I still do not own any of these characters. Please read and review. I am a real pig for praise (and a little constructive criticism, if you must)

Hands

He was there the next day. Gaz's stomach felt as if the mucus had been stripped from her stomach lining, and her stomach was slowly caving in. But she wasn't about to let Deus Ex Machina scare her away. She plopped down next to him, pulled out her Game Slave, and began to play. But she couldn't help sneaking looks at him. His hands, swathed in black bicycle gloves, were the fastest she had ever seen. But they moved so smoothly, like dancers, not like the jerky, spastic movements of most game players.  His fingers struck the keys like a cobra striking a mouse. Gaz's thoughts smashed into one another, running and dripping.

Oh man he's so good he's probably the ultimate gamer wait no I am the ultimate gamer he's a stranger I don't want him to touch me but yesterday it felt so GOOD— 

Gaz was horrified. She stared at her Game Slave as vampire pigs assaulted her character. When a long, pale fingertip lit on the Game Slave's screen, she could only trail her eyes up the black-sleeved arm.

"You're dying," Dem said, a shy smile crossing his face. Gaz felt her eyes tear again.

"Gaz, I'm sorry I made you upset. I know you never get a second chance for a first impression, but…I want to make it up to you."

Gaz stared at his collarbones.

"I just got paid. What's your favorite restaurant?"

Gaz felt her face light up as she jerked her eyes up to look him straight on. "Bloaty's. Take me to Bloaty's."

Gaz and Dem stood at the Whack-A-Wombat game. Dem would occasionally stop to gaze at the morbid little girl standing beside him, and his lips would slowly turn up in a sly grin. Gaz stared straight ahead. She brought her mallet down with such force and speed it made her body tremble at the impact. Finally she stopped, her bangs hanging sweaty on her forehead.

"Dem," she breathed, "watch this." She squinted her eyes tight and poised over the holes. As the Wombats popped out, her arms seemed to fly almost before they surfaced. She didn't miss one.

"Jesus." Dem said. "That was awesome."

Gaz turned and smiled. "I know."

Dem was shocked at the smile, but even more shocked when Gaz timidly slid her hand into his while crossing the parking lot. A smirk slid across his face as the forbidden thought of her warm, soft little hands on his bare chest popped into his mind. The smirk fled as he pushed the thought away.

His hands almost circled her hips as he lifted her into his black van. "Oh, shit! It's seven o'clock. What are we gonna say to your parents?"

"Nothing," Gaz shrugged her seat belt on. "My mom is dead and my dad won't care."

Dem turned the engine. "Well then," he said, "in that case, why don't you spend the night? It is Friday. I've got to work for a couple hours, but we'll make sure you're entertained."

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "What will I wear to sleep? What about brushing my teeth?"

"One of my t-shirts, or we can stop at your house. I'll let you play all my games."

"Even the R-rated ones?"

"Anything you want."

They stopped at a red light and he turned toward her. One of his hands lifted toward her face, and then fell on his lap as the guilty memory of making her cry surfaced. The regret was written on his face. Gaz remembered that moment, and the action that had caused her so much fear and confusion was now what she craved the most.

She unfastened her seat belt and slowly pulled herself across the seat to him. After a few hesitations, she let her face fall on his chest. Dem stiffened, and she jerked back.

"No, no, baby, no," he murmured. His van slowed as it pulled to the side of the road, and even before the van stopped lurching he was pulling her to him, gathering her back to his chest, entangling his fingers in her hair. Gaz could feel herself raise and fall slightly with his breath, and his heartbeat was so strong she felt like she was curled up inside one of its chambers. His scent was strong and oddly familiar to Gaz. The scent said one word:"Daddy," and then another, more mysterious one: "Lover."

She didn't notice that Dem's left hand had softly placed itself on her child's thigh. But he didn't notice, either.  

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            Kisses, K. Therese.