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It was the third morning they had spent at Beorn's house, and Bilbo was woken very early by a distant banging.
Confused and disoriented, he sat up halfway and noticed that the rest of the company was still snoring away, other than Ori, who was curled up by the table scratching in his leather-bound journal, and Thorin, who was nowhere to be seen. Ori did not seem concerned about the clanging, so Bilbo tried to curl up and sleep again, but the banging -- metal on metal? -- kept him from drifting off.
It wasn't even dawn, but finally Bilbo sat up and waded his way out of the mess of snoring Dwarves and went to the entrance, nodding to Ori as he did. Ori flashed him a little smile but continued with his journal, and so Bilbo went in search of the noise, unnerved but determined to find the reason for it and politely ask them to stop.
He discovered that the noise was coming from the makeshift forge that the Dwarves had rigged up yesterday evening. Given that everybody except Thorin was still inside Beorn's house, Bilbo approached the structure a little cautiously and peered inside, trying to be as noiseless as possible.
His eyes landed on the tall figure of Thorin, who was steadily hammering away at a glowing piece of iron. All of the breath rushed from Bilbo's lungs, and he had to cover his mouth to keep the noise from escaping. Thorin was missing most of his clothes, only wearing his pants and boots, his shirt thrown over another table. He was obviously sweating in the light of the small fire, and Bilbo could see his muscles -- and oh, what large, powerful muscles they were -- flexing every time he brought the hammer down.
Bilbo stared, his mouth going dry. Oh. Oh dear. This would not do at all. He really should go back into the house, crawl into bed, and pretend this had never happened. Because oh -- oh dear, he could see the sweat trailing down Thorin's back, and his hair was sticking to his skin, and my, that was a powerful grip he had on that hammer...
Oh dear.
It did not help that ever since the tall, majestic Dwarf had been introduced to him in Bag-End, Bilbo had had just the tiniest of crushes on Thorin. Teeniest. So miniscule that it did not even matter, really, because though Thorin was tall and handsome and had quite stunning blue eyes -- bluest eyes Bilbo had ever seen! -- he was an exiled King, a very regal and noble Dwarf, and someone who was so far above Bilbo's pathetic little station in life that there was absolutely no way it would ever happen.
It certainly did not help that Thorin had been rightly ticked at him for nearly the entire journey so far. Only since three days ago had Thorin showed any kindness to him, other than saving his life a few times, but Thorin had regularly saved all their lives during their journey, sometimes multiple times a day. That hug -- that lovely, tight, completely innocent and platonic hug -- had done horrors on poor Bilbo's tiny, tiny crush, like enflaming it. Fortunately, despite his complete attitude shift towards Bilbo, Thorin had otherwise remained his normal broody, scowling self, and Bilbo had nurtured his slightly larger crush back to tinyhood.
Until now. Oh dear, there was no way he would be able to return to having a tiny crush on Thorin Oakenshield. Not after seeing those rugged, masculine, so perfectly carved muscles flexing, dripping with sweat from the heat of the forge. Or that handsome profile, blue eyes glinting with firelight, no sign of His Majesty anywhere in sight, only a rough, gorgeous blacksmith with strong arms that would be able to lift Bilbo easily and lay him out on a table, or a bed -- a bed would be nice -- and do quite lovely things to him --
Uhh. Did Thorin just grunt? Must have been his imagination. Because oh yes, Thorin doing lovely, messy things to him, that would make both of them grunt and leave Bilbo just as sweaty --
Just then, Thorin turned around and met his gaze, and Bilbo squeaked in shock. He realized with a start that he was flushed and very interested from looking at Thorin like this. Thorin stared at him, eyebrows creasing.
"...Bilbo?"
Bilbo managed a very weak good morning before he turned and fled.
Oh dear oh dear oh dear. He wouldn't be able to look Thorin in the eyes ever again! Which would leave only his body to look at -- no no no! That was just as bad!!!
Maybe he should go cool off somewhere for a little while. Or a year. A year would do nicely to nurture his raging lust back to a tiny crush, right?