I lie suddenly in my current bed in my current home. The lamp to my right partially lights the room; it’s late at night. There’s a book in my lap. I glance casually to the figure beside me.
His long, dark, gray-streaked locks fall across his shoulder. Long fingers scratch idly at the matching beard. There’s a glint of humor in the down cast eyes; a corner of his mouth quirks. My eyes wander from his eyes, down the long nose, across the smiling lips and finally over the broad, bare chest. A mat of dark hair trails over hard muscle and out of view. Propped on his right elbow, he shifts a bit.
He glances up at me, blue eyes questioning.
I motion at the lamp. “Do you have enough light?”
Thorin glances back at his book. “I’m fine.”
This is what my Catholic upbringing has done to me. Sigh.