He likes the feel of
leather, tanned smooth as glass and cool at the first touch.
An old fascination indeed, one he had noted years before. An
odd shiver that went through him at a garment trimmed in
suede; a peculiar habit of his to pull the reins of his
horse through his fingertips, time and
time again as he rode.
The smell, musky and deep, filling the air as one unfolded a
pelt. Gamier when it was wet, a fall in a river or a
rainstorm tormented him with the heavy stink of his own
clothing for days and if he was alone every few hours he
would stop and give himself relief so that walking was
easier.
Bitter to taste, gritted between the teeth to muffle cries,
his hands grasping the thin cords biding his wrists and he
would be grateful for the gag, the heavy taste at the back
of his throat an equal reward to it preventing him from
begging for more, for harder, words that could not spill
from him tangling in his mind with the flavor of leather.
Cool on skin, hands clasped in leather sliding between his
legs, gauntlets rough against his inner thighs and even
smooth leather caught sensitive skin at first, a sharp burn
of friction until it dampened, wetted by arousal. Grasping
and pulling, forcing him to stifle his cries anew against a
shoulder that was leather-clad as well, and he deliberately
bit down, knowing the marks would be embedded permanently
for him to see whenever he wished.
All of it had been renewed in him by a pair of plain black
gloves and the first time he'd had a chance to see them
closely. The tip of one finger between the other man's teeth
and when he began to pull the glove free, Aragorn had
stopped him.
"Leave them on."
-Finis-
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