A/N #1: So...ambiguousness, anyone? Just a fun thing I wrote up, no Deep Thoughts or Hidden Meanings here-- although you're welcome to look.


From Fingers to Toes

[by Menerothiel


Her mouth and her hands. That was all he could think about—the slim fingers, clasped behind her back or holding a quill; the plush, soft lips, frowning or smiling or pursed together. It was best when he had them both—her fingers pushed against the decadent pout of her mouth. He spent an entire night, hot and awake in bed, imagining her lips licking and sucking at her fingers.

And he doesn't know why.

It's not that she is ugly elsewhere; he has checked out her breasts and her bottom, and seen her legs and the slide of her neck, and agrees that they are all delectable. But no matter what he thinks about in the beginning, he always comes back to her mouth and her hands.

Maybe it's because when she smiles, she really, really means it. Or when she moves her hands, the fingers are always so graceful, held purposefully, like the hands in a painting (only better because he can hold these hands). But whatever the reason, it's her mouth and her hands, and only them, that are leaving him breathless and hot as she curls on the bed in front of him, two perfect dainty hands sliding down his trousers, soft lips smiling against the skin of his throat. He can feel her giggle, when he all but falls backwards onto the pillows, because how the hell did she do that.

It's incredible. He has a beautiful girl half-naked in his bed—her breasts are right there, he could touch them if he wanted—but he doesn't because now, her lips have moved down to lay kisses on his groin. And her hands are there too. And everything is coming together and running down his spine and God she's perfect and he loves her and what she does and—

Afterwards, she crawls up next to his side, letting her blonde hair tickle his chest and arms. He can barely think, but he retains sense enough to plant a full, grateful kiss on her mouth, and grasp her hand as he falls asleep.

And as he drifts off, he feels her lips on his face, just over his scar, and her hands gently clasping his own.


A/N: Like it? Loathe it? Reviews are appreciated; Constructive critisism is loved; Haters are eaten.

On a side note, this was supposed to be a clear pairing...but now I'll let you guess. Have fun!

[Remember: You can't lick your elbows, and, all writers need to be told how to grow before they can blossom.

Ciao, dahling.