Title: His Perfect Touch
Rated: PG
Pairing: It's really easy to figure out
Author's Note: This takes place a few years after the series finale.
His hands, I never knew how much someone could say without talking… but he does; he says more than anyone I know without uttering a sound.
Those hands can cause so much pain, I know it first hand. Before Emma died, when Ivanoff created that illusion in my head I felt pain because of his hands; the constant smack of flesh hitting flesh. A trading of punches, kicks, backhands, and throws all meant to cause harm to your opponent. It was worse when Ashlocke took control of my mind; I could feel how every inch of him refused to cooperate with what he knew he had to do. How every landed blow caused him pain as well, yet I was powerless to stop it.
But the pleasure I've gotten from those hands has far outweighed anything else. His touch light and careful when we tease each other is a sensation I couldn't give up. The memory of his hand roaming with assured wanting when I was under Ivanoff's power still makes me shiver. Best yet is the feel of his baser passionate touch as he slowly dips into a more feral state of mind. His touches get just a little rougher, a bit more demanding, and I can't help but give in.
I think was surprised me most about him was the way he could be so gentile, so tender. He is the boy from the streets; he's lived hard, and played even harder. So his easy touch and feather like sense left me shocked. Those strong, callused hands being the source of the most tender touch I've ever known is exhilarating. Whether it's his tucking me in at night or reassuring me in a tight hug, those hands never once feel threatening.
The day we were married those hands held mine in a way I'd never felt before. They were gentile and passionate all at once. He held my own hand as if it were made of glass, though he knew it wouldn't break. The strong pressure of his excitement radiated through his touch and into me, filling me with the same joy and wonder he felt. That day I didn't even feel his fingers as they slowly brushed my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. The only way I knew he'd moved was when I felt the caress of his palm on my cheek; drawing me back to the place I knew I belonged.
Even now as those hands slide across my stomach from behind I feel only a slight pressure and the shiver he's sent down my spine. He loves touching me even more now, especially since I've told him of the baby; he can't stop placing those protective hands of his over our child and feeling it move within me. He insists that we "hug" the baby as much as possible, letting it know that we love it; he has the perfect touch for fatherhood.
