An Artist's Hands
Disclaimer: I do not own the Tales of Miraculous Ladybug and Chat Noir.
Everyone had a thing.
For some it was eyes. For others, it was a smile. Others preferred arms and some liked feet. Others preferred a nice butt and others likes broad shoulders.
For Chloe, her thing was hands.
She had a thing for hands.
But not just any hands.
But hands that belong to a certain red head artist. An artist that got under her skin and into her dreams and thoughts and one day she hoped she would get a chance to get under his body.
In her opinion, Nath had the prettiest hands, artists hands. Long fingers perfect for holding things with rough callouses, a sign of hard work. Big strong palms that she knew could protect her.
She would never ever, ever admit it but she loved watching his hands move. In high school, she used to admire them, from a distance, of course.
She used to watch him doodle in his notebooks, lip in between his teeth, red hair covering his eyes. His hands would hold the pencil lightly but firmly and she thought of those long fingers touching her skin. Back in high school, she admired him from afar yet was mean to him up close. It was better to push him away, push them all away from the mess that she was.
She used to sit next to him not to watch Adrian but to watch him, to watch him draw. To watch his hands. She was fascinated with his hands. She used to imagine what they would feel like touching her skin, her face, she used to wonder what it would feel like to be the one he was drawing. She wondered if his hands were as soft as they look. She knew his fingertips were rough but she wanted them to run all over her. She wondered what his hands would feel like if they were ever to brush her skin.
She went out of her away to find ways for him to touch her, just so she could savor each touch, each brush.
As she grew older, her fascination with his hands grew.
She loved watching them move quickly across the paper catching the essence of whatever he was looking at. Sometimes his hands would move slowly almost savoring the image, she could see his love going into it. Other times his hands would make furious angry strokes, that she could feel the anger roll off him in waves. She longed to feel the passion his hands put int the drawings. She wanted his hands on her. To put passion into her body.
She would never the forget the first time his hands touched her skin in a way that set her on fire.
She had been reaching for something on a high shelf. She was standing in her heels on tiptoe and she still couldn't reach.
She heard someone enter the room and without turning around she asked them,
"Can you help me?"
The person stepped in behind her and pressed her against the file cabinet. One hand touched her bare shoulder and the other reached above her to get the vase.
She recognized the paint splattered fingers above her head almost immediately.
The hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly and she could feel how big and warm it was. She could feel how the tips of his fingers were rough from years of drawing. She felt safe, which was ridiculous because he was just a boy! Then the vase was in his hand and he was stepping back. She turned to see him looking amused.
He held out the vase to her and she noticed that he was wearing headphones, so he didn't hear her but instead saw her struggling.
She took the vase and he left after he winked at her.
After she arranged the flowers, she noticed him on the computer.
He was woking on some graphic design for the hotel.
She smiled and then he looked up suddenly and she froze.
She waved and then scampered off, blushing like a little school girl.
Her fascination grew even more after that. She would try to come up with ways for his hands to touch her. She would brush up against him or ask him to get things for her. She would annoy him in hopes he would touch her. The more he touched her shoulder, or squeezed her hand or shoved her out of way of the Akumanized villains, the more she craved his hands on her. It got to the point that she would dream of him touching her. she would wake up frustrated that the boy she couldn't stand as a girl was the man she wanted in her life.
The tenth time he touched her it was after a date she had. He had been at her apartment when she arrived him and her date scampered off like the coward he was. Chloe was annoyed since she still couldn't get Nath out of her mind. So they started fighting and then he shoved her against the door and kissed her. One hand on her hip, under her shirt and the other pinning her hands above her. The twenty time he touched her skin, he was pressing her against the wall, her legs around his hips, his hands on her waist. He was kissing her hard and she felt like she was flying and falling.
A few nights later his hands were all over her, memorizing her until he could see her when he closed his eyes. This memorization took him one night but it took her several before she could memorize him and by then they were addicted to each other's touches and hands.
She liked how long his fingers were, perfect for gripping pencils and brushes and other art supplies but also for moving hair out of his face or pulling his long hair into a bun. Or for tugging her ponytail holder off so her hair would fall around her in waves. Or for running his fingers up the side of her ribs when they laid in bed. Or for touching her cheek, when she was feeling sad.
She noticed how he was always moving his fingers, sometimes he would tap a pencil or drum them on a desk or his leg.
Sometimes he would tap them on her leg, under the table. Constant movement. For someone who grew up, alone in a hotel, the constant movement and sound was a welcomed presence in her life. He was a welcome presence in her life.
When they were in bed, his fingers would dance across her skin, leaving trails of fire and in some cases, paint.
She loved how no matter how hard he scrubbed some days he would still have paint on his fingers and his hair when he came to bed. It reminded her of how lucky she was to have someone who loved his job and loves her. He was no handsome model or famous movie star but she didn't care about that. He was her artist and she was his muse, his girl, his wife.
She will never admit it but she loves when he gets paint on her, marking her as beautiful as his creations. When they moved in together and began painting, it took forever because the house was huge and because they were so in love that they kept messing around chasing each other around the room with paint or arguing about colors.
When Adrian and Rose come by for brunch that Sunday along wth their other friends, only the kitchen and the bathroom are painted. They all offer to help but Chloe takes Nath's hands and they kindly tell them no, gold bands glistening on their fingers.
She loves when he brushes her hair away from his face or when he sometimes touches her cheek, a gentle hello. She loves watching him paint and drawing. But the thing she loves the most is watching him touch their daughter's cheek, humming softly.
He smiles when he sees her and kisses their daughter as she falls asleep. He joins her in bed and places a hand on her belly before he kisses her.
She holds his hand as she gives birth to her son. She holds his hand as their daughter marries Adrian and Mari's son. He holds her hand as they renew their vows and go on another honeymoon. She holds his hands as she fades when they are both old and gray, no more color in them. He joins her a year later, where she is waiting for him, hand reaching to pull him to the clouds.
Thanks for reading Wallflowers!
Love you!
-Queen