Title: Escape From The Storm
Author: Dinen Glamor
Pairing: Bilbo/Hugo (because there are background hobbits, too!)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bilbao and Hugo are caught in the rain.
Warning: It is possible that this strays horrendously far from canon.
I have dutifully done quite a bit of research on Hugo, but very little
is said about him so I've taken several liberties with him. My
apologies if this offends any stringent fan rules.
Author's Note: Most of this is set a few years before Bilbo's tussle
with Smaug. This was lovingly crafted with the 5th Library of Moria
challenge in mind: between a rock and a wet place. Feedback? Hell,
yeah!

"Now, for the young Cotton boys...I expect that they should like some
books; Nibs is dreadfully keen on reading," Bilbo murmured to himself
as he bustled around his study.

The room – indeed, the whole of Bag End – was liberally decorated with
small, cream-coloured labels, each of which had a few words neatly
inked onto it. It was the morning of the twenty-second of September:
Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday. Everything was ready for the evening;
Frodo and his friends were outside, directing the positioning of
chairs and tables. All that was left for Bilbo to do was to designate
his worldly possessions to the hobbits of the Shire.

He selected three books from the extensive shelves and left warm
messages on each of them.

"Now," he thought, "that'll do for Nibs, Nick and Tom. But what of
Jolly? I wonder what he'd enjoy."

He pondered this predicament for a good minute. Suddenly, his face
brightened and he began to potter round the shelves again.

"Of course! 'The Poetry of Aradel Grubb'! He'll love it. Of course, it
must be rather ancient now; let me see, I was given it by my father
when I had my Coming of Age...goodness, nearly eighty years ago! And
the poetry's even older. I expect young Jolly will have some trouble
with the language at first, but it'll grow on him. You can't shake a
love of Grubb, I always say," Bilbo enthused to himself. He stroked
his chin. "I suppose some of the content's quite adult...but it's
nothing they don't know at that age, is it? Honestly, I don't know, in
my day we used to wait until our tweens to even think about...well,
it's different now."

He frowned. "Where in Middle Earth did I leave it?"

He scanned his eyes across the rows of books lining his walls. It was
nowhere to be seen.

"It must be here! True, I haven't read it for a few years...decades..."

And then Bilbo remembered.

*       *       *

Hugo Bracegirdle was not very tall, even for a hobbit. He was rather
slight and also very shy, his love of books alienating him from some
of his peers.

As he walked along the Row, he clutched the book close to his body and
a stern corner poked him in the ribs. He felt rain so light it was
like dust falling on his arm and cast an anxious look to the restless
skies. He hugged the book tighter and quickened his pace.

Hugo kept his eyes to the ground and it was for this reason that he
did not see the approaching cluster of hobbits. When he looked up, it
was too late; they were too close for him to pretend not to have seen
them and walk another way.

Otho Sackville-Baggins was younger than him, as were most of his
gormless crew, but he was very much bigger. He also had the advantage
of a several-hobbit back up; there was nobody to help Hugo. He didn't
know what Otho would want, but if it was going to end in a fight, he
was smart enough to see that he would not be on the winning side.

"Good afternoon, Hugo!" Otho called cheerily.

"Hello, Otho," Hugo murmured in return.

The group advanced. The rain was getting steadily heavier; a fat drop
crashed onto Hugo's nose and dripped down onto the book.

"What have you got there, Hugo?"

"Nothing. It's nothing," he answered quickly.

"Oh? Looks like a book to me," Otho replied.

"I would have thought you'd have had more trouble recognising one." As
the words were spoken, Hugo wished them unsaid. He saw Otho stiffen
and a couple of his lackeys look at each other meaningfully.

Otho wrenched the volume out of Hugo's hands. "The Poetry of Aradel
Grubb," he read off the cover, although the tiny pauses between each
word were palpable. Hugo didn't dare comment on them. Instead, he
simply answered, "That's right."

"Aradel Grubb," Otho mused.

"He was a bloody queer, wasn't he?" a stocky hobbit who Hugo
recognised as Jerro Hornblower said.

"Was he?" Otho asked Hugo.

"I...I'm afraid I don't know..." Hugo said, uncertain.

"Well, what's it about? The poetry?" Otho asked, handing the book to a
curious Bolger.

Hugo's eyes flickered from face to face of the group. They wouldn't
understand. But then, they would beat him if he didn't say something.

"It's about...love," he attempted. "Mainly. I mean, unrequited
passions and curious relationships and all sorts of odes and
dedications and things."

"Oh, yes," Otho said dismissively. "I think I've heard of
it...actually, I've heard it's awfully lewd."

Hugo could feel himself blushing and cursed himself for it.

"Oh, no, no, not at all!" he cried. "It's all very subtle..."

"What?" Otho asked, apparently astonished. He advanced closer to Hugo.
Soon there were barely a couple of feet between them. "So you mean he
subtly talks about his relationships?"

"Yes, sort of, I mean, nothing's explicit..."

"He subtly talks about his relationships with men?"

"Well, no, it's not made clear who..."

Otho snaked an arm around Hugo, pulling him close.

"He subtly talks about the shapes of their bodies?"

Otho's fingers traced down Hugo's back.

"No, um, not really, it's not exactly..."

"He subtly talks about the feel of their lips?"

Otho brushed his thumb across Hugo's bottom lip, wiping away the
raindrop that had settled their.

"Um, I don't really remember that he mentioned..."

"He subtly talks about how he caresses their arms..."

Otho stroked Hugo's arm.

"...their arses..."

Otho's hand slid down to rest on Hugo's buttock.

"...their balls?"

At this, Otho's hand slipped round and quickly squeezed Hugo's crotch.
Hugo gave an involuntary squeak and tried to twist away from his
captor. However, Otho was ready for this and caught him, holding him
tight against his body.

"Their balls?" Hugo heard Jerro ask somewhere behind them. "I knew he
was a queer. Bloody queers."

There was a long silence, filled only by the incessant drip-drip of
rain collecting into puddles. Otho kept his arms around Hugo, looking
hard at him. Hugo kept looking at the ground. Eventually, Otho sighed
irritably and pushed Hugo away from him. The track was getting muddy
and Hugo slipped, falling to his knees. He found himself in a rather
awkward position before Otho, who raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Well, if you're offering..." he whispered. "I can get rid of them, you know."

"What? No!" Hugo gasped, quickly getting to his feet again.

Otho scowled and turned back to his audience. "Fine. You can have your
book back; Ferrin, give me the book."

Hugo held his hand out for the book. Otho was about to give it to him,
but giving in to some impulse, flicked through the first few pages.

"There's an inscription. You given this by a girlfriend or something?"
Otho asked.

"What? Oh, no, no, it's not mine, it's..."

"To my dearest Bilbo..." Otho read.

"Dearest? He's a queer!"

"Shut up, Jerro, I haven't finished. 'To my dearest Bilbo on your
birthday. May your years be filled with joy. Father.' Well, isn't that
delightful? Why do you have Bilbo's book, may I ask?" Otho turned to
Hugo.

"He lent it to me last week. He knew I was interested in that sort of
poetry...he's got ever so many books, it was very good of him to..."
Hugo started.

"Enough. I have no desire to hear about my cousin's many virtues,"
Otho said coldly.

Damn. Hugo had forgotten how much the two hated each other.

Otho carelessly threw the book into a puddle at the side of the road.
It landed with a tremendous splash and mud sprayed up Hugo's leg.

"That wasn't mine!" Hugo cried as he watched the murky water seep
through the pages. "What am I supposed to tell Bilbo?"

"Should I care?" Otho asked. He turned back to the group. "Well, I'm
sure you'll all be suitably horrified to know that Hugo hear...well,
it's a difficult subject, but just now, when we were talking rather
quietly over here, he propositioned me."

"That's not..." Hugo was silenced by another shove to the ground by Otho.

The assembled hobbits mulled over this information.

"Wait...so he's a queer!"

"Congratulations, Jerro, on that assessment."

"But..." Hugo attempted desperately.

Then he saw that it would be of very little use trying to reason with
this lot. They were not good at fairness, but they were very good at
turning hobbits into little smears on the ground. He could see them
advancing. He could see Otho doing nothing to discourage them. He
could see the look of hate in the eyes of some and the look of
orgasmic anticipation in others. He ran.

That was an advantage of his size. He was easily able to dodge round
the lumbering hobbits and from then, he kept on running. It wasn't
very far to Bilbo's...just keep running...

He could hear the yells of dismay behind him, then the accelerating
stampede. He could hear Otho's voice above the others', shouting
encouragement.

But, as he turned the corner of the road, he could also see the door
of Bag End, just a bit further up the hill. He put on a burst of speed
and, panting, reached it and began hammering on it.

They were getting closer. Where was Bilbo? A few more seconds and he'd
be dead, absolutely dead...

The door opened.

"Oh, hello there, Hugo, I was just..."

Hugo rammed through the doorway and slammed the door shut. He yanked
the latch down. At last, he paused. Breathing deeply, he turned and
saw Bilbo's surprised face taking in his very bedraggled appearance.

"You're sopping," Bilbo noted after a pause, "and you look terrified.
Come on, I'll make you some tea."

"Thank you," Hugo said gratefully, smiling weakly.

Bilbo really was an admirable hobbit. Hugo had known it before: while
others had sneered at his love of learning, Bilbo had seemed
interested and enthusiastic, keen to lend him books and exchange
anecdotes. He'd always felt safe with Bilbo, yet not safe, as somehow,
Bilbo had an air of unpredictability about him that was thrillingly
dangerous. Yet Hugo had never known him to be anything other than
friendly, generous and thoughtful.

His heart sank lower as he thought of the destroyed book. It had not
been many months since the demise of Bilbo's mother, and with neither
parent left, the object must have been treasured by him.

Hugo struggled with an apology as Bilbo filled the kettle and lit the stove.

"Bilbo...look, I know you're probably wondering what just happened..."
he started.

"Don't think for a second I require any explanation, my dear Hugo,"
Bilbo assured him. "I understand if you don't want to talk about
whatever just happened."

"No, no, that's quite all right," Hugo told him. "I don't mind you
hearing, I'd rather tell you than anybody else anyway."

"That's quite a compliment, I'm sure," Bilbo smiled, and Hugo blushed
for the second time that day.

"Well, I sort of need to tell you. See, it's about your book. You know
how I was going to return it today?"

Bilbo nodded as he gathered a couple of teacups.

"Right, well, I was walking over here and I bumped into Otho
Sackville-Baggins and a few of his friends..." Hugo continued.

Bilbo dropped a spoon. "Otho? That bastard, what did he do to you?"

"Nothing! Well, no, that's not quite true, but I'm not hurt..."

"Is he the reason you came in here all flustered and scared for your
life?" Bilbo asked aggressively.

"Well..." It was true. He nodded.

"That low bloody worm!" Bilbo cried. "Following you, was he?"

"Yes, they were chasing me here but..."

"Right," Bilbo said firmly. "They might still be out there."

Bilbo set off for the door.

"Bilbo! No! Don't, they'll kill you..."

But Bilbo paid no attention to Hugo. He flung open the door and walked
out. Hugo followed him nervously, peeking around to see if anybody
else was out there. Gently, he closed the door behind them.

"Not here," Bilbo said gruffly. "They must have scarpered pretty
quickly after you got in."

"Thank goodness!" Hugo squeaked. "What would have happened if they'd been here?"

"I would have taught them not to mess with defenceless hobbits," Bilbo said.

"I'm not defenceless!" Hugo bristled. "Just because I'm littler than
most of you..."

"No, just because there's one of you and ten of them," Bilbo
interrupted. "Now come on, let's get that tea and you can tell me what
happened, if you want."

He turned to the door and pushed it open. That is, he would have if it
hadn't stayed resolutely closed. He patted his pockets.

"Bugger," he muttered, "bugger, bugger, bugger..."

"What?"

"I don't have my key," Bilbo said sheepishly. "I'm ever so sorry."

"Oh, don't be!" Hugo pleaded, not wanting Bilbo to feel anything
negative on his account. "But – how will you get in?"

"My gardener has a key," Bilbo said. "I suppose I'll run over to his hole."

"Let's do that, then," Hugo replied.

"There's no need for you to come, Hugo: it's going to be pouring any
second now!" Bilbo exclaimed, glancing at the churning clouds. "You'd
better go home."

"Don't you want me to come?" Hugo asked with a sinking heart.

"No, no, I'd love you to, but I don't want you to drown!" Bilbo answered.

"I'll take my chances," Hugo said firmly. "Come on then: which way?"

They set off down the road, which was quickly transforming into a river.

"I've not seen rain like this for years," Bilbo remarked.

It was not long before both of them were thoroughly soaking. Their
curls were flattened against their heads and water ran down their
backs and in their eyes so that they were forced to blink violently in
defence. Simultaneously, they broke into a run, trying to escape the
rain and cheat the drops of their targets. An urgency was in their
steps as the sky blackened.

A deep rumbling rolled overhead. Hugo gave a cry and clutched at
Bilbo's arm. When he realised what he had done, his anxiety increased
tenfold, but Bilbo did not shake him off or laugh at him; instead, he
soothingly patted the hand and quickened their pace.

But they were not to elude further trouble. The sky tore apart with a
jagged white claw and a few seconds later, a tremendous whip crack
sounded. Hugo trembled and Bilbo felt it. Then, as they turned the
corner, they came upon the bridge. It was completely submerged; there
was no chance they would be able to cross.

"Come on, back, back," Bilbo encouraged Hugo, but as they turned they
realised how steep the hill they had been descending was. With the mud
so abundant, it would be impossible to climb again; with each step,
they would slip down two.

"What are we going to do, Bilbo?" Hugo shouted, terrified, above the storm.

Bilbo looked around wildly. "There. Go off the road, into those woods.
We'll be under cover, at least, and we can wait for it to stop."

Hugo didn't need telling twice. They ran for the trees and only
stopped when the thick canopy of the branches and leaves protected
them from the fiercest of the rain.

"Oh," Hugo breathed and collapsed on the floor.

Bilbo sat beside him and put his arm around him.

"It'll blow over soon. Don't worry," he whispered.

"This is terrible...you must think I'm so pathetic," Hugo said hoarsely.

"Not at all," Bilbo promised him. "We all have our fears."

"Not you," Hugo sighed. "I'm sure you're not scared of anything."

"Look at me," Bilbo said, and turned Hugo to face him. They knelt,
staring solemnly at each other, and Hugo noticed how small drops of
water clung to Bilbo's eyelashes, and also how his white shirt was
clinging to him and had gone translucent, so that the shadow of two
nipples could be detected.

"I'm scared of lots of things, trust me," Bilbo said.

Before he could continue, a clap of thunder unequalled by any before
it screamed above them. Hugo jerked and his eyes widened but Bilbo
pulled him close and pressed his head into his shoulder, holding him
there: protecting him.

"Thank you," Hugo whispered.

He didn't know if Bilbo had heard him, but he felt the arms around him
tighten. Without meaning to move, he found himself straightening and
pulling his head from the safety of Bilbo's neck. Bilbo loosened his
arms, a quizzical and slightly hurt look on his face, but this
disappeared as Hugo leant forward and kissed him.

Hugo was not an experienced kisser. A couple of times, he had built up
the nerve to give a lass a chaste peck on the lips, and even then, she
would have had to all but made the first move. It took him months to
even pluck up the courage to ask to accompany one on a walk. But this
was different. With the elements raging and Bilbo's arms around him,
Hugo had known it would have to happen in that moment if it ever did.

The suddenness and urgency of the kiss clearly took Bilbo by surprise,
but he offered no resistance. For a few seconds, Hugo clung to him,
eyes closed as his mouth closed upon the other's. Then, he broke away,
overcome by uncertainty and fear once again.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, running a hand through his wet hair, "I'm so,
so sorry. Please don't be angry, please, I'm sorry..."

"Stop saying that," Bilbo cut him off, and captured him in an equally
demanding kiss.

"You can't mean...you don't..." Hugo breathed anxiously as he was released.

"Oh, Hugo," Bilbo sighed, "I really do."

That was enough. Shirts were torn away, the sodden sleeves peeled off
arms, and tossed aside. Hugo pressed himself to Bilbo as they kissed
and revelled in the feeling of their wet nipples touching. He felt
Bilbo's warmth even through the cold of the rain and traced his
fingers down the groove of his back.

Bilbo lowered him down, not letting their contact stop, and kissed his
lips, his eyelids, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks...Hugo smiled
happily under the barrage of loving tenderness. He slithered out of
his breeches and knelt naked next to Bilbo. For a moment, Bilbo paused
and the nervousness returned. Was he inadequate? Or was he too brazen
now? He barely dared to look up to Bilbo's face.

But the other hobbit was anything but disappointed. His expression
showed only desire and love, and a mischievous smile to Hugo dispelled
all fears once more.

Hugo tentatively touched his fingers to the top of Bilbo's breeches,
wanting to tug them down but not quite daring. Taking a deep breath,
he slid them down over Bilbo's hips and legs and soon they were gone.
The two hugged each other, each thrilled by the other's nakedness.

By this time, their erections were not insubstantial and Hugo could
feel his pressing into Bilbo's. He reached a hand down and carefully
stroked up the length. Bilbo stiffened suddenly, surprised but not
unwelcoming, then moaned as Hugo's pace quickened. He pushed himself
into Hugo's hands. The rain had made them both wet and this made the
sensation doubly pleasing.

Bilbo's desire had been building up for some time so it was not long
before the rapid movements of Hugo induced him to release, coming
gloriously in an arc which soon diffused into the puddles. He called
out loudly in ecstasy with all the breath left in him, but in the
empty woods, only Hugo heard him and felt pride and lust at the sound.

Hugo withdrew from Bilbo, but his arm was caught.

"Don't think you're escaping unsatisfied!" Bilbo cried. "After that, I
refuse to fail to return the favour. Come, rest here."

Bilbo gently coaxed Hugo to the ground where he kissed him once more,
although more gently than their first ones. His mouth travelled down,
marking a path down Hugo's chest and over his navel until it reached
the dark curls. Then Bilbo brought his head up; he was not touching
Hugo but Hugo could feel his warm breath against him and it sent
shivers up and down him.

And then Bilbo took him in his mouth and he'd never known anything
like it. It seemed to satisfy every need he'd ever had but provide a
thousand more, only to be fulfilled by further attention. With each
second, Hugo felt himself harden. He felt Bilbo's tongue tease around
his head and his lips glide down his length.

"Oh, Bilbo," he moaned, "that's just...that's so..."

Which was exactly what it was. Bilbo seemed to understand his every
unspoken request. With each flick of his tongue, Hugo could feel
himself falling closer to climax.

Finally, wonderfully, beautifully, it was over. Hugo felt a ripple of
pure satisfaction surge through him as he released. He tingled all
over with the anticipated contentment.

"My," he gasped, "but that was fine."

Bilbo smiled at him fondly and lay next to him, his arms around him.

When Hugo awoke a few hours later, it was strangely quiet. All he
could hear was Bilbo's deep breathing and an occasional twitter of a
bird. Something was missing. For a while, he listened, trying to pin
it down.

Eventually, as Bilbo stirred from sleep, he realised. He turned to his
partner, smiling, and said: "It's stopped raining."

*       *       *

"Well," Bilbo exclaimed, surprised at the sudden memory. "I suppose I
never will find out what happened to poor old Aradel Grubb."

He grinned to himself. "Mr Bracegirdle, on the other hand..."

Bilbo turned to his desk and neatly filled in another card. Pleased,
he waited for the ink to dry before securing it to an empty bookcase.

"For the collection of Hugo Bracegirdle," it read, "from a contributor."

---The End---

(A/N: For goodness' sake, in no way do I condone acting in such a
foolish manner and sheltering under trees during a thunderstorm. Only
attempt this if you are around three foot tall and involved in erotic
hobbit escapades.)