Adam's Hands
by the prodigal chicken
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes
Disclaimer: Seriously, if I owned them Adam Rove would be 27 years old and married to me.
Author's note: This is my second fanfic. I got a lot of great feedback for the first, "Do You Remember?", so I'm worried that this one won't live up to that. But I'm giving it a shot. It's just a short little something that I thought about while watching "Jump." Thanks to my beta, Deb, for helping me bring a little closure to the end of the fic.
Summary: How can his hands create such masterful chaos and still be able to soothe me when I cry?
Adam's hands are beautiful. Graceful. Long fingers, short nails, soft, soft skin. I have watched these hands as they mold random pieces of metal and plastic and paper into something beautiful, something that defies definition in its chaotic structure. Adam's hands create physical odes to angels.
Adam's hands are gentle. When they touch me, I find myself adrift in sensation. How can his hands create such masterful chaos and still be able to soothe me when I cry? How can they bring to life objects that would be looked down upon as useless trash by those who don't understand and still be able to caress my body so gently?
Adam's hands hold mine now, as he listens to me weave my tale. I tell of the years when God was more than just an intangible entity who I spoke to at night. His hands grasp mine as I finish, telling him about how I think God led him to me in his own bizarre so not step-by-step fashion.
When I look up to meet his eyes, I see his hands move towards my face to wipe away the tears that I didn't even know were falling. His hands draw my face towards him to meet his lips. He believes me. My secret is safe in his hands.
by the prodigal chicken
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes
Disclaimer: Seriously, if I owned them Adam Rove would be 27 years old and married to me.
Author's note: This is my second fanfic. I got a lot of great feedback for the first, "Do You Remember?", so I'm worried that this one won't live up to that. But I'm giving it a shot. It's just a short little something that I thought about while watching "Jump." Thanks to my beta, Deb, for helping me bring a little closure to the end of the fic.
Summary: How can his hands create such masterful chaos and still be able to soothe me when I cry?
Adam's hands are beautiful. Graceful. Long fingers, short nails, soft, soft skin. I have watched these hands as they mold random pieces of metal and plastic and paper into something beautiful, something that defies definition in its chaotic structure. Adam's hands create physical odes to angels.
Adam's hands are gentle. When they touch me, I find myself adrift in sensation. How can his hands create such masterful chaos and still be able to soothe me when I cry? How can they bring to life objects that would be looked down upon as useless trash by those who don't understand and still be able to caress my body so gently?
Adam's hands hold mine now, as he listens to me weave my tale. I tell of the years when God was more than just an intangible entity who I spoke to at night. His hands grasp mine as I finish, telling him about how I think God led him to me in his own bizarre so not step-by-step fashion.
When I look up to meet his eyes, I see his hands move towards my face to wipe away the tears that I didn't even know were falling. His hands draw my face towards him to meet his lips. He believes me. My secret is safe in his hands.