It was always the softest touch. Whether it was a brush of hands as they passed each other on their journey, or a hand, soothing away the bruises of the day, it was always so soft, so...
So uniquely Legolas in a way that made Aragorn's heart ache. He was promised to another, he wore her token around his neck. She, with her raven hair and eyes colored like the night. She, waiting, giving up everything for him. Even if she weren't waiting, there was another waiting for him, with her arms wide open, waiting to be tamed.
But still...
Aragorn wondered at how soft those silky strands of sunlit hair would feel as he caressed them while Legolas slept beside him. He dreamed of how Legolas would gasp if he pressed a kiss to the small of the Elf's back while softly caressing him right there. He wanted his companion in a way that he shouldn't, couldn't ever reveal to anyone, especially the one he wanted the most.
So he just kept quiet, and waited for the next accidental brush of hands, wait for the next scrape that would need tending.
Wait for the softest touch.