Disclaimer: Tolkien composed this melody... Kortirion’s just jamming after dark.
It was dark. The chilly brush against his cheek was feather-light, almost... not there at all... He sighed in his sleep; again the tantalisingly faint touch, little more than a cool draught against his skin, made him stir towards awareness. Though still held more in the soft thrall of sleep than sensibility, his lips curved in the slightest smile, remembering other caresses, other places, places heated, fevered with affection, stretched by passion...
He sighed, eyes closed, wanting more than this gossamer nothing breathing against his skin, yearning to be touched once again by heat and fire...
But Boromir was dead.