Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. The picture was provided by Purplerhino and can be seen at my homepage.

Pairing: Cain/DG

Note: Written for the March picture prompt contest at TM Challenge at LJ. The prompt was a picture of a man running his hands over a woman's sleek naked back.

In His Hands

By

Lattelady

It was ten months since they'd prevented the Witch from darkening the suns.

DG lay in the grass in one of the many gardens at Finaqua on a warm spring afternoon. Her eyes were closed, as the breeze danced over her arms and pulled at the soft material of her gown. She knew without looking that Wyatt Cain was somewhere close by. She could feel his eyes on her like a tangible thing.

He was her self-appointed body guard. She had Palace Guards, but he was there anyway. It wasn't something they'd ever talked about. He was simply there, making her feel safe and him needed; and she did need him, now more than ever.

A small part of her wondered when she'd become so aware of him. Back in Kansas she hadn't given the boys a second glance, but then he was no boy. She remembered her friends giggling and talking about Tommy Shannon's ass, Jess Lindsey's long legs or the way Buck Taylor filled out his shirts. They had nothing on her Tin Man in those departments. But it wasn't those particular body parts that made her mouth go dry and her breath catch in her throat. Maybe that's why she'd never expressed more than friendly interest it any of the males on the Other Side. She'd let herself be deluded by stereotypes and hadn't bothered to find out what physical characteristics of a man she found exciting.

The thing that set Cain apart was his hands. She suppressed a tiny moan just thinking about them. They were large and competent. She could picture them holding a gun; pulling the brim of his hat lower over his eyes; or gripping the reins as he kept a galloping horse under control.

She knew the power behind those hands. More than once they'd grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. She'd seen them locked in fists as he fought and seen his knuckles turn white as he'd gripped a grave marker in sorrow.

One of her earliest memories of him was as they jumped off the cliff to escape a band of starving Papay. His long fingers had pressed his hat against her left side and dug into her ribs as he locked their bodies together. One hundred feet later, she and her Tin Man had hit the water as one, still holding on, as they had all the way down.

In her mind's eye she could see Cain's long strong fingers as they held a coffee cup in one hand and a book in the other while the family sat around the fire during cold winter evenings. She wasn't fooled by his casual pose. She understood that if he heard the slightest sound he didn't trust, that cup would hit the floor and his book wouldn't be far behind it. His finger would curl around the grip of his weapon and it would be out of his holster with lightening speed.

More than once DG had envied that weapon. He caressed it like other men would a woman. Too many times to count she'd seen him take it apart; touching and feeling each section that made up his complicated deadly friend. Then he'd clean and oil them, his fingers always moving over the cool metal.

She'd noted that he handled the lovely old stone chess set in almost the same manner. His thumb would drag against the flat surface of a pawn as reverently as it would the rounded skirt of the queen. She'd bet he knew every nook and cranny of those pieces as he moved them across the board with a steady hand and the sharp mind of a tactician.

He was a very tactile person, but he touched with an economy of motion. She wondered if this was due to the eight annuals he'd spent in the suit. He'd been sensory deprived and it was almost as if he was making up for lost time, but doing so in a quiet unobtrusive way.

DG remembered the first time she'd seen him without his wedding ring. His left hand had rested on the neck of her horse as he waited for her to mount. She'd frozen with one foot in the stirrup and the other in mid-air.

"Easy there, Princess." He'd given her a gentle nudge to keep her from falling over backward and she'd completed her mount.

"Wait." She'd gripped his hand and ran her fingers over the tan line on his left third finger. "Why?" Her expressive eyes searched his face.

"Because it was time." He rotated his hand until he slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed tenderly. Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn't take her eyes off their clasped hands. She was filled with questions, but she knew this wasn't the time or the place. He had his own agenda and, in this, all she could do was see where it led them.

Cain had lived a hard life. His palms and fingers weren't soft, but when he touched his Princess, he was always gentle. When they danced, one hand rested warmly on her back as it guided her with sure grace through steps neither of them were experts at. Her fingers sat lightly on his palm and his thumb lazily stroked her wrist.

DG had never felt those strong capable hands tremble until the night before. He'd walked her to her chambers after they'd danced for hours. Music from the ball drifted up through open windows, but other than that it was quiet. They both glowed from the physical activity, but neither of them were ready for sleep, so he'd come in for a while. Later when he'd been about to leave, he'd swept her into one of his dynamic hugs, but this time his hands hadn't been steady. This time he hadn't carefully turned his face away so it was buried in her hair.

When he picked her up, his cool blue eyes had been filled with intent. He'd lifted her slowly, careful to give her time to turn away and rest her forehead on his shoulder if he'd read her incorrectly. The choice was hers.

His mouth turned up at the corners when she nodded in agreement. He threw back his head and laughed as her body slowly slid down his. When their lips met one hand cupped her cheek as his other arm wrapped around her waist pulling her against him.

Her heart sang. Finally, finally his hands were touching her the way she wanted them to. She could feel them tangle in her hair, move over her back and pull her closer, as his mouth explored hers.

The way he was kissing her, she gained a new appreciation for his mouth. But a little voice in the back of her head kept whispering that his hands were still far more devastating, as they explored her body, but never went beneath her clothes. If they ever really touched her skin, the way she longed for them to do, she knew she'd be lost to him forever.

His fingers traced her collar bone, down the middle of her chest and stopped where the bodice of her gown met the upper swell of her breast.

"Please, Wyatt," she urged.

It was all the incentive he needed. His mouth sought hers as his hand moved over her heart. A deep wild groan reverberated against her lips as his fingers came in contact with her lacy bra.

"Deeg," her name was strangled and he could hardly speak. He pressed her tightly against him while he tried to regain control, but he wouldn't let go of her. "Don't move, just let me hold you." Even as he said the words, his thumbnail raked over the lace covering her nipple, causing her knees to weaken.

"Then you can't move either," she groaned and jumped at the sensations he was creating. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his pained expression and how his skin was drawn tight over the bones of his face. There was tension in every muscle of the hard body that pressed against her softer one. DG understood he was fighting an internal battle, but wasn't sure why.

"Princess," the way he said it, she knew he was using it as an endearment, just as she did Tin Man. "I may look like an old man to you, but I know what nights like this can do. Music, moonlight and dancing can have a more potent effect on a woman than all the alcohol in the Outer Zone." A half grin made his mouth curve upward on one side, making DG, wonder how wild he'd been at her age. The man understood women in a way few males did,

"Just so you know. You're what I find potent, not all those other things." She was determined to set the record straight, but his only response was to nod. "We're not going to finish this thing are we?" her words were filled with disappointment.

"Not tonight." He kissed her again and she could feel his need straining to be set free. His hands shook slightly as they brushed against her cheek and guided her chin so he could taste her deeper and fuller.

In that instant, she realized she could tip the balance. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. But this was her Tin Man. He did everything in his own time, his own way and it was all driven by ethics and morals she admired more than she could express. For tonight she'd have to settle for simply being in his arms.

"What are ya thinking about, Princess?" He broke into her reverie and sat beside her on the ground, a smile of his own on his usually stern face. It was warm so his duster was left hanging in his wardrobe, but he wore his hat to protect his fair skin from the suns.

"You," she whispered and took the hand he offered, pressing it tightly against her rib carriage. She felt its warmth seep through the light material of her gown and sighed.

"I hoped you were, considering the look on your face." He pulled his hat back a bit, so his eyes weren't shadowed by its brim. That small act told her a lot about what he was feeling.

"There was something I didn't tell you last night that I should have." She picked up his hand and kissed the palm. As she dragged his long fingers gently against her mouth, she murmured, "I love you."

His eyes snapped and his hand twitched against her cheeks. "That's mighty good to know, 'cause I love you too, have for a long time now."

"What are we going to do about it?" She interlocked her fingers with his and pressed her small palm against his larger one.

"Well I don't see any moonlight, and there isn't a bit of music. But there sure is a dance I'd like to teach you."

When she nodded, he helped her up and they walked hand-in-hand across the lawn, into the palace and up the steps.

Minutes later, DG finally learned how nimble his fingers were as he unfastened the tiny fasteners down the back of her flowing dress and when he helped her because hers shook trying to unbutton his shirt.

As his sure steady hands moved over every inch of her body Deeg trembled, lost in sensuality she'd only been able to imagine until now. This was her Tin Man. He was learning her body, as he had his weapon or the chess pieces, touching, feeling, skin on skin. It was his slow methodical way. She lost count of the times he made her cry out in pleasure as his hands guided her through new and unpracticed steps.

Over the years she'd smile, as he held out a hand to her and asked, "Dance with me, Princess."

"Only you, Tin Man." She'd grin as he intertwined their fingers and their palms pressed tightly together while they walked to their bed chamber. She'd found unaccountable joy and love with him. His hands had led the way. She never planned on letting go.

The End