This was a drabble for a friend, that I didn't plan on sharing because I've never written for OutlawQueen or once before. But, ya know, why the hell not?
She loves his hands.
They're large, much larger than her own, and calloused from living the life of a woodsman.
She loves how they feel when they're intertwined with her own, swinging in between the space between their bodies, his rougher palm pressed against her soft skin.
She loves how his fingers tangle in her hair when they're sitting together, like a moth to a flame, his fingers sometimes massaging her scalp in a way that makes her want to curl into him and purr, or sometimes his fingers are just there, reminding her of his presence.
She loves his hands.
Loves how his fingers move over the game controller clumsily when he plays those video games with Henry that she always loses in, or when they run through Roland's ever unruly curls, or when he large hand covers the baby's small back while he rocks her to sleep.
She loves his hands.
Loves how they skim over her body at night, heating her skin and making her ache. Loves how his fingers slip into her wet heat, making her back arch and her jaw drop. Loves how that rough palm of his presses against her clit, his fingers, those blessed archers' fingers, curling into her and hitting that spot that makes her cry out and makes her smaller, more dainty hands scrabble against the sheets.
She loves his hands.
Loves how his fingers intertwine with hers, her body pinned down against the mattress as he fucks in and out of her, their skin slapping together in the beautiful melody of their love making. Loves the way he slides his hand down her body before the pad of his thumb lands on her clit, making her nails scorch down his arms as she comes and comes and comes. Loves the way his hands move to her hips, holding her as he fucks into her, chasing his own high. Loves the way his hands skim all over her body after he comes inside her as he kisses her, kisses broken by pants as they catch their breath.
She loves his hands.
Loves how they move through her hair after he's pulled out of her, trying to comb the sweaty and messy strands. Loves the way they cup her face, his thumbs stroking the apples of her cheek as he kisses her until they can't kiss anymore, and she turns in his embrace, pressing her still slightly sweaty back against still slightly sweaty chest, and she smiles when she feels his hands move over hers, his larger, more calloused hands intertwining with her smaller, more dainty one as she lays her head on his outstretched arm (she loves his arms too, but that's a story for another time). Her eyes droop, her breathing evening out, and she's on the cusp of sleep when she feels his thumb running over the skin of her hand, before it travels up moves to cover her breast, his thumb moving over her nipple rhythmically.
Before she falls into a deep slumber, she feels his hands pull her into his embrace even more as he mumbles a drowsy, "I love you."
And she smiles, mumbles the words back, and moves her hand to covers his, and she thinks,
she truly does love his hands.