The first time he touched her it had been to restrain her. They were in the sewers, surrounded on all sides. She had wanted to continue fighting, and he had held her back. His fingers had been insistent on her wrist. Hang on a minute, the fingers demanded.
This time she is the one reaching out. Not to hold back, but simply to hold this time around. She expects him to recoil like one of his guns, kicking back and away from her before they take things some place they might regret. But instead he squeezes back.
He turns her hand over so her palm is facing upwards. He scrutinizes it, saying nothing as he begins to trace his fingers over the lines writ across its surface. She remembers an old woman who visited Dalmasca when she was a young girl. A teller of fortunes, the woman had examined her lifeline. Now he was letting his fingers flit across her palm in the same manner. What was he trying to find?
His touch is light as his fingers drift about, settling on a roughened callus at the base of her thumb. He takes his own thumb and rubs it across the toughened skin. Maybe he is trying to smooth it out by sheer willpower.
"When you are Queen, your skin will be perfect again." It's almost a whisper as his fingers slide down to dance across her wrist. Her heartbeat quickens at his delicate touch.
"No more sword fighting. You'll look back on all this as a rather unpleasant time in your life." She considers his words as his fingers continue their way up her arm. She can feel the thin hairs on her arm stand on end, and she tries to resist a shiver of pleasure at the methodical way he touches her. The strong fingers that tinker with the Strahl's dials. The fingers that pull his shotgun's trigger.
The inside of her elbow tickles, and as he brings his thumb across the soft skin she jerks away unconsciously. His hand drops away. "I'm sorry."
He shakes his head ruefully and turns to reenter the manse. She hasn't gotten her chance yet. She only means to hold his hand, but she tugs a bit too insistently, and suddenly her arms are wrapped around him, her cheek pressed against his chest.
She had stumbled in the sand. She almost seemed to resent the assistance he offered, the thin, graceful fingers pulling away from his touch as if she had been burnt. He had not touched her since then.
Now she has her arms around him, her hands insistently pressed against his back. He wasn't used to Her Majesty in need of an embrace. She was always stoic, hands on hips, lips pressed into a frown. But she clung to him now as if he would vanish if she wasn't touching him.
He almost thought he'd gone too far by letting his fingers move up the length of her arm. But now he allows one hand to rest at the base of her spine. The other tangles in her hair, holding her head against him. He tries not to think too much about what this all means. It's been a long, hard journey. All of them could use some measure of comfort.
He feels her relax, her fingers beginning to flutter across the clasps at the back of his vest. He senses a genuine curiosity in her touch as she lets her fingers trace the circular metal pieces. He closes his eyes as she snuggles closer, her head resting near his heart. He wonders if she can hear how fast it beats away in his chest.
Her flaxen hair is soft, and he rubs a few strands in between his thumb and fingers, committing its texture to memory. He lets his other hand rub her back soothingly. He lowers his lips to the side of her head. "Is this alright?"
Her head bobs slightly against him, and he takes it as an assent. He figures he'd be getting a good slap across his face were she displeased. He wonders when this woman last received an embrace. The wheels in his head begin turning, the more devilish side of him getting involved as well. He wonders when this woman last received…
A nearly imperceptible pop followed by a muttered curse. She has accidentally undone one of the clasps on his vest, and he smiles at the many ways he could tease her right now. He keeps them to himself as he feels her fingers struggle to redo the clasp, a gentle pull on the metal pieces growing to a more insistent tugging. Her body tenses in disappointment, and he can tell she is upset for ruining the moment. Her determination only endears her to him.
He places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back. He shakes his head and chuckles softly as she lets her hands drop down to her sides, and they shake with her frustration. Her head lowers shamefully. "If you'll turn around," she mutters, her voice trembling, "I can redo it properly."
He pulls her shaking hands in between his own, bringing them up to hold against his chest. Although they are strong hands, they feel so small and delicate. He would never tell her that out loud. "Don't worry about it."
Her eyes focus on their hands clasped together, her breath unsteady as he can almost hear her mind grinding to a halt. He loosens his grip, letting one hand hold both of hers while his other reaches for her face. He sees her eyes widen as he pulls her chin up to meet his gaze.
Her eyes flutter shut as his lips brush softly against her forehead.