was whisked from his inner debating when he felt Thorin's hand trailing down his side, far too close to his pocket. Acting on hasty impulse to get him far away from reaching the Stone---(truly, he should have found a better hiding place. Blasted Took in him really did enjoy living far on the edge)---he grabbed his wrist, stomping him from lowering any further and using that to redirect the dwarf's attention to another kiss. "Yes." The word slipped from his tongue. Now he'd really done it. Though at least his pockets weren't the center of curiosity any longer. (He hoped) "I mean---I'll... I'll think on it."

"How long do you suppose you'll have me wait?"

The impatience of dwarves. Bilbo thought to himself. "Ah, well, it's... we'll see."

Eleven if clearly disgruntled, Thorin respected his wishes. Though how long that would last, he wasn't all too sure.

"I should be off, then." Bilbo cleared his throat once more, regardless of the fact he had nowhere to be in particular, other than under a bed of rock to wallow in his embarrassment for the next years of his life. "This was, er... nice. I wouldn't mind us meeting like this more often."

"I would see to it that we do."

At the blink of Thorin's words Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, then promptly had nothing more to say. He spun his feet to the exit the very second he felt his face heat up and the unmistakable pool in his stomach. It only grew worse the moment he turned the corner, Nori stared back at him, soup in hand, severely wide-eyed. Whether he overheard the entire encounter between them, or the soup was just horrid, both made Bilbo wish to run for the hills.

"Good soup." Was all he said.

"Thank... you." Bilbo nodded to him, then walked as fast as he possibly could away from the scene.