Aurin took inordinate pleasure in these exchanges, though it was usually masked behind nonchalance and bravado. But instead of smirking, now he was grinning. The handsome young smith was so deeply in love with him that sometimes he was even able to love himself. A little. Sort of. But even when he couldn't he still felt a rush of feelings that might have been happiness; he didn't know how else to characterize it, but he hadn't often known anything like happiness.
A part of him wanted to forego the boots and just shove himself down Torin's throat, but this sort of service and gift-giving was a sort of ritual now and it held power, at least for the two of them. The boots slipped on as if they were made for him. They were, but Torin was no cobbler nor had he taken measurements of his feet and legs to give to a cobbler. They fit better than any other shoes he had ever owned, and when he turned his leg, he noticed that they made his calves look... quite good.
At Torin's question, he stood up and turned around, letting gravity settle his feet into them. They felt like magic, literally and figuratively. They fit like he fit into Torin.
He grinned down at Torin, then twisted his smile into a smirk. A hand too rough for an impresario touched his cheek. He wanted to hit him because he knew Torin would just kiss his hand.
"Your gift pleases me, boy," he said with a haughteur he only felt because Torin's adoration made him feel worthy of it. His fingers took Torin by the chin then, his other hand coming up to rub against his auburn scruff. "Now how to show you how well it pleases me?"
The wickedness in his eyes was familiar now.
A part of him wanted to forego the boots and just shove himself down Torin's throat, but this sort of service and gift-giving was a sort of ritual now and it held power, at least for the two of them. The boots slipped on as if they were made for him. They were, but Torin was no cobbler nor had he taken measurements of his feet and legs to give to a cobbler. They fit better than any other shoes he had ever owned, and when he turned his leg, he noticed that they made his calves look... quite good.
At Torin's question, he stood up and turned around, letting gravity settle his feet into them. They felt like magic, literally and figuratively. They fit like he fit into Torin.
He grinned down at Torin, then twisted his smile into a smirk. A hand too rough for an impresario touched his cheek. He wanted to hit him because he knew Torin would just kiss his hand.
"Your gift pleases me, boy," he said with a haughteur he only felt because Torin's adoration made him feel worthy of it. His fingers took Torin by the chin then, his other hand coming up to rub against his auburn scruff. "Now how to show you how well it pleases me?"
The wickedness in his eyes was familiar now.
