Legolas should not be looking, but it was very difficult to keep his gaze averted. He’d seen Aragorn without clothing before; they’d known each other for decades and have been traveling together for months straight.The pregnant moon shone brightly down from the starry sky. Her rays sparkled against the ripples of the shallow river winding through the woods. The pale glow caressed Aragorn’s bare skin, highlighting the ridges of muscles, deepening the shadowy valleys, and defining his maleness. Dark whorls of hair fanned across his chest and arrowed down from his navel like a marking trail to the lust forest of curls of his groin.
Legolas was helpless in his reaction, as weeks of traveling washed away with the river. Aragorn became a king before his eyes, the dirt of the ranger disappearing with each splash of water. His desire to pay homage to royalty involved more than mere words and a reverent bow.
But he could not, for Aragorn was his liege by oath, his friend, and his brother. They could not dally like children. Their mission and his respect for Arwen prevented it. He lowered his eyes. He must put his silly fantasies behind him and ignore the temptation bathed in moonlight.
“Legolas, if you do not stop staring and with your hands, touch me, I shall be forced to take drastic measures.”
Startled, Legolas’s gaze shot up and he stared wide-eyed at Aragorn. “Your pardon, I beg of it, but will you repeat yourself?”
Aragorn smiled, a slow curving of his lips that lit a fire deep in Legolas’s belly. “Come here, Legolas.”
Legolas had no choice but to obey his king.