Chapter Text
Bilbo was a simple man who enjoyed the simple pleasures in life. A cup of tea, a good book, and simply-prepared delicious food were all he really needed.
That did not mean he didn’t have a bit of a danger streak.
He was rebellious as a younger lad, smoking and drinking, and generally causing ruckus with friends who were even worse than he was. That died down when his parents passed away, but it still lived within him. Particularly, it lived in his preference for men: big, strong, tattooed men who were danger personified. He dated such men, and one in particular was a big mistake. A mistake by the name of Thorin Durin.
It was nice, at first. He genuinely loved Thorin, and the man loved him back. However, he wasn’t as affectionate as he’d like him to be (that was expected), and was incredibly jealous and possessive (that was unexpected and very much unwanted). When Thorin had actually punched one of his friends in the face for “trying to make advances” in the form of sitting next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, Bilbo ended it. It was one of many instances, and he couldn’t take it anymore. It was for the best, in the end, and it taught Bilbo a lesson he should’ve learned long before during his previous relationships: don’t date men like Thorin. They might make him weak in the knees, but they aren’t good relationship material, which was what he wanted.
He just wished he could live up to it, especially now.
“Why on earth did I let you talk me into this?” Bilbo shouted over the sounds of revving engines to his friend Bofur. Bofur, who had a penchant for braiding his long hair and wearing some of the most ridiculous hats he’d ever seen. A friend he knew since his rebellious phase and, while he was respectable, Bofur still immersed himself in his old life from time to time. Much more than Bilbo did, anyway.
The thing that Bofur talked Bilbo into was a biker rally. It seemed interesting, and a good idea at the time, but the trip to get there was long and arduous, and Bilbo was sure all the exhaust was doing more damage to his lungs than any of his smoking ever did. Despite all that, he could not deny the little thrill that rushed through him while he stood amongst all the commotion.
Bofur just laughed at him. “I thought you’d want to live it up a little!” He called right back. “You’ve been doing nothing but sit at home, work at your bookshop, and take care of your nephew.”
“He’s an adorable nephew!”
“Indeed, he is!” Bofur agreed. “But you haven’t done anything outside of that! You haven’t gone out, you haven’t dated. I highly doubt you’re getting-.”
“Alright!” Bilbo cut him off. “I know I’m not… living it up, but I’m trying to do right by my nephew and by me. That, and I don’t have time for dating.”
“You mean you don’t want to date who you want-.”
“I made that mistake several times, and I won’t do it again.” Bilbo replied sternly, even as his gaze lingered on a biker’s arse in jeans and leather. “Especially after Thorin.”
“He was just one bad seed of the lot.” Bofur stated drily.
“Still-.” Bilbo started, only to be cut off when everyone started getting particularly loud and excited. “What’s-?”
“Ah, he’s here!” Bofur chirped happily as one engine continued on revving. “I was hoping he’d show up!”
“You were hoping who would show up?”
Bofur smirked in that familiar way that had Bilbo worrying. “Captain Bluebeard.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see. Come on!”
With that, Bofur dragged him through the rowdy crowd, pushing and being pushed, before eventually working his way to the front, where the crowd had encircled a large man on a particularly large bike. He killed the engine as soon as Bilbo had moved to stand next to his jeering friend and stood, and Bilbo was entranced.
He was big, as was noted earlier, but when he stood he seemed to tower over everything. His leathers accentuated how broad and fit he was. Large shoulders, tapered waist, and an arse that one could bounce off something as large as the bike he was sitting on not moments before. He removed his helmet (at least the man was safety conscious) revealing a shiny bald head lined with tattoos. As he turned around, waving and jeering with the others, Bilbo finally realized why Bofur called him such a strange name.
For the man had a beard, despite his baldness, and a good portion of it was dyed a bright, electric blue.
He seemed too old for such a thing, but for some odd reason, it suited the man fairly well. And while not particularly beautiful, he had a roughness about him that made Bilbo’s knees weak, and they almost caved when he saw those bright teeth shining from the fur on his face.
When the man dubbed Captain Bluebeard finally turned towards his direction, his smile only wavered slightly before returning with a heat that Bilbo knew all too well.
Bilbo was sure he was doomed, and was thankful when someone managed to shout loud enough to catch his attention so Bilbo could come back to his senses.
“Well?” Bofur asked, and Bilbo fought the urge to glare at his friend’s knowing smirk.
“I can see why you lot call him Bluebeard.” He remarked instead. “Though why you’d call him Captain…”
“He was in the army for several tours.” Bofur explained, nodding his head in the man’s direction. “Seen his fair share and the lot.”
He’s a biker, plus he was in the army. Bilbo thought as his mind reeled. Have mercy.
“Ah, but he’s of the good kind.” Bofur replied. “I’ve known him for ages.”
“Really?” Bilbo asked, and fought down the petulant urge to ask, “Why didn’t I know about him?”
Bofur just nodded. “Family friend, and all that.” He explained. “Grew up in the same neighborhood. My brother and I would always-!”
“Bofur!”
Bilbo jumped at the loud, gravelly voice and his stomach quaked as Captain Bluebeard (he really needed to learn his actual name only because it was polite) walked up to them.
“Dwalin!” Bofur crowed as he hugged the large man tightly. It was so familial that Bilbo almost felt like an intruder. “You old man! How long’s it been?”
“Oi! If I’m old, then so are you! You with your hats!” He growled back, all pearly teeth showing in what looked like a snarl. “And it’s been too long!”
“Yeah, yeah!” Bofur laughed, swatting at him when he moved to play with said hat.
Bilbo watched the entire thing whilst trying to fight back a ridiculous grin. It was almost sweet, how this large biker was joking around with an old friend like this instead of the two punching each other and calling one another horrid nicknames.
Well, Captain Bluebeard was horrid, but not in that way.
His thoughts screeched to a halt when he realized that they were looking at him. Capta-Dwalin (Bilbo was sure Bofur called him Dwalin) was smirking at him and looking at him in a way that it made his poor chest and stomach erupt.
“So,” Dwalin Bluebeard (dammit, now it was stuck in Bilbo’s head) stated, and Bilbo was most definitely not blushing. “Who’s your date?”
Bofur laughed at him before tugging Bilbo over. “Oh, no. This is one of my old friends. Dwalin, this is Bilbo Baggins.” He greeted as Dwalin reached over to shake Bilbo’s trembling hand. “Bilbo, this is Dwalin Fundinson. AKA, Captain Bluebeard!”
Dwalin cringed at the nickname before continuing on with his greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Bilbo Baggins.”
“And you.” Bilbo replied, staring up at Dwalin and into his eyes. He was a beast of a man, that was for sure. But there was something about his eyes. When they weren’t heated or leering, there was a spark there. Almost like a gentleness.
Perhaps Dwalin Fundinson was really just a giant teddy- no.
Bilbo stomped out that train of thought before it could even leave the station. He learned his lesson, dammit. He wasn’t about to make the same mistakes. Maybe Dwalin would be like a teddy bear at first, but then it would all spiral out of control. Just like with Thorin. And all the others.
“Well!” Bofur crowed, slapping them on the shoulder (In Bilbo’s case, anyway. He barely managed to hit Dwalin on the arm, the man was so big). “I’m gonna try and find some beers. Be right back!”
As Bofur walked off, Bilbo fought down the urge to glare at his friend. It was now quite clear why Bofur was so insistent in bringing Bilbo here. Why he wanted Bofur to meet Dwalin. Of course, it couldn’t be the only reason, but still. Clearly, Bofur thought he saw something (and that damnable man knew of Bilbo’s weaknesses), and he clearly was trying to set them up.
Well, he wasn’t going to fall for that. He knew better, and he wasn’t going to swoon over Dwalin like Bofur thought he would.
Still, it would be rude just to keep silent, so Bilbo once again returned his gaze to peer up at the large man, and automatically his eyes were drawn to that electric blue beard.
“So… Captain Bluebeard?” Bilbo started, causing Dwalin to snort and stroke that part of his facial hair.
“Believe me, I think it’s ridiculous as well.” He replied gruffly. “Started out as a way to rebel as a kid. Even had a big, fat mohawk as well. Clearly, I didn’t think that through.”
Dwalin seemed pleased when Bilbo couldn’t fight a giggle. “Cut it all off when I joined the army, but once I left… I missed it.” He explained. “You must think it’s weird.”
“Well, there aren’t many men out there who dye their beards like that.” Bilbo replied, and before he could stop himself, he continued, “But it suits you.”
Dwalin seemed even more pleased at that, and Bilbo was cursing how charming he looked. “Really?”
“You definitely pull it off.” Bilbo agreed with a nod, and he hated himself for it. Hated how he was already losing himself in his battle of self-control. But Dwalin was just too attractive. Everything about him screamed at Bilbo’s wild side, and the way he smiled, when it was earnest and sweet, made his poor heart flutter. Made him want to curl into that big, strong frame and allow that large man to protect him from the world. Be lifted up in those thick arms and support him as he-.
His thoughts were cut off, then. In fact, everything was cut off. Apparently, the music, or the engines, or the total chaos was too much. Bilbo knew those sirens and those flashing lights well.
“Fuck!” Dwalin snarled angrily. “Knew we should’ve done this somewhere else!”
“We need to get out of here.” Bilbo stated, even though it was quite obvious. But in such situations, he was sometimes struck dumb.
“Yeah, you’re right.” But Dwalin didn’t seem to mind. “You go meet up with Bofur! He’ll take care of you!”
“You’ll be alright on your own?” Bilbo shouted as Dwalin already began to weave around the fleeing crowds.
“Trust me,” Dwalin called back, and that dangerous smirk was back on his face. “I’ve done this before.”
If Bilbo thought his knees were weak before, then he was kidding himself, because oh, sweet mercy-!
“Bilbo!”
Bilbo whirled around and saw Bofur standing not far off. Immediately, Bilbo moved in an all-too-familiar dance around the crowds and latched onto his friend’s open hand. He allowed Bofur to drag him along, keeping his grip strong as they rushed back to the truck they used to get there in the first place.
When they got in, they wasted no time for safety, like buckling seatbelts and the like. Bofur just started the engine and gunned it. He wasted no time pulling out of the dusty valley and out into the open road, not once slowing down. Bilbo thought for a moment that they’d flip over, because one really shouldn’t make such sharp turns on such a large vehicle-.
Eventually, the noises and the chaos were well behind them, and they both let out a collective sigh of relief as Bofur lowered his speed to a more respectable one, and Bilbo finally buckled himself in with trembling hands.
And when Bofur finally turned to him and asked, “Did you get his number?”, Bilbo just groaned.
Whether it was in exasperation or his own disappointment, even he didn’t know.
But it was probably for the best, anyway.