the brashness of dwarves, is all he can think of. this one with his loud voice, sullen nature, and too kind heart. it is all of those things that has love blossoming in a chest, a sweetness of words rolling off a tongue, for there to be no annoyance, or frustration to be present when the dwarf speaks as he does. once such a tone would cause a form of hate ( one, that now when remembered, brings quilt, regret ) too gnaw inside his chest, but now it only causes fondness to sprout like the great ents.
a smile, one reserved for only gimli son of gloin with its brightness, it’s openness, is directed toward him, knees bending as he squats before him. they are eye level when he touches the redness of a beard, ❝ i am close enough to you now, nin meleth ? or should i sit ? ❞ a laugh before he leans forward, a gentle kiss pressed to his lips. one thing he will never tire of: kissing the dwarf he has come to love, that he would call husband.
@stonend pledged " blasted elf, if you want kisses you'll have to come down. "
