Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Not mine, merely borrowed.
Théodred’s thumb, tracing lazy circles on the inside of Boromir’s wrist.
Théodred was acting as if nothing was happening – nodding, smiling, making pleasant conversation with the others at the table – while Boromir was aching so that he could barely swallow. All he could think about was what Théodred had done the night before, and how those all those sensations could so effortlessly be translated to that small area of skin, half-hidden under his cuff.
“Boromir, are you unwell? You seem flushed.” Denethor spoke sharply. Théodred’s eyes widened in concern for his friend; only Boromir could see their gleam of mischief.