Work Text:
Propped against every pillow on the bed, Frodo held his hands over his immense and restless belly.
"Ooh," Frodo said with some surprise at a particularly hard kick in his ribs.
"He's kicking?" Aragorn asked, taking his attention from his book. Frodo's eyes traveled greedily over Aragorn's tight-fitting leggings and billowy nightshirt. Ah, would that his time were not so close.
Frodo grabbed Aragorn's hand and guided it over a spot on his belly that shuddered with every kick.
"Does it pain you?" Aragorn was unable to hide an excited grin.
"Sometimes." Frodo closed his eyes, relishing every lively squirm.