Théo. Faramir and Boromir: Plotting over pastries

When Dave slipped his arms around Paris and pulled him close to kiss him goodbye, Paris smiled softly and gave himself up into the embrace, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. The night before was still vividly etched on his mind. How he'd felt when Dave's hands had closed around his wrists and the complete sense of security and safety that had filled him to know that Dave wouldn't let go, in any sense of the word, no matter how he'd tested his grip. Paris had pondered on how he was feeling earlier that morning when he'd woken in their bed, all still wrapped up in Dave's arms. He trusted his lover completely, knew how strong their relationship was without needing any kind of proof, but perhaps what they'd done the previous evening had been a physical confirmation of that trust.

Paris could feel Théo at the back of his mind, obviously trying not to demand that Paris shift out, but antsy to be there all the same. Paris sighed and stepped back from Dave with an apologetic smile. "I guess I'll see you later." Paris let himself fall back into nothingness as Théo shifted in.

Théo gave Dave a curt nod, not having yet forgiven him for his rash suggestion about Éomer at the meeting at Pete's place. He watched, fascinated as always, as Dave's features formed themselves into Faramir's face, and his hair grew into the familiar waves.

( Faramir! It is good to see you! )