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The brush of a thumb against his exposed collarbone and Inigo feels his pulse skyrocket, his breath hitch. Gods, he never hated his obsessive need to look good for the ladies more than he hates it now. The calloused fingers don't stop there, running across the length of the bone again, and he can't stop the shiver that runs down his spine at the touch. He had fallen off a tree and broken that bone when he was little, misadventuring with Owain, and the fingers trace the invisible lines where the fracture used to exist.
"Your pulse rivals that of a frightened rabbit, my friend," his companion laughs, warm breath fanning across his tanned face. The low sound reverberates through the slender fingers pressed against his neck, a dull and soothing feeling. It's hard not to lean into the scent of forests and sword polish; Inigo has to tighten his fingers around a slender waist to steady himself.
"Of course it does," he snaps, a little too breathily for his tastes, but his mouth is already dry and his vision, a little tunneled, so Inigo just adds it to the list of things this boy does to him just by standing close. It's a long list. "You're..." He trails off, feels his cheeks grow even hotter. "You're really close, Owain," he breathes, and Owain only grins brilliantly at the comment.
"I'd wager we could be closer," the boy smirks, leaning his forehead against the slightly shorter boy's. Owain's fingers play lazily with the fine hairs at the nape of Inigo's neck, and when Inigo tries to say this is a little too close, their lips brush and his knees weaken and he feels painfully like the girl in this situation. Owain's hands move expertly to his shoulders, righting the boy before resting firmly on his hips. Inigo's own hands have nowhere to be except awkwardly at his sides or around Owain's neck and by the look on the blonde boy's face, he planned that from the start — the bastard. He places his hands carefully there anyway, fingers barely brushing the bottom of Owain's hair.
"I feel like the girl in this situation," Inigo finds himself blurting, grimacing as soon as the words leave his mouth. Owain, to his credit, only chuckles softly at the confession.
"That could be changed," he responds, although the smirk pulling at his lips leaves Inigo a little skeptical. "I'll consent to being the fair maiden that holds the heart of her prince if you'll but show me a token of you're truest sentimentalities!"
Inigo blinks blankly, and Owain groans.
"You would be less of the girl here if you kissed me first," he says flatly. There is a brief moment of clarity from the white-haired boy, but that is immediately replaced by a relapse of brilliant red cheeks.
"What?! But I— mnnghh!"
He is cut off by a pair of lips over his own, quick but leaving him reeling all the same, and Owain smiles wickedly before him, his own cheeks dusted a light pink.
"And the valiant hero is too quick, too suave and undeniably irresistible, that the fair maiden swoons at merely the briefest brush of their li— mmfffh!"
Inigo mutters a distracted, "Shut up for once, Owain," against his companion's mouth, and the boy gladly does.