Curious things, his hands. Always in movement, gesticulating one side to another. When he is nervous, they shake and the fingers tremble arrhythmic. When he is happy, he weaves them together on his chest in his gambol. When he is upset, he squeezes his fists until they vibrate in tension.
I like his hands. I like when he puts a finger close to my nose playfully and when he puts a palm on my back to guide me somewhere. They barely touch me, but I can feel their heat when they are close enough.
Sometimes, if I am lucky, I can feel his fingers in my head, caressing my hair. His fingers are thin and long. I like to watch them when he's working on a potion. They move cautiously, dusting ingredients on the cauldron. He is too focused on his task, he can't see me staring at him, but I follow every move of his hands with attention, getting lost in the delicacy of those fingers, imagining they touch me.
The thoughts come to me in the night, in the dark of my bedroom, when my bed feels too big and empty. Then I imagine his hands all over me and I feel a heat overtaking my body. I sigh his name softly and caress myself, thinking it's his hand and not mine what is touching me. It slides on my hair, my cheek, my neck… I want him below. I want him, his hand, not mine…
Maybe today I could find an excuse to take his hand again. Maybe I could even gather my courage to ask him what I want… But I don't want him to be upset. I feel so embarrassed… What if he gets mad? What if he says he doesn't want to do it? How should I tell him to not be rejected… "Mr Cedric, do you let me take your hand?" "Mr Cedric, can you brush my hair with your fingers, please?" "Mr Cedric, I would love if you touch me a little, if that doesn't bother you…" "Mr Cedric, please, I want to feel your hands over me" "Please, Mr Cedric, under my dress, just a little bit…"
I can do it. I can. I can be brave. I must try…
―Mr Cedric…
―Hm? What do you want? I'm busy―he answers me, mixing ingredients in a crystal tube.
―I-It's just I… I want to ask you a favour.―I say, playing with my fingers, nervous. He doesn't even turn his face to look at me.
―Oh…―he huffs, bother―What do you need this time?
I don't answer him. I can't. I feel my cheeks burning. I should run through the door…
He notices my silence and looks at me, puzzled.
I can do it.
―I want you to touch me!―I exclaim. I didn't want to say it like this. I didn't want to sound so direct. I didn't want to be impertinent... What have I done?
He is frozen. His eyes open wide. He doesn't move. Doesn't speak. He is not even breathing. The only thing I can see moving on him is a vein in his throat throbbing too fast.
The tube slips off his grab and fells on the floor, shattering in pieces.
The sound of it surprises us both.
He gapes, breaths hard and pants. His face is red.
I shouldn't have done it. I have got him upset…
I turn, leave by the door and rush down stairs.
What am I going to do? What am I going to do? Please, Mr Cedric, don't get mad at me…