Holding Hands
Hello there. This is pretty much self-explanatory, but Holding Hands by TouchingNoFace (me) will have one character, from each ship, explore their feelings on holding hands with their loved one. An example would be Kataang: Aang reflecting on his feelings on holding Kataras hand.
I have several follow-ups to this sort of fanfiction. I hope you will enjoy them, and this as well. I'm trying to curve it into a sort of odd story. It's a simple idea at best; just how I like it.Thank you for reading this.
TouchingNoFace.
(P.S. I will not explain which pairing is being described until the very end, in hopes the reader may decide for themselves and see how they feel. I will try not to be completely obvious on which is what pairing, but if I am-- that is just how it goes guys. My goal is to touch, once, on each pairing that has, if not a cruise, a boat-sized fanbase; such as Soko: SongxZuko and Maiko: MaixZuko. This definitely does not leave out Jet, Sokka, or other character pairings; such as Koh and Azula.)
Here is the first one:
It was the slip of her hand joining his, that made him swallow.
Her warmth seemed to seep through his palm; nothing like ice, like the daggers she carried. The flesh between her fingers were slightly cut, he realized,as he took her hand- felt every space, every piece. He assumed it was from practicing her weaponry, all hours of the day, when she were younger...
He assumed.
He assumed her skin would make him crawl, make him uneasy. He assumed that thin wrist- that mischievous smile!- would make it...uncomfortable for him to wake up to in the morning; to see when he trudged through his day; to gaze upon as he fell asleep.
She has proved me wrong, so many times... And yet, I continue to assume.
He didn't understand this pattern- this trick: how did she always make him feel so simple? As her hands trailed up- her hair a mess- and yes, as she trailed up his skin...running a fingertip in areas- making him cringe or sigh from positions he didn't know existed-
Her hands were always keen.
And her fingertips were always gentle. Surprising, he would muse alone, from a woman who burdened herself with so many odd blades- burdenedherself with learning to battle.
"Why?"
He grunted in reply, closing his eyes, treasuring her gaze on him.
She needn't say anymore.
Her hand slipped back- joined back, with his.
"You feel nothing," she admitted, much more to herself he reasoned, "like I imagined."
"Oh?"
"Your much better than the skin of an apple..."
Much better than the skin of a doll.