A/N This came to me as a gift from the imp of the perverse when I was doing, well, this exact same thing. Do enjoy. And no, I don't own Jordan...
Soft yet strong hands work over the curves, tracing every single one of them, already engraved in her memory, yet each touch still feels like the first. It's so easy to let fingertips trace over the smooth firm surface. She hadn't done this in far too long, it had been much longer than she had thought, but it was noticeable. Yet everything came back naturally. It may have been months since she had last done this, but she knew what to do.
She ran one finger across a spot that was lighter than the rest, a small scar that made its way jaggedly across the body under her hands. Not quite an imperfection. It wasn't a sign of age, just a sign of being well worn. Not old, just broken in. Like a good pair of faded jeans. She knew this body well, she knew every one of the marks on it, each little blemish, and her hands took to it with ease, there was no way to forget this.
She worked her hands in slow smooth strokes before moving to the back, working with the same ease over the flat expanse. Up to the neck and head and back down again, smooth and easy. Each stroke reminded her of quite how long it had been, each stroke reminding her that she really needed to do this more often.
Finally, she leaned back and grinned down before picking up the guitar and looking over it one last time. It really had been too long since she had polished it.