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[ Oh—that gains him a response, certainly, and it is as the earth shifting beneath his feet, that rumble of sound from Thorin as though a part of the mountainside itself is crumbling, and Bilbo too gasps as he is pulled closer and he feels Thorin's fingers bury themselves in the curls of his hair. It seems to him that they are pressed impossibly near, that he can feel all of Thorin's body tense and the hunger in that mouth which kisses his harder, and elation fills him, a burning rush of it like liquor in his veins, and just as dizzying. Once more he quite forgets to think. His hands in turn tangle in Thorin's hair, burying themselves into those dark thick locks the way he has long desired to, with reverential joy. His kisses search Thorin's mouth, gentle but bold for a hobbit, for if Bilbo has no particular roughness in him at least he need not be shy where he wants to taste and nibble, not with the dwarf's lips parted as though to welcome him.

There is a shivering delight in him, a thirst unquenchable; he wants to touch and explore and know this joy forever, never again to be parted, never to know even a shadow of parting. ]