He sucks in a short breath, shifting his hips ever so slightly for that bit more friction against his friend's thigh. It's all the movement that he's allowed in Hythlodaeus' confined embrace. Warmth blooms in his gut, arousal darkening his eyes.

"'Daeus..." he whispers. Beneath their hands his chest rises and falls with each breath, telegraphing each sharp intake. He lets his hand slip down, brushing past stomach, over abdomen, until it grasps the buckle of his belt. Hythlodaeus is right - he has yet to show his friend everything.

It requires both his hands to undo the buckle and loosen the belt. Ah, but there's one small impediment--

"Your leg," he murmurs, cheeks flushed pink.