#splashin

A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the recollection of just how strange and wonderful life could sometimes be; he had been idly playing with the mere thought of switching things up in his life and law practice when change – monumental and irreversible – had swallowed him like an avalanche before spitting him out in a very different spot from whence he could truly appreciate the shift in perspective that had crept in.

Indeed, just as he had almost made up his mind, an old friend by the name of Gandalf had shoved a case his way that had just been too juicy to reject and that was how he had first met Thorin and his ragtag band of misfits. Suffice it to say that – due to his brilliance and sometimes slightly unorthodox way of thinking – Bilbo had ultimately won their home and possessions back and had thought that he was very well-seen indeed amongst the strange men he had grown to cherish so.

The enthusiasm of victory had slowly been replaced by a quiet, nagging feeling of dread though; now that the case was over, he was afraid that they’d just move on with their life and forget all about the prim and proper lawyer they had no use for anymore.

Want to come down to the river with us?

Thorin didn’t often bother with emoticons to lend more depth to his tone and make his intentions clearer, much to the dismay of one Bilbo B. who was twiddling his thumbs nervously; it went against his professional ethic to have a crush on a client but – as Thorin was his customer no more – he wondered if he should maybe cut himself some slack where the tall, dark, handsome brute he had spent days and nights with during their reconquest of Erebor Inc. was concerned.

It was statistically never a good sign when Bilbo started to question and wonder though, for it generally meant that some tremendous upheaval was lurking just around the corner and – already – he could sense the thrumming anticipation running through his veins like bouts of thunder and lightning.

Sure. When and where?

If his thumb missed a few letters on the first try, it was surely due to his discomfort in this ambiguous social situation and not at all linked to the idea of seeing the revered CEO of the newly reclaimed Erebor Inc. shirtless; Bilbo had never been and would never be the kind of man to debase himself or others in such a callous, reprehensible way. No way!

And – just to prove this point, made in private and only known to his own self – he spent the time left to him before he had to leave with assiduous preparations. He dug out his best casual linen suit and ironed it diligently, he chose an airy cotton shirt – which unfortunately turned out to be too see-through to be worn without a pristine undershirt – after comparing several to the now impeccable suit, and he even threw together a nice, light picnic.

There were aspects and facets to Bilbo that Thorin had no idea of yet and he was eager to let him glimpse just how good of a baker he was for example; the fact that he knew himself to look really dapper in the chosen outfit of the day was – according to his own assessment of the situation – of minor importance though.

Whistling cheerfully, he left his little cottage, feeling on top of the world.

Bilbo arrived – as was polite and appropriate – exactly 5 minutes early which gave him the time to give his rebellious curls a warning pat before strolling towards the river, picnic basket safely wedged in the crook of his elbow, to make his timely entrance.

“Bilbo!”

Fíli and Kíli – Thorin’s nephews – came running towards him and the so enthusiastically addressed lawyer took a step back – startled by the shocking lack of clothing displayed by them – before nodding awkwardly.

He had believed this river excursion to turn out much more Edwardian in essence – white cloth spread out on green grass, sun umbrellas, and pleasant conversation – and resemble a rowdy teenage get-away much less; he had been sorely mistaken in that prognosis, he realised as soon as he stepped closer and found most, if not all, of his friends in various stages of undress.

The older gentlemen were soaking up the sun like lizards, their heavy-lidded eyes drifting slowly towards Bilbo’s approaching form, while the younger generation seemed hell-bent on cracking open their precious skulls by performing various tricky – and in his opinion rather reckless – leaps into the clear waters of the roaring river.

“Oh hey, Mister Bilbo,” Ori called, his slender shoulders already treacherously pink in the blazing sun and cheerfully waved his scrawny arm like a speckled birch branch that shimmered like marble in the sparkling reflections of the stream, “how good of you to join us.”

Again, all Bilbo could do was nod politely; he felt silly in his overly formal apparel, now that he saw that the others were lounging about haphazardly without a care in the world about propriety or style.

Chaos – a microcosm of its own if one asked him – followed them wherever they went, Bilbo knew, hence why he was less distraught than he ought to have been upon catching sight of several potential fire hazards amongst the piles of food, clothes, and mysterious paraphernalia he could not quite place in this very moment.

“Bilbo,” Thorin waded through the water, ploughing towards him like an angry bull, all bunching muscles and wet hair; Bilbo’s mouth immediately went as dry as if he had been standing in a desert rather than in a luscious meadow.

“I was on time,” he croaked awkwardly, giving his little basket a shake as if that proved anything; as far as he remembered – just a moment too late – the wicker container was not a timepiece and would not offer up any proof supporting his words.

“Oh,” Thorin laughed heartily, “it was not a firm appointment. I see you’ve gone through some trouble about your wardrobe.”

Bilbo sighed in annoyance; he increasingly felt like a fool and this sensation was only exacerbated by the gentle teasing lapping against his ears like the current made the half-naked company sway to and fro gently.

“Do you even know how to swim?” Kíli jeered as he clambered onto his brother’s shoulders to enter into a puerile fight against Ori, firmly ensconced in Dwalin’s iron grip. Bilbo had never seen the secretary’s face look so radiant and overtly taunting before and somehow the raucous fun everyone seemed to be having only made him feel more ridiculous and left out by the second.

“Of course,” he snapped; there was but one solution to this conundrum: he would have to swallow his pride and join their merriment – ill-prepared and awkward as he was - and so, he undressed quickly and folded his suit and nice shirt into a neat pile on the grass.

“You’ll see,” he declared – his head held high – and plunged into the wet paradise without looking back.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried out in shock and amazement; this afternoon was not going according to plan at all, and he resented himself for making his guest of honour feel foolish. His sister – upon hearing of his abject failure – would no doubt remind him of how woefully underdeveloped his texting skills were, and, for once, Thorin would absolutely agree with her wise counsel to work on it more dutifully.

Hastening after the handsome lawyer as he was cleaving the waves in precise strokes, he, unfortunately, slipped on a stone and found himself going down rather inelegantly in a great splash that drew the attention of everyone around.

As he came up though – spluttering and coughing – those warm hazel eyes, shining brightly under wet locks adorned by thousands of ephemeral diamonds, met his own with gentle indulgence while hooting and laughter surged in dashes and waves in the background.

“Now that I’ve defended my honour,” Bilbo said softly, “would you care for some blueberry pie?”

Shamefaced and sheepish, Thorin quietly followed the man he had so wanted to woo; deep admiration blossomed in his chest as he watched Bilbo – barefoot and torturously appealing in his wet underwear clinging to his very skin – spread out a blanket and unpack a whole feast upon it.

“That’s what I had had in mind,” Bilbo muttered, a bit embarrassed himself now upon seeing the odd gleam in that flashing, azure gaze that flicked back and forth rapidly between his face and the offered delicacies.

“It’s perfect,” Thorin replied, “I wish I had thought of something that refined and stylish.”

With a chiding chortle, Bilbo settled down on the blanket and patted the spot beside him. “Come sit with me,” he invited, “we’ll dry faster if we can make use of our body heat.”

As he saw the sun turn those curls into a fire of gold and amber, Thorin sighed deeply; he was about to go out on a limb here and he was not eager to fall on his face twice in a single day.

Nonetheless, he needed to try and repair the damage done if he ever wanted to even stand a chance of wooing and winning Bilbo.

Someone won the fight in the river, and someone else lost…curses resounded, and laughter washed away the anger, but – at this moment – Thorin could not have cared less about the trials and tribulations of his kin and friends.  

“Sweet,” he commented in a low, passionate voice.

“The pie?” Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at him; even this tiny compliment made his ears grow warm with pleasure.

“Oh yes,” Thorin replied with a smirk, “that too.”

Soooo...there we have it...Splashing, the company, it starts with a text...

I have done my best and I hope this will make you smile a little :D

Lots of love from me <3